[Football] Bad Boy Batty

[3, 2——Are you ready? ]

"Etc., etc!"

A second before the photographer clicked the shutter, Batty called a timeout because he was struggling with the handle of the trophy because of that damn concussion.

It seemed to him that the cup had four handles.

"Help me, gentlemen." The King turned around and raised an eyebrow at his players. "I look a little drunk right now. I don't know when my hand will slip. No one wants a flat cup with big ears, I guess."

Before anyone else could do that, Kyle Walker pushed the ball into Batty's face from his friend in front of him.

"Hey!"

Stones staggered a few steps to protect Batistuta in his arms and stood firm, then turned back and glared at Walker.

"Why are you looking at me? It's time to fulfill your promise." Walker shrugged and lied casually, "Didn't you say, John, that when you win the championship, you will let Batty ride on your neck and lift the trophy."

what?
When had he ever said that?

Stones froze in place and stared at Walker. After a few seconds, he received a silent message from his friend: Fight for it, Johnny Boy! The opportunity is created for you, grab it, grab it!

"Did you say that, John?" Batty asked, tilting his head.

Uh.

Although it's not very polite to say this about a concussion patient, but with some residual excitement on his face and a lack of highlight in his eyes, Batty, who is usually cunning and even a little silly, is really adorable!

Stones swallowed hard, staring at his friend's "It's okay, go ahead" look and the burning warning looks from the people around him, and nodded solemnly.

"I've said this before. What kind of king is he without a carriage?" He turned around and squatted in front of Batty. "Put the trophy base on my head. It will also solve the problem of your hand slipping."

Batty blinked, then jumped up and cheered.

"It looks like my beautiful horse is ready! Come on, take me up!"

With the help of Walker and others, Batistuta sat on Stones' shoulders and they took off his spikes to avoid hurting him and the surrounding area.

"Hold on!" Stones stood up straight. "If you drop the trophy, I might be as stupid as you."

Batty leaned over and hit him on the head. Of all the things Batty could have done as punishment, this was a very gentle one.

The photographer waved in the distance: [Are you ready this time? ]

Everybody take your positions.

"OK OK!"

Batty held the trophy by both ears, always paying attention to the photographer's gestures.

【3, 2, 1——】

"Ohhhh!"

Sequins exploded above their heads.

"We are the undefeated champions!!"

[Click]
Time stood still, and everyone had the most beautiful smile on their face. They were all creators of myths, and the camera recorded this precious moment.

……

After celebrating on the court, Batistuta led the way back to the locker room, holding the trophy.

"Bernardo! Come and help me!" He put the big-ear cup on the ground, took out sunglasses and cigars from his bag, then crossed his legs and arrogantly put his feet on the trophy, then pulled De Bruyne over, "It doesn't matter if you bite the cigar or not, but you have to put on the sunglasses. Come on, take a photo with us."

De Bruyne also wanted to take a picture, but he couldn't figure out the sunglasses and cigar.

"Is this the best photo prop you can come up with?" He took the sunglasses and put them on his head and said jokingly, "You're going to make us look like two arrogant teenagers."

"I'd love to." Batistuta raised his head and hummed a few times, then reached out and hooked his hands around De Bruyne's neck. "Take a quick shot, Bernardo," he said to B席, "I have another use for this picture."

B席 very professionally took Batistuta's phone and changed several angles, taking more than a dozen photos. But when he returned the phone to Batistuta, Batistuta found that this guy only looked professional, and the photos he took were uglier than the last.

"How could I believe you?" The king gave a typical fake smile.

"How could this happen!" Seat B was extremely distraught. "After insulting my fashion sense, are you now going to attack my photography skills?"

"...Exaggeration, buddy." Batty rolled his eyes at him.

"Here we go again!" B Silva jumped up and pointed at Batistuta, "What else can you do besides rolling your eyes at me?"

When these words were spoken, even De Bruyne raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Many fans online say that we always bully you, but Bernardo, I have to say this -" the Belgian midfielder held the hand hanging from his shoulder to prevent Batistuta from leaving his seat, "You asked for it. You are a little overconfident."

Just like the sentence just now.

This is Batty.

What else can you do besides rolling your eyes?
Beat you up.

However, surprisingly, Batistuta had no intention of pinning the arrogant B. Silva to the ground. Perhaps he was in a good mood because he had successfully completed the task of winning all the games in the season, so he did not take the Portuguese man in front of him seriously.

"With your aesthetic taste, I can take better pictures than you even if I'm blind." Batistuta patted De Bruyne's neck to signal him to move his face closer, while holding up his phone. "I'll show you what Hollywood's top directors teach you."

B Silva folded his arms and watched Batistuta take a selfie with a smile.

"Your eyesight is still not healed," he said. "When you see that everyone has more than one head, no matter how you take the photo, it won't look good."

"Stop talking, or I'll beat you up with Batistuta!" De Bruyne kicked B Silva and drove him away.

