When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 79 How could he not even be willing to celebrate?!
The moment the locker room door closed, Roy slammed his hand heavily on the wardrobe, the metal door making a dull thud.

"Bros!"

His voice was clear and bright, “These 45 minutes are enough for the Japanese to remember for twenty years!”

Roy slowly sat down on the bench, stretching his legs out and gently tapping his knees with his fingers.
Like a young lion surveying its territory.

A faint smile played on his lips, and his voice, though not loud, was clear enough:
"We played fantasticly in the first half! Didn't we? Huh?!"

The finger suddenly stopped.

"I want to thank all of you for helping me score three goals!"

"Fabian, you didn't even break a sweat when you made the save, did you secretly apply Vaseline?"

The locker room erupted in laughter.

Butters paused suddenly as he was drying his bald head with a towel, his eyebrows shot up, and his lips twitched in a half-smile.

This kid actually thanked me first?

"Robert, your Cruyff turn! Nakata Koji is still spinning around!"

Pire shrugged elegantly, took a sip of mineral water, but glanced sideways at Roy through the bottom of the bottle.

He was quite respectful of the rules and didn't take all the credit for himself.

"William! This is fucking our impregnable fortress!"

Galas' eyebrows twitched suddenly, his mouth twitched first, and then he grinned uncontrollably, revealing two rows of dazzling white teeth, looking just like a Doberman Pinscher that had been suddenly fed a bone.

Suddenly, his left arm gripped Boomson's neck: "Did you hear me, rookie?! I'm the 'Fortress'!"

"Willie, your cross was measured with a ruler! Absolutely incredible!"

Sagnol slapped his thigh hard with a sharp "smack," grinning and showing his big white teeth: "Ha! You know your stuff!"

"Michael, the all-around warrior, truly lives up to his name!"

Sylvester's fingers, which were tying his shoelaces, paused, and when he looked up, his eyes were full of joy.

Roy suddenly turned to Boumsong: "Jean-Allan! Is this really your debut?! That sliding tackle just now, I thought Marcel (Desailly) had possessed him!"

Boumsong smiled, but Desailly was even happier; the veteran captain, who had spent half the game on the bench, finally received the respect he craved.

Then he looked at Dakur and Dabo: "Dakur, Dabo, midfield meat grinders! Don't go too far, I don't want to eat Japanese-flavored meat pies!"

The whole team burst into laughter, and the atmosphere in the locker room instantly exploded.

Roy glanced at Rothen: "Jerome, this is all you should do. Don't expect me to thank you; you didn't even get an assist!"

Rothen threw a towel at him: "Get lost! How many good passes did I make!"

But there was a smile on his lips.

Roy turns to Govou:

"Sidney, don't retaliate. You scared them half to death! I wouldn't have made that cool gesture without you giving me the chance! I'll pass you the ball again in the second half and blast them apart!"

He smiled and paused for a moment. Just as Santini pushed open the door, Roy suddenly raised his voice:
"Let's tear their wounds even bigger in the second half! Do you want to do that? I don't know who the coach will put in—"

He suddenly glanced at Wiltord.

"But whoever it is, he's the toughest guy ever!"

Santini's lips twitched.

Damn it, this kid stole my job?

Henry watched the whole thing with a cold eye, his knuckles clenched so tightly they turned white, and he maintained a textbook-perfect smile, but his facial muscles were stiff.

"Damn it. These lines were supposed to come out of my mouth."

His feelings were complicated at that moment.

First comes anger. "Thank you teammates," "boost morale," and "tactical hints" are usually the captain's prerogative, but now they are being perfectly performed by an 18-year-old kid.

Then came frustration. He tried to come up with a similar message in his mind, but got stuck on the meager vocabulary of “uh, good kick, keep going.”

Finally, the ultimate blow: Pires gives Roy a "you're teachable" smile, and whoever Roy's "mother" is, includes himself sitting on the bench.

Santini is about to make another tactical adjustment.

Before going on the field, his gaze swept among the players, finally settling on Henry, the legendary striker with a cold expression.

