When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 266 Summer 2005
Bridge swiped the room key to open the cabin door, and was immediately greeted by a strong scent of perfume and rapid breathing.

Terry was shirtless, pinning Vanessa down on the bed. Her skirt was pulled up to her waist, and her black underwear was hanging loosely on her ankles.

The sheets were crumpled up, and the pillow was on the floor.

As Bridge stood frozen at the doorway, Vanessa's red-nailed hand was still gripping Terry's back.

John, I'm going to fucking kill you!!

Bridge's eyes were bloodshot, and he let out a roar as he swung his fist and lunged forward.

Before Terry could react, he took a solid punch to the cheekbone and staggered off the bed.

Vanessa screamed, grabbed the sheet, wrapped herself in it, and shrank into the corner.

Terry wiped the blood from his nose and was about to get up to fight back when Bridge grabbed his hair and punched him twice more.

Terry's temples bulged with veins, just as he was about to retaliate.

"What's going on? What's going on? Where's the wine I asked you to get? It's in this room."

Roy strolled in with his hands in his pockets and grabbed Bridge's raised wrist.

He glanced at Terry, whose face was covered in blood, then at Vanessa, who was trembling like a leaf, and suddenly laughed: "Calm down, if you're going to fight, wait until you've put your pants back on."

Bridge struggled desperately between Roy's arms, but his 178cm tall, 77kg frame was now completely immobilized.

His face turned bright red, and he was cursing incoherently, having completely lost his mind.

When Terry saw Roy come in, he was about to explain something, or try to slip away through the door.

Before he could even speak, Roy punched him in the face, knocking him back onto the bed.

Terry's vision went black, and his head began to buzz.

Vanessa let out a piercing scream and curled up in the sheets, trembling.

Terry's burly body swayed; the force of that punch had almost knocked him unconscious. He eventually collapsed onto the edge of the bed, too weak to even stand up.

"Everyone, calm down."

Roy flicked his wrist, his tone eerily calm.

"Roy! What the hell is it to you?"

Terry roared, blood still trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Roy didn't answer, but simply closed the door behind him.

"Did I tell you beforehand? What did I tell you? Are you treating my words like they're nothing?"

Bridge roared, "What did you say?!"

Roy stared at Terry, his voice cold and hard: "I'm telling you, stop messing around outside. The rumors circulating within the team are outrageous. Does my word as captain mean I'm no longer valid?"

"Or are you only satisfied when the media has spread this all over Europe? Guess how the FA will handle it: sponsors withdrawing their funding, bans, removal from the national team. Do you fucking think you can handle this mess yourself?"

"The team is in the news for being penalized, and the whole Premier League is laughing at them. And you, hiding on a yacht messing around with Wayne's woman? What a man. Look at the kind of people Chelsea have now, and you still manage to do something like this at a time like this."

Terry's face turned deathly pale, and cold sweat streamed down his temples.

The initial desire was completely extinguished by fear, and the big head regained control of the small head.

He knew better than anyone that if things escalated, not only would his position on the national team be gone, but his entire professional career could be over.

On the other side, although Bridge clenched his fists, his breathing visibly paused when he heard the words "all of Britain knows".

He certainly wanted to cripple Terry on the spot, but the thought of those tabloid headlines, the mocking memes on social media, and the endless pointing fingers in the locker room suddenly suppressed his anger with a colder sense of reality.

Vanessa, on the other hand, was just trying to hook up with a new guy. She originally wanted to hook up with Roy, but ended up getting involved with Terry by some twist of fate.

Now things are really messed up. He didn't catch the rich guy, and instead, he ran into Bridge. Forget about making money, he's now in trouble even if he gets out unscathed.

The three of them were completely blank, still reeling from the chaos.

Roy suddenly laughed, his voice calm to the point of being cold:
"This matter today must not be spread outside this room; that's my intention."

He looked around, his gaze sweeping over everyone. "Who agrees? Who disagrees?"

There was dead silence in the room.

Terry's face turned pale, Bridge gritted his teeth, and Vanessa's fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the sheets.

Fear, humiliation, anger, scheming—various emotions alternated wildly on their faces.

But in the end, no one dared to say a word.

Roy nodded: "If there are no objections, we can proceed to the next step."

"first."

Roy stared at Vanessa, his voice low, "You need to learn to shut up. Not a single word about tonight's events—who you were with, where you were, what happened—is allowed to leak out. Of course, you'll get your hush money. When the ship docks in Sevastopol, a lawyer will be waiting for you with the agreement; the amount will definitely satisfy you."

He paused, then turned to look at Terry.

