When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 204 From London to Madrid

After most of the media interviews, Roy straightened his collar and headed towards the players' tunnel.

A staff member handed him a bottle of mineral water. He nodded his thanks, unscrewed the cap, and took a sip.

The sound of teammates chatting and laughing came from the direction of the locker room, mixed with the sound of water running in the shower.

He took out his phone and saw several unread messages. Just as he was about to check them, a club press officer walked over quickly and whispered to remind him that there was one last brief interview with a television station.

Roy put his phone back in his pocket, let out a soft breath, and followed the press officer to the designated interview area.

Sky Sports presenter Jill Pitts strode in, her high heels accentuating her curves in a form-fitting dark blue business suit, over which she wore a white silk shirt, the buttons neatly fastened below the collar.

She neatly tucked her smooth blonde hair behind her ears, held a microphone, and walked towards Roy with a professional smile.

"Roy, in these two games you've contributed 3 goals and 1 assist, directly involved in all of the team's goals. Does this mean Chelsea is too reliant on your individual performance? The club spent a fortune to bring you to Stamford Bridge and gave you a top Premier League salary, is it because they hope you can become the team's attacking core and shoulder the goal-scoring responsibility alone?"

"No, this just proves that we play true team football."

Roy calmly replied, "Everyone has their own responsibilities. Drogba is a top striker, but he's willing to stretch the defense for me. Lampard's passes are always precise, and Makelele makes the defense rock solid. My job is simply to convert chances into goals, nothing more. It's unfair to give all the credit to me compared to the team's efforts."

"When Drogba made sacrificial runs for you, did you ever feel guilty? After all, he was a super striker averaging 0.6 goals per game when he was at Marseille."

"No, that's precisely what makes Drogba great. He knows when to finish and when to create chances for his teammates. There's never any guilt between us. If he makes a run, I'll pass to him without hesitation. True strikers understand that winning is far more important than personal statistics."

"Does the fact that Coach Mourinho seems to have a particular trust in your ability to handle crucial plays mean that a hierarchy centered around you has been established in the dressing room?"

"No, there have never been any such so-called hierarchy. If that's the logic, then only Cech can touch the ball with his hands, so does that mean the goalkeeper is a privileged class? We are all eleven equals, just with different roles—my role is to get the damn ball into the net, it's that simple."

"L'Équipe reports that you and Zidane discussed the succession of the number 10 jersey for the French national team in private. Did he hint at when you would take over his position?"

"Did L'Équipe say that? I've always worn the number 11 jersey and scored many important goals in it. I enjoy this number now and haven't thought about changing to another jersey for the time being."

26-year-old Gilles Pitts looked at Roy with interest. The 19-year-old Frenchman answered questions flawlessly, as meticulous as an old fox, without revealing any flaws.

She decided to tackle something even more sensational; in the eyes of British sports journalists, journalistic ethics always come second to headline traffic.

"Since tactical issues are so boring, how about we talk about something more personal?"

My fingers tapped lightly on the last page of the interview outline, where a few questions that hadn't been prepared were hidden.

After she finished speaking, she lightly ran her finger along the microphone cord, looking directly at Roy.

"I have the right to remain silent."

"As one of the highest-paid players in the Premier League, how do you cope with the pressure of having to carry every game? Do you need special ways to relax like some other stars?"

She twirled the end of her hair with her fingertips, drawing out the last syllable meaningfully.

"for example."

"Going to some members-only bars late at night? Or finding some private therapists?"

"Or... rent a yacht in Monaco and have a party? Or... like that Brazilian legend, 'warm up' until 3 a.m. the night before the match?"

Roy suddenly laughed: "But I don't actually have any pressure to relieve. I'm always relaxed, just enjoying football. You seem quite familiar with these 'relief methods'?"

He tilted his head slightly. "Why don't you tell me, who needs these things to relieve stress?"

A flicker of surprise crossed Gil Pitts' eyes, but he quickly regained his professional smile: "I'm just curious about the lifestyle of top players."

She bit her lower lip lightly, then changed the subject, "What's it like to carry the expectations of the entire team at the age of nineteen? Do you feel lonely? Does this loneliness make you crave someone's understanding even more?"

Roy took a deep breath and thought to himself, yes, yes, that feeling of loneliness known as "the sorrow of blood" was starting to flare up again.

"I have a mother."

