When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 21 Pets Keeped by Nobles? (Please Read On!)

In the stands, Francis Caggia looked at his scouting notes, recalling how he used to tell Wenger with certainty, "We must try to sign him."

This notebook is at least half full of messy handwriting, repeatedly demonstrating the player's potential from various angles.

Kajigao has his own three principles for on-site scouting: observe the target player in at least three full games; focus on performance under adversity, such as the team's reaction when behind; and interview two to three former coaches and teammates.

But now there are only a few thin pages on it, and Kajigao wrote on the latest page.

"Sign him."

He stared at the seats in front of him with a hostile look.

The Englishman sitting there had a grizzly buzz cut, and his receding hairline seemed to indicate for whom he worked.

His leaden-gray eyes were filled with the same look that the player's wife had complained about, saying, "He looks at my husband like he's an animal."

Amid the commotion of the crowd, Kagiga straightened up and immediately noticed a special note that Manchester United's chief scout, Jim Lawler, had just written in his notebook: "Faster reaction time than Van Nistelrooy, more daring to break through than Giggs."

The Stade Louis II still has too few seats, and most Monaco fans hold their own season tickets, so the area for individual tickets is mostly concentrated on this side.

"Want to grab a whiskey tonight?"

Someone patted Kagiga on the back. Like a mantis stalking a cicada, unaware of the oriole behind, Newcastle scout Carlos Sinclair looked at Kagiga with a mocking gaze.

He then pointed to several people nearby, some looking up at the game, others lost in thought.

Look at that curly black hair, he looks like an Italian.

“That’s Antonio Romano, from Turin. And over there, there’s that one too.”

Sinclair pointed to two people some distance apart and bumped fists with them: "Sergio Batistini of Milan and Del Piero Ausilio of Inter Milan."

"Milan Derby!"

Kajiga muttered.

“His playing style overlaps with Henry’s. I think he’s a better fit with Shearer. What do you think?”

Do you deserve it?
"Damn it! I felt like your sparring partner tonight!"

Monaco ultimately thrashed Auxerre 6-1.

Shortly after Roy was substituted, Rothen assisted Giuly to score.

Shabani Nonda scored the final goal before the end of the match.

In the noisy locker room, Roy smiled and held up the game ball for his teammates to sign.

This was the first hat-trick of his career, and afterwards he asked the referee for the match ball.

Giuly was signing a soccer ball with a marker, smiling as he spoke.

Rothen jumped onto a chair with two bottles of champagne, took a sip from one, and tried to pour the other over Roy's head, yelling, "How long has it been since we lost?!"

The champagne was poured crookedly, splashing onto many people and drawing a barrage of curses.

"A team capable of winning Ligue 1 wouldn't be so petty. Guess what? We're going to play in the Champions League in the second half of the year! This is to help you get used to the pressure of the Champions League in advance!"

Element detection, Roy's pupils trembled.

The Champions League and champagne together create such a wonderful chemistry!

Before signing, Pulso chuckled and pulled out some truffle chocolates from his hometown from his locker, stuffing them into Roy's mouth: "Energy boost, Croatian secret recipe."

When it was Shabani Nonda's turn, his expression was somewhat complicated. After hesitating for a few seconds, he showed a relieved expression and scored the team's last goal after coming on as a substitute.

Nonda continues to prove he has a consistent finishing ability, but he also knows he can't deliver those devastating goal-scoring performances.

"I will not give up the competition!"

Nonda said, then used a marker to write his blessing on the soccer ball.

"Félicitations na match na yo!" (Congratulations on your match!)
He was speaking Lingara, a language popular in the Congo River basin, and after thinking for a moment, he added another sentence.

“Nzambe akopesa yo makasi mpe bolamu!” (May God grant you strength and good fortune!)

After finishing writing, Shabani turned and walked away.

Coubillier and Rothen were spraying each other with bottles of liquor, accidentally injuring Deschamps' suit.

The head coach took a deep breath and calmly said, "Deduct it from your bonuses."

Then another person appeared behind him.

Monaco President Jean-Louis Campora.

Power and the ravages of time have sculpted the portrait of this Mediterranean tyrant, with a pair of cold, hawk-like gray eyes hidden beneath his grey eyebrows, thin, pale lips, and two gold teeth that gleam when he smiles.

His iron-gray slicked-back hair was neatly combed, and although his hairline had receded year by year, he still exuded an air of authority.

He wore a navy blue double-breasted suit with a solid gold lining embroidered with the Monaco royal coat of arms, and a copper ring engraved with the club's coat of arms on his left hand, with a piece missing from his little finger.

This is the mark of his hard work and struggle to rise from the bottom.

"May I have the honor of speaking a few words with our young genius alone?"

As he walked out of the locker room with Roy's back in his arms, Campora's hidden ruthless aura vanished in an instant.

His portrait has completely transformed him into a warm and kind elder, with even the lines at the corners of his eyes forming benevolent ravines when he smiles, each one seemingly hiding a story.

When I was your age...

Grandpa.

His husky, warm voice, like a narrative poem by a fireplace, was such a classic opening line before the story began.

Roy listened quietly, behaving like a well-behaved and sensible junior.

"We were so careless, really."

Campora's gaze was slightly lowered, as if she had developed a habit of bending down to listen to her child speak.