"Secondly, if I were Wayne, you'd be dead by now. This is all your fault, so you have to give me an explanation. An apology, compensation, you can't have it all."

"The hush money for this woman and the compensation for Wayne, both of these payments will come out of your account. John, you'd better get this straight, or the day after tomorrow the front page of The Sun will have a picture of you naked, holding the Three Lions team flag, and that will be the last picture of your national team career."

Terry, Vanessa, and Bridge were stunned. Roy offered the fastest solution in the coldest way possible.

Vanessa never expected that she would still get paid after all this.

Bridge's chest heaved violently, and veins bulged on his forehead. Being offered money to get rid of him was more infuriating than being beaten up.

Terry stared at Roy's raised finger, his jaw tightening; that amount was enough to buy a Ferrari.

“I will provide limited confidentiality; there’s someone else who needs to know. Don’t forget whose yacht this is. Abramovich hates scandals. You’ve all heard how the Russians handle trouble.”

Abramovich's name terrified everyone.

Roy glanced at their pale faces and continued casually, "Alright, now let's talk about how to pay this money."

"This money will be deposited into a trust fund in the Cayman Islands, on the condition that it will be paid to you in monthly installments as 'advisory fees' for ten years."

"But there's a hidden problem in the agreement."

"As long as any media outlet publishes a related report, even if you did not actively disclose it, the fund will be automatically frozen, and any payments already made will be recovered as 'fraud compensation'."

"Moreover, if you breach the contract, you will be liable for the losses of all the 'guests' on this yacht, including but not limited to Terry's endorsement breach penalty and Bridge's emotional distress compensation. I won't go into mine, this matter will not cause me any loss, but I am more expensive than all of them."

Vanessa blinked, looking confused, clearly not fully understanding the situation.

Roy suddenly adopted a gentle tone, even with a reassuring smile:

“Listen, this is the most dignified solution we can come up with. After all, we are all French, you understand.”

He glanced in Terry and Bridge's direction, then lowered his voice and continued:
"As you've seen, the British are barbaric, and the Russians will be even less polite about this money. This money is John's payment for sleeping with you. Of course he's willing to pay, unless he wants to pack his bags and get out of the England team tomorrow."

"And you? All you have to do is nod, take the money and leave, then forget about tonight forever."

Roy turned to Bridge:
“Wayne, I know you want to take action. But what good will killing them do? At least now you see what kind of people these two are. If you keep causing trouble, you'll only ruin your own future.”

"Impulsiveness is the revenge of the weak, while a wise person knows when to stop. How much are your reputation and career worth? It's not worth wasting them on this kind of rubbish."

Roy gave Terry a final look, his tone laced with warning and exhaustion:
"John, this is the last time. If you have any objections, say them now."

Terry gritted his teeth and remained silent.

Roy suddenly grabbed an ice bucket and smashed it at his feet: "Don't fucking make me clean up your ass, you bastard! Now you're even sleeping with your teammates' women? Next time, are you going to sleep with Wenger?"

Terry looked grim, but he eventually turned to Bridge and forced out a dry, "I'm sorry, Wayne. I was a jerk for this."

Then he quickly added, "Roy is in charge."

The three argued for a few more minutes before Roy yanked open the door, shoved Bridge out, and patted him on the shoulder: "Brother, calm down."

When only the two of them were left in the room, Terry remained silent for a long time before finally whispering, "Thanks, Roy."

Roy stood by the window, looking at the night outside, and after a few seconds replied calmly, "It's nothing. It's what the captain should do."

This scandal, which was enough to shake the Premier League, was forcibly suppressed.

Each of the three parties had its own calculations, and in the end, they tacitly chose to remain silent.

On May 13, 2005, Dutch football star Robin van Persie, who played for Arsenal, was detained by Dutch police.

Dutch prosecutor De Graaf confirmed to the media that the Arsenal striker was formally arrested on Monday evening on suspicion of rape.

According to prosecutors, the rape occurred last weekend.

Dutch police issued an arrest warrant for Robin van Persie on Monday.

According to Dutch law, Van Persie will be detained for three days for investigation.

He will be released if the prosecution is unable to bring formal charges within three days.

The case is still under investigation.

The Dutch international, who had just begun to make a name for himself, has suddenly become embroiled in a major legal dispute, drawing widespread attention in the football world.

As the investigation deepened, Van Persie admitted for the first time to having a relationship with the accused woman, Sandra, at a hotel, but vehemently denied rape.

The two met at a nightclub in Rotterdam. Sandra initially only revealed her name, but it was later revealed by the British media to be that she is Sandra Boma Gigligesman, a 21-year-old beauty queen of mixed Hungarian and African descent.