Jill Pitts blinked, seemingly not fully understanding his answer, but still maintained his smile:
"So, would you be interested in a personal interview with me? No outline, no restrictions, just the two of us, talking about stories outside of football?"

On the way back to London.

Roy wanted to call Maicon and Abidal to play cards, but hesitated about who else to call.

Most of my teammates were either sleeping or watching the in-car TV.

Makelele and Gallas, along with a few other Frenchmen, have become somewhat estranged from him since the "Champions League declaration."

He glanced at Makelele, who was feigning sleep in the front row, and pondered to himself.

What he needs is not to back down and reconcile, but to make these veterans understand that the power in the locker room will eventually depend on their performance on the field.

Roy called out to the front row, "Bridge, wanna play cards?"

Bridge took off his headphones and lazily turned around: "Okay, what do you want to play?"

As night fell, the bus headed towards London.

英超第二轮战况激烈：南安普顿3比2险胜布莱克本，利物浦2比1力克曼城，切尔西客场2比0轻取伯明翰，查尔顿2比1击败朴茨茅斯，热刺客场1比0小胜纽卡，埃弗顿3比1逆转水晶宫，富勒姆2比0完胜博尔顿，曼联2比1艰难战胜诺维奇，维拉与西布朗1比1握手言和。

The most incredible moment was Arsenal's 5-3 comeback victory against Middlesbrough at home, equaling Nottingham Forest's 25-year-old record of 42 unbeaten matches in the English top flight, a goal-fest witnessed by Highbury fans.

Arsène Wenger's eight-year tenure has built a Gunners dynasty that has won three Premier League titles, but he is even more eager to challenge for the Champions League.

Before the match, the Premier League presented Arsenal with a mini gold trophy in recognition of their unbeaten record last season.

Wenger called the achievement "a miracle in modern football," while emphasizing that the team still needs to improve, and the growth of young players like Fabregas shows him more potential.

The professor then specifically praised the team's top scorer, Henry, saying, "I must say that Henry is still the best player in the Premier League. He contributed one goal and three assists in the first two rounds, while Roy contributed three goals and one assist. The competition for the Premier League's best player has been very fierce since the beginning of the season, and this competition will continue throughout the season."

The Frenchman revealed that he has started contract renewal negotiations and vowed to lead the Gunners to greater goals.

If they remain unbeaten against Blackburn next Wednesday, they will set a new record of 43 games.

After two rounds of the Premier League, Arsenal and Chelsea are tied for first place with 6 points each. The Gunners lead the table with 9 goals and a goal difference of +5, while the Blues follow closely behind with a clean sheet.

On August 22, 2004, Roy received a phone call from his girlfriend Leticia.

She angrily questioned the Sun newspaper about the article published a few days earlier, titled "Chelsea party night! New signing Roy spends a fortune to rent out China White, players party with hot girls until dawn."

Over the phone, Leticia demanded that Roy explain exactly what happened that night.

“Listen, honey, that’s all bullshit! Our whole team just went out for dinner, and it was all English stuff. There are bound to be some women in the nightclubs, right? The world is fucking half men and half women. I went home to sleep at midnight, you know that, you didn’t let me get a good night’s sleep this morning.”

Roy painstakingly explained the situation and finally agreed to buy Leticia the Graff yellow diamond pendant, which finally calmed Leticia down.

"Why didn't you contact me when you went back to Paris for the match the other day? You didn't even call! You went racing with Evra. Good heavens, you'd rather be in the media for speeding with him than come see me."

"You know the rules of Clairefontaine training camp: you can't meet before the game, and you have to rush back to London overnight after the game. Evra was in poor form at that time, and I had to accompany my brother to relax. It's not that I didn't want to see you, it's just that I really couldn't get away. Besides, we didn't have time to be affectionate."

"Roy, is this all that's left between us?"

Leticia's words left Roy speechless for a moment. He opened his mouth to refute, but muttered to himself, "You obviously didn't ask for less either." In the end, he just scratched his head in frustration and switched the phone to his other ear.

Roy realized that he might need to rethink his feelings.

His ex always felt insecure because of his status as a star athlete, while his current partner is overly controlling.

His two relationships made him realize that he either needed to find a partner who could handle the spotlight with ease, or he should remain single for the time being.

From a psychological perspective, Roy's distress reflects a classic attachment pattern conflict in intimate relationships.