The problem is that due to media pressure, he has to play Henry, but he doesn't dare to touch Roy, who scored a hat-trick in the first half.

"Govou! You rest in the second half, let Thierry come on."

Gowu's face immediately showed displeasure; he still wanted to prove himself in the second half.

Henry also has another advantage: as a technically gifted, non-traditional center forward who transitioned from an inside-cutting left winger, he is the kind of finisher who needs to cut inside with the ball.

At Arsenal, Bergkamp indulged him: The Ice Prince once said in an interview that if it were Ljungberg or Wiltord, he would control the ball and wait for them to make their runs.

As for Thierry, he prefers to receive the ball and solve problems himself.

Moreover, he wasn't comfortable playing on the right wing, but the problem is that Roy also prefers to play on the left wing.

Santini looked at Roy, and the two locked eyes for a second.

Roy narrowed his eyes, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips, his voice soft yet clear:
"I'm fine with playing either way."

Pause, obediently cooperate with the coach's instructions.

"But I haven't practiced any offensive routines with Pires."

Santini's pupils contracted slightly; he understood.

I can compromise, but I can't compromise for nothing.

"Replace Govou with Henry on the left! Pires back on the left! Giuly for Rothen! Roy will partner him on the right!"

Santini's chest heaved violently as he realized he had just rattled off all the adjustments in one breath.

His gaze swept across the locker room. Henry's slightly raised eyebrows, Pires' thoughtful nod, and Giuly's sudden straightening of his back—every reaction proved that the decision was gratifyingly correct.

The players walked out of the locker room.

Roy suddenly turned around at the door, his smile dazzlingly bright: "Brothers!"

His voice was like a sword drawn from its sheath, "Let's make the most of the next forty-five minutes—"

The locker room fell silent instantly.

"Make the Japanese forget that the United States dropped atomic bombs on them!"

A beast-like howl erupted instantly.

Even Henry couldn't help but smirk—this bastard, even his provocations are so creative.

Only Wiltord, the troublesome one who always complained, seemed to have lost his backbone, slumped in front of the wardrobe.

When the locker room was empty, he kicked Roy's locker hard.

When Roy stepped back onto the field, the Japanese commentary booth fell into an eerie silence.

The camera slowly zooms in, focusing on his slightly upturned lips—a smile so warm it's almost sunny, like a boy next door waving at you in the park, or a college student asking if a seat is taken in the library.

His eyes were clear and bright, even with a touch of innocence, as if he had just shared a box of chocolates in the locker room, rather than nailing Japanese football to the pillar of shame with three goals.

However, in the eyes of Japanese commentator Minoru Morita, this smile made him feel cold all over, his throat tighten, and he almost suffocated.

Morita Mitsu's voice trembled, and his fingers gripped the microphone tightly:

"Gentlemen, did you see that? That smile."

He swallowed.

"That's not an expression a human being should have."

"His lips are upturned, his eyes are smiling, but look closely—his pupils don't change at all! It's like a mannequin in a shop window suddenly grinning at you!"

Kitazawa Gou lowered his voice considerably, as if afraid that Roy might hear him from halfway around the world:
"Morita-kun, you're right."

"This isn't an ordinary smile; it's the relaxed state of a predator."

"A lion will leisurely lick its lips like this before biting through an antelope's throat."

Morita Mitsu took a deep breath:

This reminds me of the ghost stories I heard when I was a child.

"Legend has it that some non-human beings can wear human skin and mimic human smiles."

"But they will never learn the true 'temperature'."

Kitazawa suddenly slammed his fist on the table and roared:

"Wake up, everyone! This isn't a horror movie!"

"But we must admit—"

"This 18-year-old demon, with the brightest smile, carried out the most brutal massacre, but the Blue Warrior still has a chance to prove his warrior spirit!"

Hidetoshi Nakata touched the back of his neck and found it was sweaty.

Narasaki Masato repeatedly adjusted his gloves, but he still felt uncomfortable with them.

The whistle blows.

In the 59th minute, the air at the Guidance Stadium froze.