Sandra refuted media reports of her being a "stripper," emphasizing that the allegations were for justice, not money. Pageant organizers at the time described her as "of good character and not a fraudster."

Her lawyer stated that Sandra was outraged by Van Persie's team's "stigmatization of the victim," and said that DNA testing would prove the truth.

Van Persie's lawyer argued that the rape charge against Van Persie was unfounded, stating that he could neither prove nor deny whether Van Persie had a sexual relationship with Sandra, but the plaintiff's rape accusation was unconvincing.

Van Persie's Moroccan wife, Bauchira, also vowed that she would not leave him, saying, "The alleged rape allegations are complete fabrications and lies, and I have absolute trust in Van Persie."

Meanwhile, Roy was entertaining his entourage at his private estate in Crimea.

Everyone present acted as if nothing had happened.

Although Rothen vaguely sensed that something was wrong, he didn't know the specifics.

Roy had no intention of revealing the truth to him.

The two had a tacit understanding: Rothen held a stake in Roy's business empire and received a considerable share of the profits every year.

This shared interest ensured that he would never speak out of turn, much less inquire about things he shouldn't know.

Roy, with his arm around his girlfriend Cheryl, smiled as he filled Vanessa's glass with champagne, raising it to say, "Wishing everyone good health."

Vanessa forced a smile and raised her glass.

At this moment, she felt that this fellow Frenchman might really be a gentleman, at least much more polite than the Russian she had spoken to on the phone yesterday.

The voice on the other end of the phone calmly recited the address of her Paris apartment, her mother's medical records, and even the scandalous affair between her and the fifty-something-year-old editor-in-chief in a hotel suite in order to win the cover of Paris Match.

He ended by saying only, "I wish you good health, madam."

Then he hung up.

Parties were held regularly at the estate, with champagne and laughter masking all possible secrets.

The vacation ended abruptly, and the group flew directly back to London from Ukraine.

Immediately afterwards, they attended Lampard's 27th birthday party.

The other players have a long vacation ahead of them, but they'll be busy in July, starting with training camps and then an Asian tour, playing commercial matches in Hong Kong, mainland China, South Korea, and Japan.

After that, they still need to prepare for the Community Shield match against Arsenal as a warm-up for the new Premier League season.

The transfer market is also bustling.

Parker refused to go to Tottenham, almost leading to a lawsuit between Chelsea and Tottenham.

However, things took a turn for the better on May 21st when Chelsea midfielder Joe Cole agreed to a transfer to Tottenham, with the agreed transfer fee being around £10 million. At the same time, Tottenham decided to withdraw their appeal against Chelsea for alleged violations. This concession meant that Chelsea's points deduction for the new season could be reduced from the original 15 points to 9, greatly easing the club's pressure in the title race.

Roy took his girlfriend to the United States, ostensibly for work, but it was more like a vacation.

He had to film Coca-Cola commercials, participate in Nike promotional events, and handle one or two charity commercial appearances.

I managed to steal a moment from my busy schedule to watch the Spurs vs. Pistons NBA Finals game at Spurs' home court.

Roy stared at the timer above the arena, watching the Spurs dismantle the Pistons' ironclad defense with textbook team basketball.

Parker's girlfriend was shouting loudly beside him; these VIP tickets were specially prepared for him by Parker.

With 8 minutes and 22 seconds left in the fourth quarter, veteran Horry made a cold-blooded three-pointer that pierced the net.

Just as the Pistons' Rasheed Wallace responded with two points, the Spurs unleashed their killer move.

Horry missed a three-pointer, Duncan grabbed the offensive rebound and passed it to Bowen in the corner, who made a swift shot.

When the point difference widened to 6 points, Roy noticed that the Pistons players started frequently touching their knees.

The real turning point came in the last three minutes.

Duncan drew a double team, then flicked his wrist to pass to the open Ginobili.

The moment the Argentine hit the three-pointer, Roy stood up and applauded along with the entire audience.

This pass reminded him of his perfect assist to Maicon in the Champions League final.

With 35 seconds left, Ginobili made a fast break layup to seal the victory.

When the final buzzer sounded, Roy whistled and said to his girlfriend, "See, that's why Duncan deserves a max contract."

2005年NBA总决赛第七场，马刺在主场以81-74战胜活塞，夺得队史第三座总冠军奖杯（此前于1999年、2003年夺冠）。

Despite a tenacious effort that forced a Game 7, the Pistons failed to defend their title.

Duncan made all five of his free throws in this game, contributing 25 points, 11 rebounds and 3 assists, and was named Finals MVP.