As a relatively stable securely attached individual (able to balance intimacy and independence), he encountered both anxious (Leticia's excessive demands) and avoidant (Duchen-Klos's alienation and withdrawal) partners.

Frequent media exposure and long-distance match schedules can objectively trigger the "fear of abandonment" in anxious couples, while avoidant couples may choose to leave earlier due to pressure.

Leticia seeks security through "protest behaviors" such as checking up on him and demanding gifts, while Roy's every compromise inadvertently reinforces her cycle of anxiety.

"Making a scene will get you attention" became the unspoken rule of this relationship.

In the end, both women actually cared about him.

Leticia's increasingly dramatic outburst stemmed from her fear of losing him, while Du Chen's decisive departure was also driven by her fear of injury.

Caught in the middle, Roy finally realized that he was like a sandwich filling, suffocating under the weight of two extreme loves.

Don't assume that the relationships between celebrities and models in the world of fame and fortune are limited to exchanges of interests and physical relationships.

Ultimately, everyone needs emotional support.

The higher one stands, the more one often yearns for sincerity.

"Letty, I understand. No matter how bright the spotlight is, it still shines on ordinary people who feel pain and fatigue. Do you think I'm looking for someone in the stands the first time I score a goal? But we need to change our approach. Next time, just text me and say you miss me. Don't let the paparazzi know you're angry before I do, okay?"

He spoke softly and comfortingly, but his eyes were as calm as a stagnant pool, devoid of any warmth.

The more Roy interacts with the world, the more he experiences frustration. On the field, he can dominate the entire world with his feet, but the undercurrents in the locker room, the fickle thoughts of women, and the densely packed clauses in sponsorship contracts—none of them listen to him.

Even his personal manager Claire, agent Mendes, and assistant Heathlen—none of them were people he truly trusted; he could never do that in his entire life.

Even an ambitious person like him sometimes feels that the half-season he spent with Monaco in 2002-2003 was the time when he most simply enjoyed football.

On the evening of August 23, Roy dragged his tired steps toward the parking lot after finishing training.

From afar, Marina Granovskaia could be seen standing next to a black car, her hands clasped in front of her, her posture as straight as a javelin.

“Mr. Roy,” she said with a slight bow, her voice softer than when they last met, “could I have a few minutes of your time?”

As he spoke, he opened the back door of the car, his movements as respectful as if he were leading the way for a king.

Marina pulled a gold-embossed invitation from her briefcase.

"Mr. Abramovich hopes you will grace us with your presence."

She pointed to the raised airplane embossed on the invitation: "The maiden voyage is on October 24th, from London to Moscow. It just so happens to be Mr. Abramovich's birthday."

Roy stared at the gold-embossed invitation.

The gilded and jade-encrusted "sky palace" on the front page of the Sunday Times this morning is now going to be invited up there.

Chelsea owner Roman Abramovich recently spent a fortune building a super-luxury private jet.

The aircraft, named "Abramovich Sky," was a modified Boeing 767-300 and cost approximately $10 billion in total.

This aircraft has a very high level of safety, equipped with two special systems: an anti-missile radar worth £80 and a missile early warning system.

These devices are similar to those on President Bush's Air Force One and Putin's private jet.

The interior features 350 seats that were removed and transformed into a luxury restaurant (accommodating 30 people) and bedrooms. The kitchen sink is made of pure gold, and the bedrooms are equipped with a king-size bed and an oversized TV. The overall decoration style is reminiscent of a Russian imperial palace, and the renovation alone cost £1000 million.

Operating costs are extremely high, with each mile of flight costing £100. A one-way trip from Moscow to London costs £30, which is 1500 times the price of a regular ticket.

But for Abramovich, whose net worth is £75 billion, this expense is negligible and enough to support him to travel around the world on this plane for 17 years.

The reason why Abramovich spared no expense in building this luxurious private jet becomes clear after reading the news of the plane crash on July 14th of this year.

Even among Russia's wealthy elite, Yuri Felsov, the main shareholder and general manager of Arkhangelsk Television, and Viktor Lipkin, the head of the Arkhangelsk branch of Sberbank, have died while traveling on ordinary private planes.

A small Czech plane that took off without application or inspection directly cost the lives of two important figures.

For a super-rich man like Abramovich, spending $10 billion to buy the safest aircraft, install missile defense systems, and equip it with a professional crew is not about flaunting wealth, but about saving his life.

After all, no matter how much money you have, you still need to be alive to spend it.

