[Football] Bad Boy Batty

They won a beautiful warm-up match, and the Japanese Olympic team had almost no chance to resist, 3-0. The right side was almost completely blown away by Batista, and even though Japan made careful substitutions in the second half, it did not help.

Everyone was so happy, not just because they beat Japan, but because they saw hope.

Head coach Mikal gave them a day off and they could go out and play, but they had to report.

Neymar rejected all the advice from his younger brothers and came to Batista's room early in the morning. He couldn't wait to hear the story.

Loaches are there too.

The base needed staff, so people like Neymar who had so many followers were naturally not considered, but Batistuta had only one close friend, Loach, so the coaching staff generously let him in. Loach shared a room with Batistuta, and was the only one besides Neymar who did not sleep with his teammates.

Batty's hair was even more frizzy after he just woke up. Loach stuffed the breakfast tray into his arms and took out a towel to wipe his face.

As Neymar watched, he suddenly felt a little envious. Is this his younger brother? He is simply a hired nanny.

"Bati, wake up." Loach shook him, "Neymar is here."

Batistuta rubbed his eyes, obviously not in good shape, and a small tuft of hair on his head flew up. He yawned and asked, "Which Neymar?"

"The one you plan to develop into the world's best partner." Loach replied.

Batty nodded in understanding.

"What is Neymar doing in my room?" He continued to ask dazedly, "Want to give me another belly? I remember we were even."

Neymar cleared his throat awkwardly, interrupting Batistuta's astonishing muttering. Although Batistuta looked much cuter than usual, Neymar didn't expect that Batistuta still remembered the dirty tricks he used on him during the fight.

"You said you wanted to tell me your story," Neymar said. "Now we beat Japan, so I came."

"Ah... yes, my story." Batty put the food aside and came out from under the quilt. He was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, and his honey-colored skin was glowing.

Neymar couldn't help but take a few more glances, then turned away awkwardly. Before he looked away, he saw a tattoo below Batista's collarbone, which looked like some kind of spider web.

"I'm going to take a shower and clean up." Batistuta made the bed and when he stood up again, his eyes were bright. He looked at Neymar and said, "I didn't expect you to come so early. The date is early."

"Of course." Neymar smiled proudly, "Why do you think I won the game?"

“Because I exist.”

The boy said it very naturally, as if he had eaten pasta yesterday, as if for him, this was not a goal to be achieved but an existing reality. Neymar couldn't help laughing. He had never seen anyone so confident.

"Just sit there for a while." Batty said as he walked into the bathroom. "Give me five minutes."

As the bathroom door slammed shut, Neymar and Loach were the only ones left in the room, looking at each other in silence.

Neymar is actually very curious about Batista, the younger brother nicknamed Loach. What makes him willing to follow the "big brother" for so many years and always maintain a humble position? Moreover, Loach is not like other people. When he sees Neymar, his eyes light up and he sticks to him as if he is a sucker.

So the Barcelona star was the first to ask: "How long have you been with Batistuta?"

"It's been more than ten years." Without Batistuta, Neymar seemed like a taciturn person and rarely made eye contact with him.

"I always hear them call you Loach, what's your real name?"

Loach finally raised his eyelids and looked at Neymar, "Mark," he replied, "but I prefer people to call me Loach." Because Batistuta likes this name more, he thought.

"Well, loach, how did you two know each other? Do you play football?" Neymar asked, trying to be a good big brother of the Olympic team. "You must know more. Before Batistuta tells me the story, can you lay the groundwork for me?"

Loach pursed his lips, as if he had made up his mind, and then said, "We met in the drug dealer's lair."

Neymar's throat tightened as he realized this couldn't be an innocent story.

"I was 5 years old at the time and was sold to a construction site to work. Later, the government made a request and the construction site sold me to a drug dealer. I was responsible for running errands and collecting protection money."

Loach's tone was flat, but it was not difficult to feel from the lines the hardships of his childhood.

"That day I went to collect protection money, and it happened that the boss of another territory was looking for trouble and was selling drugs to students there. My identity was exposed, and I tried to escape but failed. I thought I would be beaten to death, but I wasn't. Batty came forward to protect me, and the result was that he was beaten up."

Neymar seemed to have an image of young Batistuta standing in front of the loach in his mind. He thought that little Batistuta's eyes must have been very bright at that time.

“I just followed him from then on.”

Loach's story came to an abrupt end. Neymar wanted to hear the sequel, but Loach refused to speak.

"There's nothing to say after that."

It was Batistuta. He came out wearing only a bath towel, all wet, with water dripping from the ends of his hair. Neymar blushed. "Put on your clothes!"

"Who just took a shower and got dressed?" Batistuta gave Neymar a strange look, then sat down on the bed generously, tore a piece of bacon from the tray that he had not had time to eat and stuffed it into his mouth.

"I'm not being overly sympathetic. I just have a few powerful godfathers. Otherwise, if I had come forward to protect him, I would have been beaten up and had several bloody holes in my body." He explained what Niu said just now. "It's no big deal. In our place, we see this every day."