French commentator Thierry Rolland's voice suddenly rose eight octaves: "Pedretti! The young man who just came on! Look at this interception! A precise and deadly interception with his left foot, swish! He intercepted Koji Nakata's pass! Turn! A long pass with his right foot! This pass has a deadly spin—"

Japanese commentator Minoru Morita managed to squeeze out broken syllables: "No, don't beg him."

Just three minutes after coming on, Pedretti made a textbook interception.

His outstretched left foot, like a guillotine, precisely intercepted Koji Nakata's cross pass. Then, twisting his waist and abdomen, he delivered a long pass with his right foot that sliced ​​through the air on the field.

The ball, with a strong spin, bounced once on the grass and landed perfectly in Roy's sprint path.

Roland's speech suddenly quickened: "Roy catches the ball! Hidetoshi Nakata pounces! My God! He knocks the Japanese captain flying! Bang! Hidetoshi Nakata looks like he's being hit by a truck while walking down the street—"

Morita Mitsu, her voice trembling with tears, cried out, "Nakata... how could this be? That devil grabbed our captain by the collar and threw him onto the grass!"

Roy chipped the ball to accelerate, his shoulder bumping into Hidetoshi Nakata's chest, and then he twisted to break through.

Hidetoshi Nakata's face was contorted beneath his red hair. He lowered his center of gravity and lunged at Roy, his right hand gripping the hem of Roy's jersey tightly.

But Roy's right leg muscles suddenly tensed up, and Nakata Hidetoshi felt a sudden jolt in his wrist, as if he had grabbed a wild horse.

He was then knocked to the ground.

The momentum of the sprint caused Nakata Hidetoshi to stagger forward two steps, and he finally fell forward in a disheveled manner, his red hair scraping against the grass and covered with grass clippings.

Roland whistled excitedly: "Whoosh—! That outside-of-the-foot pass! Like a laser-guided missile! Perfectly avoiding all interceptions!"

Morita Minoru cried out in despair, "Our defenses have been treated like toys!"

Giuly raised his arm on the right wing to call for the ball, and Roy flicked it gently with the outside of his right foot.

The ball skimmed along the grass for 20 meters, perfectly avoiding the interception range of two defenders.

Giuly doesn't even need to adjust his footing when he receives the ball; he simply sends out a through pass.

The pass sliced ​​through the Japanese defense like a scalpel, passing between Junichi Inamoto's spread legs.

Roy had already accelerated and charged forward. Roland's voice rose sharply: "Scalpel! Scalpel! The Japanese defense is like a cake being sliced ​​open! Look at Inamoto Junichi's expression. The way he looked when he realized he'd been groined was like he'd suddenly discovered a hole in his pants!"

Roy suddenly changed direction and accelerated, his cleats shattering the grass.

His movement slowed down Keisuke Tsuboi's oncoming sliding tackle by a moment, and his spikes grazed Roy's heel.

Miyamoto Tsuneyasu and Endo Yasuhiro formed a pincer movement, and the space between the three was rapidly shrinking.

Just as the encirclement was about to close in, Roy gently pushed the ball forward two meters with his right foot.

This seemingly simple touch caused the ball to just glide past Miyamoto Tsuneyasu's outstretched toes.

Morita Minoru completely broke down: "Three people! Three people couldn't stop him! Is he playing soccer or driving a race car?!"

The force of Roy's second acceleration sent grass clippings flying. Endo Yasuhiro's intercepting leg was still hanging in mid-air when Roy had already whizzed past him.

Roland mimicked an engine sound: "Vroom—! Second acceleration! The grass is screaming! Ladies and gentlemen, I declare this murder, premeditated murder!"

"But this is an international criminal case!!!"

Narasaki Seigo abandoned the goal and his attack route blocked the near corner.

Roy's two consecutive stepovers completely disrupted the goalkeeper's balance—first, he feinted with his left foot, then quickly flicked the ball with his right foot to change direction.

Morita Minoru's voice trembled: "Narasaki-kun, hold on! No! Don't ride the bike! His knees will—"

Narasaki Seigo's knees made a sound of strain during the sudden stop and turn, and he eventually collapsed near the penalty spot.