On August 24, Crystal Palace fans in Croydon, South London, were discussing their upcoming match against Chelsea.

Chelsea are in red-hot form, having already secured two consecutive wins.

Crystal Palace just lost 1-3 to Everton at home in the last round, and their record this season is one draw and one loss.

Crystal Palace fans are generally pessimistic about the match against Chelsea striker Roy, who is in red-hot form.

This former European top scorer has already scored 3 goals and provided 1 assist in the first two games of the new season, demonstrating his formidable attacking prowess.

What worries Crystal Palace fans even more is that Chelsea's defense is rock-solid under Mourinho's guidance, with their backline as solid as a rock.

Faced with such a strong team that excels in both offense and defense, Crystal Palace fans generally believe that the team will have a difficult time escaping unscathed.

After starting Carvalho in the last match, Mourinho put him back on the bench this round, and started Gallas again to partner Terry.

Geremi has also been dropped from the starting lineup for the right midfield position.

Due to Smertin's injury, Lampard had to drop back to play as a left midfielder.

Fortunately, Joe Cole recovered from his injury in time, which finally added some attacking firepower to the midfield.

Reporters stopped a group of fans outside the stadium wearing blue jerseys and draped in Chelsea flags; they were shouting at the top of their lungs:

"Roy is sure to score a hat trick today!"

"Mourinho's tactics were too solid; Crystal Palace had absolutely no chance!"

"Joe Cole's comeback came at just the right time!"

"With Terry in defense, I feel reassured!"

"Hurry up and get on the field, I can't wait to see Roy thrash their defense!"

The fans were excited, some waving scarves, others raising beer bottles, their shouts blending into a blue wave of sound.

"Chelsea made a passing error in the attacking third! Crystal Palace intercepted the ball and launched a counter-attack, an opportunity has arrived! Chelsea's midfield pressing wasn't decisive enough, Crystal Palace's advance was very fast, and Chelsea's defense was retreating! This counter-attack is very threatening, let's see if Crystal Palace can seize this opportunity!"

In the 17th minute of the match, Crystal Palace launched an attack in the attacking third.

Left winger Colca and right winger Routledge combine on the left flank, passing the ball to left center forward Cavides.

Calvides passed back to left defensive midfielder Rishilahti, who then played a through ball to right center forward Johnson.

Johnson received the ball on the edge of the penalty area, and Chelsea's right midfielder Thiago Mendes rushed to clear it, but the ball ended up at the feet of Crystal Palace's right defensive midfielder FitzHall.

Fitzgerald immediately passed the ball across to the onrushing left winger, Colca, who took a shot.

Chelsea goalkeeper Petr Cech dived to make a save, blocking the ball, but failed to catch it securely.

The ball slipped from his hands and landed in the six-yard box. Crystal Palace's right center forward, Johnson, rushed up to prepare for a follow-up shot, but Chelsea's left-back, Abidal, cleared the ball with a long kick.

In the stands, Chelsea fans breathed a sigh of relief, while Crystal Palace fans shook their heads in frustration.

The ball flew towards the frontcourt.

Drogba leaped high, using his body to push past Crystal Palace's right center-back Hudson, and headed the ball back to left midfielder Lampard.

Lampard passed the ball directly to Roy without stopping it.

Roy received the ball with his back to goal and faced Crystal Palace's right defensive midfielder Fitzgerald's defense. Suddenly, he turned and dribbled with his right foot, forcing Fitzgerald to turn and block him.

Just as the opponent turned around, Roy stopped abruptly, controlled the ball, and then delivered a long diagonal pass to right-back Maicon, who was making a run down the right flank.

Maicon easily controlled the ball on the wing and, facing Crystal Palace's left winger Colca, dribbled forward with long strides.

After reaching the edge of the penalty area, he calmly passed the ball across to attacking midfielder Joe Cole, who had made a run into the middle.

Chelsea's counter-attacks were fluid and seamless, completely tearing apart Crystal Palace's defense.

Joe Cole was double-teamed by Crystal Palace's right defensive midfielder Fitzgerald and left winger Colca just outside the penalty area. Although he stumbled from the impact, he still maintained firm control of the ball.

He caught a glimpse of Roy making a high-speed run down the left flank, then suddenly changed direction laterally and precisely passed the ball to him.

The moment Roy received the ball, Crystal Palace's left center-back Popovic immediately pressed forward.