"You just said this photo has other uses, right?" He held Batty down to divert his attention. "What is it? What do you want to do with it?"

"Of course I'm sending it to someone." Batistuta no longer paid attention to B Silva who was still trying to make faces in the distance. He threw the selfie he had just taken into the image editing software, added a screen full of pink hearts, and then opened the chat page to show De Bruyne.

what!
Looking at the familiar names of his national team teammates on the page, De Bruyne curled up a somewhat satisfied smile.

"You want to send our picture to Tebow?" he asked.

"Ouch!" Batty whistled. "You called him Tebow. Are you going to forgive him, Kevin?"

De Bruyne waved his hands in disgust: "Seriously, no kidding, Batistuta, do you really want to send that photo to him?"

"Why not?" Batty clicked the send button and looked at the words 'Message Delivered' on it with a smile. "This is very interesting. You see, the guy on the other side once said that he would use the trophy and me to make you suffer, but now he has lost both at the same time."

De Bruyne said nothing.

For a moment he felt a little sorry for Courtois.

No one can beat Batistuta at this. Not himself, not Thibaut Courtois, or anyone else in the room.

"Ha! Kevin, look at this!"

Seeing that the message was delivered but there was no response, Batty sent another emoticon, but it showed 'You have been blocked and cannot send messages'.

"Ok?"

"He blocked me, haha!" Batty's smile was brighter than the sun, and the happiness emanating from him was beyond words. "He must be very angry. He blocked me just because of a photo!"

"Wooho!" De Bruyne made a fireworks gesture, "You win! Batistuta."

"Of course!" Batty stood up, his happiness evident. He brushed off the corner of his clothes in a rather arrogant manner, "I always win!"

After saying that, he stretched his arms, threw the phone to the Belgian, and then went to take photos with other people with the trophy.

Yes.

Looking at his happy figure, De Bruyne gave a sincere and helpless smile.

You are always the winner.

……

That night, Manchester City players flew back to Manchester. It was almost 4 a.m. when they arrived at the airport. However, with the trophy in hand, almost no one wanted to go home to rest, so Batistuta turned the bus around and a group of people headed to Manchester's largest nightclub.

"Everyone! This round is on me!!"

Batty jumped onto the stage, took the microphone and announced the exciting good news to the audience, and cheers and whistles immediately rang out in the venue.

"Bati!! Bati!!"

At his signal, the DJ turned up the volume, making the atmosphere even more lively.

At the bar on the other side, Walker nudged Stones with his elbow and whispered, "Go and ask him to dance. You're a good dancer, right? Go ahead."

Stones was a little hesitant. He shook his wine glass and was about to get up and go over when he saw Batistuta being pulled to the center by a few people who looked like fans, and Neymar was following them, so he sat back down.

"Forget it, next time." He said to himself regretfully.

"Oh my God, Johnny!" Walker was almost mad at him. "Why are you so passive? Are you waiting for me to help you pull him over or for him to find you?"

"It's nothing, don't talk nonsense."

"Did I say anything wrong? That's Batty. If you don't take the initiative, there are plenty of people who will." Walker used a mocking sentence to stimulate his friend, "Look at you, you want to go over but you don't dare. If I didn't know you did it, I would have thought you were in the pitiful secret crush period!"

"Hey!"

"Why, you didn't succeed?"

“…” This is very complicated. Stones pursed his lips, “You don’t understand.”

"I don't--God!" Walker almost knocked over the cup holder next to him, "What's wrong with you? I don't remember you being like this before."

Stones understood what his friend meant, but what could he do?

Before, as a teammate, he could find all kinds of excuses to get close to him, ask him to dance, and play with him, but since he made it clear, everything has changed. He doesn't know what has changed in Batistuta's eyes, at least for him, everything is different, he can no longer deceive himself like before, and find reasons to satisfy his desire to touch.

Ugh--

The England defender sighed and laid on his arms.

He regretted it.

……

Back to Batistuta, he was completely unaware of the England defender's messy thoughts, and after dancing with the fans, his dizziness reached its peak.

"Don't fall to the ground, give me your hand." Neymar tried to stay close to Batistuta. "Although your condition is not serious, you still need to rest."

"Me? Rest? No need!" Batty said dismissively. "And if you really wanted me to rest, why didn't you say anything on the bus just now?"

Of course, the reason why he didn't say anything was because Neymar also wanted to come to the nightclub.

"Don't try to tell me what to do, King Batty knows everything!" Batty raised a finger drunkenly, then he turned around, "Come on, let's go again--uh!"

Before he could finish his words, he bumped into someone.

"Sorry." Barty scratched his hair.

Unexpectedly, the person who was hit smiled and said, "Don't apologize, honey, I like you on top of me, do it more often."

Tsk tsk.

This familiar and annoying voice.

Batty looked up and realized that the person he bumped into was none other than Augustus Rothschild, the guy who followed him around every day.