Roland's voice shifted from solemn to mocking: "The Japanese goalkeeper is kneeling. That's a perfect pose for a marriage proposal, but unfortunately, the object of his affections is Death himself!"

Keisuke Tsuboi, who was covering, made a diving block, but Roy's shooting motion suddenly turned into a dribbling motion.

He pulled the ball half a meter to the side with the sole of his right foot, and Keisuke Tsuboi's sliding tackle only hit a wisp of air.

The last defender's studs grazed Roy's ankle, but Roy had already adjusted his footing.

Morita Minoru nearly broke down in tears: "Horizontal pull, spike... this is... this is us being used as training posts!"

When he volleyed the ball with the outside of his right foot, the dull thud of his shoe hitting the ball was clearly audible.

The ball, with a strong outward spin, suddenly dropped two meters from the goal, eventually grazing the corner between the left post and the crossbar before nestling into the net.

The net was lifted by the impact, rising high like a wave and then slowly falling back down.

Roland roared as he took the shot: "Kick it—!"

The moment the ball went into the net.

"BUUUUUUUUUUT! The fourth bullet! Right in the temple! Look at that net, it's swaying like a hanged corpse."

Morita Minoru's voice was hoarse: "Gentlemen, I suggest seppuku."

So, can Zico be cut as well?

Roy stood still, slowly spreading his hands, palms up, shoulders slightly shrugged—a universally understood "That's it?" gesture.

He raised his eyebrows, smirked, and shook his head, like a Michelin-starred chef watching his wife fry a steak into the shape of a shoe sole.

“This can’t even be called a massacre,” said French commentator Roland, his voice filled with pity. “It’s an adult’s devastating attack on kindergarten children.”

The Japanese commentary booth fell into dead silence.

Morita Mitsu's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, but no sound came out.

His partner, Kitazawa Go, stared intently at the screen, as if he wanted to burn two holes in Roy's back with his gaze.

Roy slowly walked toward the center circle, casually patting Giuly on the shoulder along the way—a gesture more insulting than any exaggerated celebration.

As he passed the Japanese team's bench, he didn't even turn his head; he simply waved casually, as if shooing away a non-existent fly.

"The cruelest thing wasn't his four goals," Roland concluded, "but that he didn't even bother to mock them. In his eyes, this Japanese team was probably no different from the training dummies."

The camera pans across close-ups of the Japanese players: Hidetoshi Nakata's lips are trembling, Seigo Narasaki's eyes are unfocused, and Mitsuo Ogasawara, who is preparing to come on as a substitute, has stopped jogging on the sidelines.

Zico was cursing and telling him to warm up quickly.

"Baka!" Morita Minoru roared, his voice trembling with tears. "How could he... how could he not even want to celebrate!"

When Roy was substituted in the 73rd minute, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

In the 79th minute, Henry received a diagonal pass from Pires, cut inside and curled a shot into the net to score another goal.

In the 88th minute, France won a corner kick. Gallas unleashed a powerful header that slammed into the net!

He ran to the sidelines and roared, his dark neck muscles contorted: "I am the steel fortress of France!!!"

France thrashed Japan 6-0.

The post-match mixed group interview became a chaotic scene where the media scrambled to get Roy.

A balding, elderly reporter from France Football used his elbow to block the microphone, almost poking Roy's nostril:
"Answer us first! Was that groin nutmeg premeditated?! Did you study Keisuke Tsuboi's leg span before the match?!"

Roy calmly replied, "Who is Tsuboi Keisuke? Does he have an extra leg?"

A reporter from L'Équipe excitedly squeezed in:
"Roy! At 18, you've broken the single-game goal record for the national team again! Did you anticipate destroying the Japanese team like this before the match? Was that 'golf gesture' pre-planned?"

Roy nodded: Because I really like Tiger Woods, Woods is a god forever!

RMC Sports, on the other hand, seemed intent on stirring things up and grabbing headlines:
"Henry had a cold face the whole game. You took over the voice in the locker room. Aren't you afraid of being ostracized by the veterans?"

Roy, with an innocent, boyish face, said, "Thirry and I are fine; he just needs rest. Yes, Santini has already told the media that I'm disappointed he's not on the field. Before I went on, he repeatedly told me to make sure I scored for France, that's right."