Roy twisted his right foot, and Popovich missed and almost fell.

In the instant he lost his balance, Roy fell to the ground and used the inside of his right foot to deliver a through pass.

Inside the penalty area, Drogba, like a rhinoceros, rammed past Crystal Palace's right center-back Hudson and unleashed a powerful shot.

The ball headed straight for the far corner of the goal, but goalkeeper Speroni made a diving save.
The ball sprang from Drogba's feet, streaking across the sky and heading straight for the bottom right corner of the goal.

Speroni made a full-force dive, his fingertips almost brushing the ball.

But it was still half an inch off.

"Shh!"

The sound of the ball swishing across the net was exceptionally clear from the stands behind the goal.

Speroni fell into the net and became tangled in the ropes, unable to move.

The fans in the front row could clearly see his frustrated expression.

"Hold!"

The expressions of the fans in the front row froze instantly.

Speroni slowly climbed out of the net and brushed the grass clippings off his gloves.

His bending down to pick up the ball looked like it was in slow motion. Amidst the sighs rising and falling from the stands behind him, a child cried out, "It's okay, let's dive again!"

Drogba slid down to the corner flag with great passion, leaving three deep marks on the grass. Roy rushed over laughing, pulled him up, and patted him hard on the back of the neck.

Drogba put his arm around Roy's neck and yelled something in his ear. The muffled thud of their chests colliding was drowned out by the cheers that erupted around them.

"Drogba! He scored Chelsea's historic first goal in an official match! Look at that calm shot, that's the value of Chelsea's big-money signing him!"

"What a perfect moment! Speroni was completely powerless; Drogba announced his arrival in the style of a true center forward!"

"Remember this moment! A new monster has been born at Stamford Bridge! This goal will go down in Chelsea's history!"

"Look at Drogba's runs, look at Roy's assists, this is the perfect combination Mourinho wanted! Chelsea's attack has finally found the answer!"

"1-0! Drogba has opened his goal account, and we will likely cite this milestone goal repeatedly for years to come!"

In the 31st minute, Roy received the ball on the left wing, and Crystal Palace's right-back Boyce immediately closed him down.

Roy flicked his right foot and suddenly stopped, causing Boyce to stumble.

Before the opponent could adjust his center of gravity, Roy had already accelerated down the baseline, sweeping across the sideline like a gust of wind.

Crystal Palace's left center-back Popovic rushed to cover, but Roy had already crossed the ball.

The ball skimmed along the grass towards the goal, where Drogba and Joe Cole simultaneously made their runs.

Just as a sure-kill was about to happen, Hudson made a desperate sliding tackle, blocking the ball out of bounds at the last moment.

A gasp of surprise erupted from the stands.

Crystal Palace had assigned two players to guard Roy, but he still managed to break through easily.

He was like a blue lightning bolt, making the opponent's defense feel threatened every time he touched the ball.

In the 38th minute, Crystal Palace's corner kick was caught comfortably by Cech.

He quickly turned around and delivered a powerful throw-in that found Roy near the center circle.

Roy received the ball and immediately started his run, dribbling forward at high speed.

Rishilahti stepped forward to intercept, but Roy flicked the ball with his right foot and tapped it with his left, easily getting past his opponent with a clean and crisp frittata.

After getting past Rishilahti, Roy raised his right foot high, leaned his body, and assumed a stance to launch a long pass to the right wing.

Crystal Palace's entire defensive line tilted to the right following his movement.

Just as the opponent shifted their weight, Roy suddenly flicked his right foot back to his left, then used the instep of his foot to launch a low through ball.

The ball precisely pierced through the gap in Crystal Palace's midfield and found Abidal making a run down the left flank.

A gasp erupted from the stands, and the commentator couldn't help but exclaim, "What a beautiful feint! Roy completely fooled the defender!"

Abidal easily received the ball, with a wide-open space in front of him.

Crystal Palace's right-back Boyce desperately tried to get back, but it was too late.

Chelsea's attack down the left flank has been fully unleashed.

The two players executed a series of one-two passes on the flank, with Roy skillfully running into the open space on the left side.

Abidal passed the ball to Roy again, who stopped the ball and then suddenly dropped his shoulder to feint. Crystal Palace's Popovic and Fitzgerald immediately tightened their defense but dared not rush in to intercept.

In that split second, Abidal suddenly accelerated and moved to the wing, and the Blues' away stands erupted with shouts of "Go!"