This 1997 number one draft pick has won three championships and three Finals MVPs in his eighth season in the NBA. His championship efficiency is comparable to that of historical legends. Magic Johnson took 6 years to achieve three championships, Bird took 7 years, and Jordan took 10 years.

After the game, the Spurs began celebrating their championship victory.

Roy, invited by Parker, walked onto the field. Although Americans are not very familiar with football, the appearance of this 20-year-old who had won the Champions League twice and was a rising star in the football world still caused a sensation.

Before the game, the Spurs officially promoted the game, saying that Roy and Parker had a "championship pact": if they won the championship together, they would celebrate together.

Now that promise has been fulfilled, after all, Roy just led Chelsea to victory over AC Milan in Istanbul and lifted the Champions League trophy.

After the game, Parker told reporters, "Roy is the future king of football. The man you are seeing now is unprecedented in the history of any sport's rookie season. Basketball, football, tennis... all combined! Two seasons, two trebles, a European Championship, all that's missing is the World Cup. He is the pride of France."

"My brother Roy gave me a lot of motivation today. Ten years from now, his status in football will be like Jordan's in basketball. There's no doubt about that."

In an interview, Roy spoke highly of Parker and the Spurs: "Tony (Parker)'s performance was amazing, and the Spurs are a true championship team."

He specifically mentioned Duncan: "I watch NBA games often, and Tim Duncan is undoubtedly the greatest power forward in history. His dominance, leadership, and humility have defined the highest standard in the sport."

At an NBA game, Brad Pitt saw Roy and came over to greet him.

He asked Roy if he had come to the United States to film a Coca-Cola commercial, since Coca-Cola had just bought the adaptation rights to "Mr. & Mrs. Smith," starring Roy and Angelina Jolie, and planned to use the film's popularity for publicity.

Angelina Jolie, standing next to Brad Pitt, pursed her red lips and chimed in, "Who's the female lead?"

Scarlett

Brad Pitt nodded and chuckled, adding, "That girl is definitely hot."

In front of the television, 16-year-old Kevin Durant tilted his head back and gulped down a large mouthful of cola, letting out a satisfied burp.

Footage of the Spurs' championship celebration flashed on the screen, and the boy stared at Duncan holding the Finals MVP trophy, unconsciously tightening his grip on the Pepsi can in his hand.

Before flying to Atlanta, Roy had been involved in the early planning stages of the Coca-Cola advertisement.

During the script discussion meeting, he directly voiced his opposition: "The traditional 007-style agent is too outdated, and the audience has long stopped buying into it."

He suggested adopting a more detached and realistic style, similar to the clean and efficient killer image in the later "John Wick" (although the film had not yet been released at the time).

The Coca-Cola creative team adopted his suggestion and completely overturned the original script.

The new advertising style has completely changed direction:
The protagonist is no longer a dashing agent, but a taciturn assassin.

All action scenes strive for realism, without any flashy turns or gunshots.

Every bullet hit the head with pinpoint accuracy, the pace was clean and efficient.

Even the product placement of cola has become more hardcore.

The plot is as follows: A top-secret Coca-Cola convoy is attacked in Atlanta, and all the evidence at the scene points to retired assassin Roy.

Rumors circulated on the black market that he had stolen the formula, and assassins from all over the world flocked to him, eager to take his head for the bounty.

While evading his pursuers, "Roy" searches for the truth to prove his innocence.

Top female assassin "Scarlett" is tasked with taking his life.

In the dead of night at an Atlanta convenience store, Scarlett kicks open the door and fires.

Roy rolled over and hid behind the shelf, grabbed a can of Coke and threw it at the shelf.

The two fought hand-to-hand in the narrow aisle. Scarlett's high heel kicked Roy in the knee, and he grabbed her wrist and pressed it against the cash register despite the pain.

Then comes the familiar American-style scumbag boyfriend melodrama.

You lied to me three years ago!

Scarlett suddenly strangled Roy with a steel wire rope and pinned him against the freezer.

Just as Roy was about to suffocate, she suddenly kissed him fiercely.

Roy, panting heavily with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, suddenly grinned slyly: "Do you know how much the Coca-Cola formula is worth? It's in that bottle cap in my pocket. We can split it in half."

His fingers twitched slightly, as if he wanted to reach into his pocket, but Scarlett's knee held him still.

Scarlett grabbed Roy by the collar and reached into his pocket with her other hand.

Her fingertips touched the cold metal bottle cap, and she pulled it out abruptly. All that was printed on it was the Coca-Cola slogan, "Make It Real."

"You fool me?"

She punched Roy in the stomach.