Smiling and pouting, she said, "I did alright!"

ESPN's Black reporter, weighing 200 pounds, smashed through a human wall:

"Yo! Bro! You played really well, you're a fantastic soccer player! I heard you're a Michael Jordan fan? Will you be watching the NBA draft in a few days? Who do you think will be the number one pick?!"

Roy smiled and shrugged: "You know, without a doubt, LeBron James is the best!"

The Black reporter suddenly leaned back, clutching his head and exclaiming "OMG!": "Yo!!! Roy just called it!!! LeBron is going to rock the NBA!!!"

He roared at the camera: "THIS KID KNOWS BALL!!!" (This kid knows football!!!)
He grabbed Roy's neck and the topic instantly shifted to the draft list:

"Bro! Since you're knowledgeable, do you think the Pistons should draft Milicic or Anthony?!"

"Seriously, Bro! Your crossover is even more flashy than AI's (Iverson's)!"

He was subsequently pushed away by the public for his cross-disciplinary interview.

The Japanese NHK reporter maintained a near-bowed 90-degree posture, his knuckles white from gripping the microphone tightly, his voice sounding like it was being squeezed out from between his teeth:

"Why did Roy use the 'kaishakuhachi' gesture from Japanese culture to humiliate us?!"

Roy raised an eyebrow and smiled: "Insult? No, they should thank me!"

The NHK reporter turned pale: "H-How is this possible!"

Roy tilted his head slightly, revealing a somewhat innocent and confused expression: "I heard you call yourselves 'Blue Samurai.' Shouldn't samurai accept defeat gracefully? How was the Japanese team today?"

"As a samurai, receiving the 'kaishaku' upon defeat is the highest honor I bestow upon them."

His voice suddenly became low and solemn, and he looked directly into the NHK reporter's camera. "I gave them the ceremony they deserved, just like treating a real samurai."

When he spoke of "true warriors," Roy emphasized his words, a faint, cold smile playing on his lips.

"But if you consider this humiliating..."

Suddenly, he made an exaggerated shrug, his expression instantly turning mocking: "Alright then, I take it back."

The Japanese NHK reporter froze, nearly dropping the microphone.

The TBS reporter's hand holding the microphone suddenly froze in mid-air, and the Tokyo Sports reporter's recorder, who had just raised his pen, slowly lowered it as well.

Roy's words were a double-edged sword, forcing them into an unsolvable dilemma: if they acknowledged the identity of the "Blue Samurai," they would have to accept this "honorable execution"; if they denied the title, it would be tantamount to tearing apart the spiritual totem that Japanese football had painstakingly cultivated for many years.

The NHK veteran reporter's glasses reflected the blinding spotlight. He opened his mouth, only to find himself standing on the edge of a logical precipice—ahead lay the abyss of samurai dignity, behind lay the disillusionment of national pride.

The mixed mining area suddenly fell into an eerie silence, with only the beeping of a dozen cameras automatically focusing.

Roy waited patiently for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled and said, "So, goodbye?"

"Thank you, Rosan!"

See, he should thank us!

This match took place two days earlier, on June 18, 2003.

The biggest news in the world is:

Manchester United and Real Madrid have reached an agreement to sell David Beckham to Real Madrid for €3500 million (approximately £2500 million).

The two sides will officially sign the contract in July, having already agreed on the specific terms and payment method. Beckham himself has also agreed to join Real Madrid and is looking forward to officially signing the contract.

Manchester United manager Sir Alex Ferguson said: "I've known Beckham since he was 11 years old, and it's been a pleasure to see him grow up and eventually become a member of Manchester United. Beckham has been instrumental in the team's success over the past 10 years. I wish him and his family all the best in the future, and I'm very grateful for his contributions to Manchester United."

Subsequently, at the invitation of Japanese sponsors Meiji Foods and Tokyo Beauty Company, Beckham and his wife Victoria visited Tokyo.