Abidal received the ball and crossed it without hesitation; the ball arced towards the penalty area.

Lampard surged forward from the back and outjumped Hudson with a powerful headbutt!
The ball flew straight into the top corner! 2-0!

The Stamford Bridge expeditionary force erupted instantly, with deafening cheers of "Super Frank!" erupting from the stands.

Lampard grabbed Roy by the neck and yelled in his ear, "That's fucking awesome!"

Roy laughed as he was being strangled, while Abidal and Joe Cole pounced on him from behind, and the four of them crashed into each other.

"That feint of yours," Lampard released his arm and slapped Roy hard on the back, "fooled the whole team!"

He winked at Joe Cole, "That's not how we play in England."

Joe Cole twitched the corner of his mouth but didn't reply.

His title of "English Magician" suddenly seemed somewhat ironic in front of Roy.

With their backs to the electrifying Selhurst Stadium, the reporters heard urgent prompts from the director through their earpieces.

They had to shout at the top of their lungs: "2-0 up in the 38th minute! Chelsea are playing like it's a practice match! Look at this attack. Roy's feint completely fooled the entire defense!"

Daily Mail reporter:
"Roy's form is simply incredible! Five goals directly involved in three games, he has completely revitalized Chelsea's attack. Can any other Premier League team really find a way to stop him?"

Sky Sports commentator:

Look at these stats! Five goals in three games! Roy has elevated Chelsea's attack to another level. It might be too early to say it's the 'final chapter,' but Mourinho's team certainly shows championship potential!

BBC commentator:

"If Roy maintains this form, the suspense in the Premier League may really be over sooner. His dribbling, passing and finishing abilities make every Chelsea victory seem so natural."

In a bar in West London, dozens of eyes were glued to the hanging television screen.

When Makelele cleanly intercepted the ball, the entire bar erupted in cheers.

Several burly men in blue jerseys immediately slammed their fists on the table and yelled, "Give it to Roy! Get the fuck Roy now!"

Makelele did indeed pass the ball over.

When Roy received the ball and turned deftly, leaving FitzHall like a clumsy wooden stake behind, the bar erupted in cheers.

The beer mug was raised high, and the golden liquid spilled everywhere.

"Great! Pass him!"

Someone shouted at the top of their lungs, their voice drowning out the television commentary.

In the corner, an elderly man with white hair was so excited that he almost fell off his high stool, but was caught by the young man next to him.

The old man didn't even say thank you, he just kept stomping his cane on the ground: "See that? That's what you call playing football!"

The reflection from the television screen danced on every flushed face, reflecting the same ecstasy.

"Roy is dribbling forward! Rihilakhti is coming up—"

"Beautiful! A simple wall pass, Lampard laid it off, and Roy easily got past him!"

"Look at this! Abidal made a crossover—Roy pushed with the instep, a one-two pass! A smooth and fluid combination!"

"Crystal Palace's defense was completely outmaneuvered! Chelsea's attack was fluid and seamless."

As he broke into the penalty area, Popovich and Hudson simultaneously double-teamed him.

Roy flicked the ball up with his right foot and twisted it with his left, and just as the two defenders closed in, he suddenly lifted the ball with his toe.

"Holy crap! How the hell did we get through that?!"

"It's started! It's started!"

"Roy! Roy! Roy!"

"My God, that was an art!"

"Hahaha, look at those two center-backs! They're like two wooden stakes!"

"It's going to shoot! It's going to shoot!"

The ball sailed over the defender's head, and Roy quickly adjusted his footwork, volleying the ball before it hit the ground!
The ball bounced heavily off the turf and, before Speroni could make a save, it flew into the net.

3-0!

The entire attack was executed flawlessly from start to finish, with Roy single-handedly tearing apart the entire defense.

On television, Roy leaped into the air and slammed his right fist into the night sky over Selhurst.

The Chelsea fans in the bar erupted instantly.

The shout of "Three to zero!" made the chandelier sway.

The broadcast camera suddenly cut to the sidelines.

Mourinho had already returned to the coaching bench at some point, arms crossed, a faint smile on his lips.

This expression is more lethal than any celebration, as if to say, "I knew this would happen."

Is Deschamps really that happy in your imagination? You can't even imagine Deschamps' happiness.
In the 75th minute, the fourth official on the sidelines raised the substitution board.