Roy arched his back in pain, but suddenly headbutted her in the chin.

As Scarlett staggered backward, Roy pounced on her, pinned her to the ground, and tied her wrists with a broken power cord.

He said, panting, "If the formula were that easy to find, Coca-Cola would have gone bankrupt long ago."

Scarlett struggled to look up at him and glared: "Then why don't you just kill me?"

Suddenly, the convenience store glass shattered, and four or five armed assassins rushed in, bullets flying everywhere.

Roy cursed and quickly untied the wire from Scarlett's hand.

Scarlett cracked her knuckles, then suddenly flipped over and pulled a dagger from her boot: "We'll settle this score later."

The next 60 seconds turned into a bloody massacre:

Scarlett slid in and took down the nearest man in black, her dagger slicing precisely across his throat.

Roy grabbed the fallen pistol and fired two shots into the second assassin's chest. The third bullet blew the man's skull off.

As the third assassin raised his gun and aimed, Scarlett had already flipped onto his back, wrapped her legs around his neck, and twisted them sharply.

Roy then grabbed a glass bottle from the shelf and smashed it in the face of the last person.

When the sirens came from afar, all that remained in the convenience store were spent shell casings, broken glass, and several pools of blood spreading.

Scarlett suddenly turned around, raised the gun, and pressed it directly against Roy's temple.

Roy slowly raised his hands, and that cynical smile returned to his lips:

"Hey, baby. Give me a chance."

He blinked. "Just for the kids who might never get to drink authentic Coke again?"

Scarlett picked up a submachine gun from the corpse and tossed it to Roy: "Lead the way."

The two arrived at an abandoned laboratory, and Roy mixed a Coke according to the recipe on the bottle cap.

Scarlett took a sip and immediately spat it out: "Too much sugar, it's fake."

Roy's smile vanished, his eyes suddenly sharpening: "Now, we need to find that damn real formula. Otherwise, tomorrow all the Coke in the world will turn into sugar water."

Scarlett was silent for a moment, then suddenly headbutted him, but this time she didn't retaliate.

The two fought their way into the villain's lair, switching to fists and kicks when they ran out of bullets, and finally stormed into the core room where the formula was stored.

Scarlett ripped the USB drive out of the computer; it still had a label that read "Coca-Cola Secret Recipe" on it.

On the rooftop, she tossed the USB drive to Roy: "Got the stuff. What are you going to do with it?"

Scarlett approached from behind and wrapped her arms around Roy's waist.

Her voice came from close to Roy's back: "Want to take a gamble?"

She tightened her arms, the warmth of her chest seeping through her shirt. "This formula is worth billions of dollars, enough for us to buy an unnamed island and disappear."

Roy walked to the vending machine in the corner of the rooftop, inserted a coin, pressed the button, and a can of cold cola rolled out.

He pulled the tab with one hand, and a layer of water droplets immediately condensed on the surface of the aluminum can.

"The real recipe"

He unzipped a can of ice-cold Coke, tilted his head back, and took a swig. "It's always been here."

The two sat back to back on the edge of the rooftop, with bullet casings and empty Coke cans scattered at their feet.

In the distance, a huge red "Coke" neon sign lit up the night sky over downtown Atlanta.

"The formula isn't anywhere else, it's in every drop of Coke."

After filming ended at the end of June, Roy's assistant, Heathlen, handed him the itinerary: "Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock, we're flying directly to Hong Kong. The Chelsea Asia tour schedule can't be changed."

Heathlen then handed over the vibrating cell phone: "It's Miss Bertrand on the phone."

Roy held the phone to his ear, and immediately heard the cacophony of loudspeakers and Cantonese hawking from the streets of Hong Kong.

"boss?"

Claire's broken Cantonese cut through the noise: "Nei hai Hong Kong hou sau fun jing ga! (You're really popular in Hong Kong!)"

The background noise suddenly erupted into laughter from the crowd, clearly indicating that her hastily learned Cantonese had made the staff on site burst into laughter.

On the other end of the phone, a business partner was correcting the pronunciation: "It's hou sau fun jing, not ho sao."

"Stop making sarcastic remarks. Miss Bertrand is French, and her Cantonese is already quite good. Don't be so rude."

Roy hung up the phone, and Heathlen reminded him, "You promised to treat Scarlett to dinner after filming wrapped."

Roy rubbed his temples: "Has Cheryl left yet?"

The assistant nodded: "They flew to Manchester last night, and there's a performance tonight."

As soon as he said it, Roy gave a self-deprecating smirk.

It's just a simple farewell meal, why be so guilty?

(Sorry for the lack of recent updates)
(End of this chapter)