“I only knew you were Castilla’s young prodigy, the best young player. I didn’t know you had such a historic level of talent. We offered you an insulting salary contract.”

He eventually steered the conversation to Roy's contract renewal. "Now is the time for the club to correct this mistake! When will we sit down and have a proper talk with your agent, Mr. Migliaccio, about how we can compensate you for your outstanding performance in terms of salary?"

Roy decided to act like a naive and warm-hearted big boy.

"Mr. Chairman, Grandpa, may I address you as such?"

Campora's eyes lit up.

“My mother taught me from a young age to only accept compensation that is commensurate with the value of my labor.”

“I only received a high school education and I don’t have much education.”

Roy gave an innocent smile.

"I refuse such a favor until I help Monaco win the Ligue 1 title!"

"Roy, look here!"

"Is the locker room conflict true?"

"Can you say a few words to the Chinese fans?!"

The reporters in the front row had their recording pens almost poking Roy's chin, making him look like a group of miniature soldiers holding weapons.

The red indicator light of the camera flashed in the darkness, the lens was so close, the security guards spread their arms like football linebackers, but the tall, thin reporter from France Football crawled under his armpits, the microphone of RMC radio was elbowed and emitted a piercing whistle, the notebook of an old reporter from L'Équipe was knocked to the ground, and the intern of a local Monaco tabloid was pushed against the wall.

Roy was pushed to the corner, his back pressed against the club's logo wall, like a deer being hunted by flashing lights.

His left ear heard L'Équipe asking about "transfer rumors," while his right ear was filled with Canal+'s "What is the meaning of the celebration gesture?"

After the initial excitement of becoming a celebrity wore off, he began to dislike the excessive attention he received, and he knew that this situation would only intensify.

Fame can sometimes be like a walled city.

After proving their strength, the questions in the mixed zone after the match tend to be even more provocative.

Because vultures will not linger near antelopes that have no wounds.

"Roy, you scored a hat-trick at 18, but after your second goal you completely ignored Deschamps' tactical gestures. Do you think you can ignore the coach now?"

Roy frowned.

"The coach's hand gestures are too complicated. As a newbie, I can only understand the instruction 'kick the ball in'."

"Actually, Deschamps just told me to focus on making forward runs. (whispering) Can this be broadcast?"

"Is the conflict between you and Shabani true? There are reports that you two had a fight in the locker room. Did this really happen, and what was the reason? Was it competition for positions, a clash of personalities, or racial issues? Why did Deschamps substitute you instead of Pulso? Was it because you couldn't coexist on the field?"

Roy reached out and gently pushed away the microphone that was too close, his tone unfriendly.

"We have no conflict! We've never fought! That's my answer. If you have any information, you should perhaps inquire further with your sources, but as one of the main characters in your story, I have absolutely no knowledge of it. Who plays is the coach's decision. As for coexistence... let me think about who assisted Shabani's goal in the match against Rennes."

He turned his head and smiled: "You know, half a month is really too long!"

"Before the match, Auxerre fans called you 'a pet kept by nobles.' Were your crazy goals today meant to shut them up? And were your celebration gestures a response to provocation?"

"I didn't know about this before the match, but I found out during the next match."

"Do you have anything to say to the local Monaco fans? Will you stay in Monaco after the summer transfer window?"

Finally, the Monaco tabloid intern who had been squeezed into a corner got a chance to be interviewed. Roy quickly glanced at him and frowned.

What kind of young intern would wear a Chanel tweed jacket with a team scarf?
Using a Gucci notebook.

Her dark chestnut hair was thick and messy, her eyes were blue-gray, and her skin was a light honey color from the Mediterranean sun. Her upper lip was thinner than her lower lip, which looked mocking in her natural state, but at this moment she unconsciously bit her lower lip with her canine teeth.

"I don't know, but I appreciate the excited cheers they give me after every goal I score; I love it."

Roy wore a formulaic smile.

He even felt that the girl was underage and it was hard to be sure.

However, Europeans and Americans tend to look older, so if you have this question, then she is most likely an older woman.

"Will you stay after the summer transfer window?"

The intern's bright, blue-gray eyes asked expectantly.

“I have no reason to leave unless something happens that I cannot predict.”

Roy chuckled, but the young intern opposite him clearly only heard the first half of the sentence.

"Do you dare swear to stay with the team?"

"I swear I'll never serve British food again in the club cafeteria!"

He told a joke that Gauls would like to hear.

The girl was amused.

"One last question, could you please sign your name?"

She revealed her true colors.

Roy smiled and gestured for the girl to hand him the pen; he saw that the notebook was blank.

"I thought the news should emphasize neutrality, and reporters wouldn't wear team scarves that reflected their stance."

Charlotte Cassiraki smiled; she perfectly inherited Grace Kelly's bone structure and Rainier III's roguish charm.

"A journalist's responsibility is not to be a mirror, but a prism. To honestly reflect one's own perspective, rather than pretending not to have one."

This quote is likely adapted from Walter Cronkite, host of the CBS Evening News and a symbol of the "Golden Age of Journalism" in the United States: "The news is not a mirror, but a prism."

Is this what aristocratic education is like?

He had a rough idea of ​​what was going on and decided to get as little involved with them as possible.

He didn't want to become a 'pet kept by the nobility'.

(End of this chapter)