Roy and Drogba were both substituted, and Mutu and Gudjohnsen came on as substitutes.

As Roy jogged off the pitch, the Chelsea away fans at Selhurst Stadium stood up and applauded, the applause even drowning out the boos from the home fans.

Drogba put his arm around Roy's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. When the two walked to the bench, they even went around to the sidelines to give Mourinho a high-five.

Three minutes later, Joe Cole was also substituted by Gremy.

The Englishmen were visibly tired as they left the field, but they still waved to the away fans.

The broadcast camera pointed meaningfully at the Chelsea substitutes' bench.

Roy draped his sweat-soaked jersey over his shoulder and chatted and laughed with Drogba.

Wenger turned off the TV, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

He drew a 4-3-1-2 formation diagram on his notebook and heavily circled the name "Roy".

"4312 is a disguised 352. Roy is nominally a left center forward, but in reality, he is a free agent in the attacking third. When defending, he drops to the left midfield position, and when counter-attacking, he directly becomes an attacking midfielder. Makelele and Lampard provide double insurance, freeing up their defensive responsibilities."

"Roy's strengths: top-tier explosiveness and speed in football, and near-perfect ball control. He is extremely threatening whether dribbling or controlling the ball in tight spaces. He has top-notch right-foot technique and incredibly fast decision-making speed. Most lethal is his off-the-ball movement, always finding space to receive the ball in the vacuum between the defensive and midfield lines. His partnership with Drogba, forming a high-low double pivot, effectively relegated Joe Cole to a tactical wingman."

"The solution: We must relinquish possession and proactively tighten our defense to compress space. Utilize Gilberto for full-field man-marking, with Lauren ready to cover at any time. We must prioritize locking down Roy's receiving routes, even at the cost of sacrificing wing attacks. If necessary, we can adopt a strategy of securing a draw, but the core principle is: never allow Roy to advance with the ball within the 30-meter zone. Against this Chelsea team, a clean sheet might be more realistic than scoring a goal."

In the locker room, Terry put his arm around Roy's shoulder and grinned.
"Hey Roy! We have to go out for a couple of drinks tonight! You were fucking amazing today, you totally outplayed those Crystal Palace guys! I know there's a new nightclub that just opened in West London, the girls are going crazy over your face! Joe Cole's already booked a booth, and Lampard said he's going too. Don't tell me you're going back to the hotel to sleep!"

Roy stuffed his sneakers into his backpack, looked up and smiled at Terry: "John, I have to call home today. My brother played his first junior game."

Lampard stopped what he was doing upon hearing this: "Wait, what match is so important? Which youth academy does your brother attend?"

Roy neatly folded his discarded jersey and casually replied, "Real Madrid's youth academy... it's just the basketball department."

The locker room fell silent for two seconds.

Desailly was drinking a sports drink when he choked and exclaimed, "Holy crap! Basketball?!"

Madrid, Real Madrid U12 Basketball Training Camp

At six o'clock in the evening, the sun hung obliquely outside the glass windows of the training hall, making the wooden floor shine.

Rowan tucked the hem of his number 10 jersey into his shorts, his black hair cut short, and stood on the sidelines listening to the coach give final tactical instructions.

He was a head taller than most of his teammates, but he was thin, and his shoulders looked frail under his jersey.

However, he stood very steadily with his back straight, his eyes fixed on the U12 players from the opposing university team, his gaze quiet yet focused.

At the start of the match, Sergio from the university team...

A blond kid with visible muscle definition on his arms charged straight at Rowan.

He dribbled to the three-point line, made an exaggerated crossover, and tried to use his speed to overpower the opponent.

Rowan didn't fall for the feint, took a small step back, and reached out to steal the ball the instant Sergio accelerated.

Alvaro, the shortest but loudest point guard in Real Madrid.

Pick up the ball and throw it to the other side.

Rowan had already started moving, and in two steps he shook off Javier, who was tracking back.

He glanced at the basket as he received the ball. The defender jumped to block, but he flicked his wrist, and the ball grazed the opponent's fingertips, backboarding into the net.

Several young Real Madrid football academy players were sitting on the sidelines. They had just been passing by to watch the excitement, but now they all exclaimed "Oh!"

In the second quarter, the college team changed their strategy.

Their coach yelled a few words from the sidelines, and Antonio, a big guy who weighed at least ten pounds more than Rowan, started to double-team Rowan with Sergio.