The Manchester United captain wore a bold red outfit, which matched his long red hair, and he looked like a ripe rambutan. However, under the lights of the nightclub, it didn't seem too eye-catching.

"Hi, Batty." Augustus said with that malicious smile, "What a coincidence, Killian and I came here to play, and I didn't expect to run into you."

Only then did Batty see that there was someone behind him.

Mbappe wore a low-key black outfit, almost blending in with the nightclub. If Augustus hadn't reminded him, Batistuta might not have noticed him until the end.

"Hey." He waved his hand as a greeting.

Batty narrowed his eyes and studied the two men.

There are so many nightclubs in Manchester and it's 4 a.m. He really doesn't believe it's a coincidence.

"What a coincidence! I just came back from winning the championship and I ran into you guys. What should I call you? Uh—"

He greeted her slowly with a long drawl.

"Maybe it would be better to call you Loser No.1 and Loser No.2, what do you think?"

After saying this, Batty quietly paid attention to their reactions.

To his disappointment, Augustus didn't react, and neither did Mbappe. Maybe he did have some reaction in his heart, but he didn't show it.

strangeness.

Batistuta's eyes wandered between Augustus and Mbappe.

No one moved.

Surrounded by people who were relaxing freely, Batty and the others standing there seemed a little out of place amid the strong rhythmic music of the nightclub.

Almost 2 minutes passed.

Augustus suddenly took two steps forward. Batti did not dodge. He raised his head and looked straight into Augustus' eyes, watching him shorten the distance to less than a punch.

"Bati..."

Neymar was a little worried about the interaction between Batistuta and Augustus. He grabbed Batistuta's arm and wanted to take him away, but Batistuta didn't seem to appreciate it.

"It's okay." He shook off Neymar's arm.

Mbappe looked at them, patted Neymar on the shoulder and stepped back to leave more space for the two men.

"You smell so much alcohol. How much did you drink? 6 cups? 7 cups?" Augustus asked.

"A lot." Batty tilted his head and pretended to think for a moment. "I can't remember," he said. "You should thank them. If it weren't for alcohol, I wouldn't be here."

"But Batistuta, I remember you were knocked off the court by Ramos in the final. Are you okay? Why are you still here to play?" Augustus looked very concerned.

"Do I look like I'm in trouble?" Batty gave a vague smile. "Speaking of which, we just won. We won all the games this season. Can you believe it?"

"Well, that's amazing, congratulations."

you?

Ok?
Completely unexpected answer.

It seemed that this was the first time that Augustus focused not on the feud between him and Batistuta but on the club.

What are you going to play this time?
Batty looked at him suspiciously.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Augustus' smile widened. "I sincerely congratulate you. This is a milestone victory in football history."

In football history?

Hiss, this is too...

Batty suddenly laughed.

He put his hand around Augustus' neck to close the distance between them: "Although what you do is disgusting, I have to admit that not many people can do it to this extent."

Augustus' throat moved.

what is this?
Did you acknowledge him?
still is……

"What do you mean?" he asked, suppressing his emotion.

"All, and I mean everything." Batty's hot, alcoholic breath hit him in the face, and Augustus was just one step away from losing his mind.

"My pleasure," he replied.

"So--" Batty deliberately turned his eyes away and did not finish his words. He did not know what he wanted to say, he just thought it was very interesting.

The distance between the two of them was only about the size of a fingernail, and the air was filled with smoke, the smell of blood, and an ambiguity that was about to overflow.

"Can I kiss you?" Augustus asked. His voice was inexplicably hoarse.

It seemed as if he was sure that Batty would not refuse.

What about the facts?

Batti's smile was still as beautiful as usual, even more charming against the lights and music of the nightclub.

He interlaced his hands behind Augustus' head.

He said, "Don't push your luck."

……

Sudden.

"Boss! Boss!"

Loach squeezed through the crowd and extinguished the air between Batti and Augustus that was about to ignite.

"What's wrong?" Batty finally looked away.

"Look at this!" The black youth panted and raised his phone in front of his boss. "Something big has happened! It's real! Something big that concerns us!"

"Relax." Batty didn't care much. "Every time you say something big is happening, it's not a big deal."

As he spoke, he glanced at the phone screen and couldn't take his eyes away.

[Shocked, Barcelona was attacked by hackers, and the chat records between former CEO Grau, former legal director Ponti and Bartomeu were exposed. 】
[The club needs to rebuild. The sewer rat and the dwarf who needs hormones will not be renewed this summer. He is a guy who doesn't know how to be grateful. The club has given him everything, but he only thinks about transfers, contract renewals, and sponsors.]
[In order to weaken the strength of our competitors, we cannot let him stay in a European giant club. We should delay as much as possible and wait until the last day of the transfer window, or even the last two hours, to tell him that we have no intention of renewing the contract.]

Barty blinked.

ha?
(End of this chapter)