On the morning of the 18th, major Japanese media outlets began reporting on Manchester United star David Beckham's £2500 million transfer to Real Madrid. Newspapers reserved full-page advertisements for several days, and Meiji Foods even prepared specially packaged chocolates to welcome Beckham.

For some time now, the sports channels of major Japanese television stations have been filled with "Beckham".

In the early hours of the 21st, Fuji TV suddenly broadcast a breaking news report: "The Blue Samurai suffer a crushing defeat! French rising star Roy scores a hat-trick in the first half of the Confederations Cup and makes a 'kaishakunin' gesture!"

The moment Roy raised his hand in the video perfectly overlaps with historical footage of Yukio Mishima committing seppuku in 1970.

Asahi Shimbun front page headline:
The Twilight of "Bushido"—A Crushing Six-Goal Defeat Exposes the Fatal Flaw in Japanese Football

Subtitle: "18-year-old French devil Roy completes his 'spiritual second,' our football needs to perform a seppuku (ritual suicide)."

Excerpt from the text:
"When Roy made that second gesture, the entire Japanese football team knelt on the seppuku mat in a foreign land. Hidetoshi Nakata stayed alone in the locker room for a long time after the match, much like the captain of the Yamato after its defeat in 1945."

A legendary post on the 2ch forum: "If Roy came to the J-League, he'd probably get his legs broken every game."

A comment reads: "No need to wait for the match, he would be lectured by senior Kazuyoshi Miura during training (he was already 36 years old at the time). Before training, he would hand him a cup of tea, smile and say, 'Welcome to the J-League,' and then, the moment he took the cup, he would send him to the ICU with a flying tackle."

Comment: "Actually, Roy had already secretly tried out for the J-League! But when he saw that Urawa Red Diamonds' training base locker room was so dilapidated, it looked like it was from the Edo period, even worse than the French U17 team's, so he carried a plane and fled back to Europe overnight!"

Comment: "Roy played football in France, but in the J-League he played Fist of the North Star. In the first round he was knocked down by Nagoya's Brazilian foreign player, in the second round he was scissor-legged by Kashima's South Korean defender, and in the third round he went home in a wheelchair."

Comment: "Gentlemen! How dare this mixed-race bastard step onto the sacred J-League pitch? There should be a law banning non-pure-blooded Japanese from playing professional football! Look at his ethnicity, it's a conspiracy between white colonists and Chinese!"

One comment read: "In the Showa era, such arrogant foreigners would have been summoned for questioning by the Special Higher Police long ago! Today's players are spineless Heisei-era trash; they should all be forced to commit seppuku to atone for their sins!"

A popular post on the 2ch forum, titled "Isn't Roy actually more handsome than Tsubasa Ozora?", garnered over a million views on the first day.

Comment: "Baka! You bunch of foreign-worshipping bastards! Wing-kun represents 'effort, friendship, and victory'! That French brat only knows how to humiliate his opponents!"

One comment read: "Gentlemen, wake up! Tsubasa Ozora's nemesis is 'Tiger' Kojiro Hyuga, and our players aren't even worthy of being Roy's stumbling block."

Comment: "Wing's curved shot is completely against the laws of physics, but Roy's outside-of-the-foot flick is real! His dribbling is as precise as the cyborgs in 'Ghost in the Shell'!"

Comment: "That Japanese defender looks like 'Tachikma' after being hacked www"

Comment: "How dare a cartoon character drawn by a left-wing traitor compare to Imperial soldiers? A real man should be like a kamikaze pilot, breaking Roy's leg! He should be willing to die for his country!"

One comment read: "I've decided to start saving money now, waiting to find this Frenchman's address! Anyone want to go to his doorstep and sing Kimi no Yori? Let him see the true meaning of Bushido!"

A comment in the thread read: "Let's pick your mom up from the pachinko parlor first, lol."

Comment: "Can you keyboard warriors shut up for once? If you lose, work on your skills. Stop talking about the Showa era all the time, no wonder foreigners think Japanese people are perverts!"

On June 22, the Japanese right-wing group "Sword Preservation Society" protested in front of the French Embassy in Japan, holding up a sign that read "The French are desecrating the spirit of the samurai."

(End of this chapter)