Rowan dribbled between the two men and suddenly passed the ball behind his back to Juan, who was in an open position.

Juan's hand trembled, and he missed the ball, but Iker, the only dunking giant in Real Madrid, grabbed the rebound and passed it back to Rowan.

(Non-standard backboard, 2.70 for U12, 3.05 for standard backboard)

This time, Rowan didn't pass the ball. He faked a drive, stopped abruptly, and then made a layup gesture that he liked to use.

The ball arced slightly, bypassing Antonio's block, and gently fell into the basket.

The university team's bench was filled with groans of despair.

In the second half, Rowan played even smarter.

The college team assigned two players to guard him, so he proactively moved to the three-point line, drawing the defenders out, and then suddenly made a reverse run.

Alvaro understood immediately, and with a high lob, Rowan jumped up to catch the ball. Before he even landed, his wrist had already flicked.

The ball, like a feather blown by the wind, drifted past Antonio's ear as he came to cover, and swished into the net.

A Real Madrid youth academy coach on the sidelines pulled out a DV camera and secretly recorded a short clip.

With twenty seconds left in the game, the score was tied.

The university team took the throw-in, and Javier wanted to pass to Sergio, but Rowan suddenly appeared from the side and intercepted the ball.

He dribbled the ball to the frontcourt, glanced at the timer, and suddenly accelerated to break through.

Sergio and Antonio rushed forward together, but Rowan suddenly stopped, gathered the ball, and gently threw it.

The ball passed between the two players, spun around the rim, and fell into the net.

The whistle blows, the game is over.

The college team coach watched as Rowan scored another easy basket, gritting his teeth and saying, "His brother is Roy, right? No wonder this brat can jump so high!"

Rowan didn't celebrate; he just wiped his sweat, walked to the sidelines, and picked up a water bottle.

He tilted his head back and gulped down several mouthfuls of water, which dripped from his chin onto the floor.

His gaze unconsciously swept towards the audience seats. His mother, Chen Lan, was sitting in the third row, wearing that familiar beige dress, smiling gently at him.

But the seat next to me was empty.

Rowan wiped his face with his jersey and squeezed the water bottle so hard it made a cracking sound.

He knew his brother was in London preparing for the Premier League, but deep down he couldn't help but hope that tall figure would suddenly appear at the tunnel entrance, just like back in Monaco's stadium, and shout at him, "Seriously, this is the sport you should be playing, don't waste your talent."

There was a man wearing a Real Madrid football training kit on the sidelines.

I gave him a thumbs up.

The Real Madrid basketball youth academy kids suddenly screamed – it was Morientes!

He walked up to Rowan, smiled, and ruffled his hair: "If your brother saw that basket-picking moment, he'd be green with envy."

Luo Wen lowered his head shyly, his shoe tips rubbing against the floor.

He certainly knows Morientes. Last year, he and Roy were strike partners who swept across Europe and won the treble in Monaco. Morientes was the Champions League Silver Boot winner.

Another man wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses also came down from the stands.

Raul patted Morientes on the shoulder and winked at Rowan: "Kid, you'd better work hard to prove the strength of Real Madrid's youth academy. Don't lose to your brother who hangs out with the English."

As soon as Luo Wen pressed the answer button, he heard his brother Luo Yi's familiar voice coming from the other end of the phone.

"Hey kid, I heard you crushed the U12 college team today? Your shooting is still as beautiful as ever."

Roy's voice was tinged with laughter, but it quickly turned serious again:
“Listen, Real Madrid’s youth academy is a great place. I came from La Fabrica. You have to remember that talent is just the beginning. After training every day, practice shooting for an extra half hour. Don’t be like those lazy guys. There are no shortcuts to becoming a professional athlete. Also, listen to the coaches. They may be strict, but every word they say is helpful. The harsher they scold you, the more they value you.”

"Don't rush to show off; focus on mastering the fundamentals first. When I was at La Fabrica, I practiced two hundred extra shots every day without fail. You're still young, but you need to develop good habits now. Focus on mastering the fundamentals first, and stop trying to show off. You also need to practice your defense diligently; in professional matches, being able to defend against opponents is the real skill. Oh, and remember to protect your knees; don't skip the ice."

Finally, his tone softened: "I'll come to Madrid to see you when I have time. If you do well, I'll take you to America to meet your idol, Kobe."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone before Luo Wen's soft voice came through: "I understand."

(End of this chapter)