Neymar blinked, and he began to agree with Batistuta's comment. Compared with Batistuta, he was not a pure slum dweller, and he had not experienced these things.

As if he saw what Neymar was thinking, Batistuta shook his head and said, "Because you have a home and we don't."

It was just a simple sentence, but it made Neymar's eyes sore.

"Those godfathers were found for me by my mother before she died," Batty said. "Most of them were my mother's lovers. Of course, I don't know how she did it, after all, she didn't leave me any secrets."

After a pause, Batty continued.

"At first he was just a supporter, but later he became a godfather, thanks to my face."

He pointed to his nose. His childhood experience made him more careful than ordinary people and good at observing micro-expressions. Neymar's current tangled expression told him that this senior had thought of something dirty.

"What you think is possible." Batistuta said, facing Neymar's surprised expression; "My godfathers all had some ideas, but there was a very powerful one, who almost became my stepfather. He joined forces with the other two to sanction the guys who took action. Since then, no one has touched me again."

Neymar didn't know what to say.

"You must have heard of the current slum boss, Bloodhound. All Brazilians know that he has some relationship with the Hollywood director named Edmundo, who almost became my stepfather." Batty pointed to his eyes, which were very similar to those of the director. "Now you know why he is so nice to me."

this--

What kind of clichéd eight o'clock drama plot is this?

"I don't think you two look alike," Neymar said after thinking for a while. "This is not a compliment or anything, it's just my feeling. You are better looking than him. He is too evil and always looks like he has bad intentions."

Batistuta smiled and then gave Neymar a blank look.

"Don't say that. Edmundo has helped me a lot over the years, and he is actually my godfather." He said, "I know I'm good-looking, but in the slums, being good-looking is sometimes useful and sometimes useless. For example, I almost died once." Batty's eyes darkened and his hand subconsciously touched his collarbone.

"See this tattoo?" he said to Neymar.

Neymar nodded.

"Look carefully," he reminded.

Neymar took a closer look and found that it was a gun muzzle surrounded by smoke. The broken texture was depicted very clearly, and it was obvious at a glance that it was the work of a master.

"Look carefully." Neymar looked up at Batistuta and asked, "What does this muzzle mean?"

Batistuta shook his head and motioned him to come closer. When Neymar was less than 20 centimeters away from him, Batistuta suddenly grabbed Neymar's hand and placed his palm on his tattoo.

"Touch it."

Neymar slowly moved his palm and felt the uneven surface. The next second his eyes widened.

"This is--"

Neymar vaguely discovered the truth, but did not dare to say it out loud.

Batty shrugged and said, "It's real, you're right. It's a real scar, American, Colt 380, 9mm."

"...Did it hurt?" Neymar said this with a look of heartache. He had never been shot, and he couldn't imagine his teammates being shot and lying in a pool of blood. "When did it happen?"

"Uh..." Batty thought for a moment, "It happened more than ten years ago. To be honest, it didn't hurt at all at the time because all I could think about was 'I'm going to die'."

He can now talk about his experiences back then with a smile.

"That day a kid came to our stadium to play, and I went to deal with it. I didn't expect it to be a scout fishing. Of course, fishing is fishing. I got his business card, it was Santos. Everyone knows that it is the best football club in Brazil, but it is in Sao Paulo. I didn't have the round-trip fare and food and accommodation, so I went to find the godfathers."

Batistuta said this without any emotion in his voice, just telling a story. Neymar felt that he was trapped, Batistuta was a big piece of marshmallow, and he was deeply trapped in it.

"I met people from other districts on the way. They recognized me and shot me. But it was also because of this shot that my godfathers became alert and did not let the other side take advantage."

The boy, who is now only 17 years old, shook his head. Neymar stared at his gorgeous scar and clenched his fingers.

"It was Loach who carried me up there. I was unconscious at that time. When I woke up, I was in a black clinic. There was an Asian doctor in front of me who was giving me an IV. Later they told me that I didn't let go of the business card until the end of the operation."

Batty shrugged.

"So I had the money for travel, food and accommodation, and later I signed a contract with Santos."

"By the way, there is one more thing," Batistuta suddenly changed the subject and smiled brilliantly at Neymar, "The cabinet I used at that time was the one you used before, and they said I was lucky because your cabinet was a hot commodity."

Neymar opened his mouth. He was still immersed in that time and space of gunpowder and blood. His heart was beating extremely strongly and he couldn't calm down for a long time.

"Now the story is over." Batty stretched and stood up. "What are your plans for later?"

Neymar shook his head. "I didn't expect it to be so soon."

Batty laughed unceremoniously. "Otherwise, do you think my story will last a whole day?"

Neymar shrugged and didn't answer.

"Well, I'll take you with me today." Batty turned around, his body making a crackling sound. "Let's go," he said.

"Where to?" Neymar asked.

"Take you to Bailando to open your eyes." Batty replied.

Neymar couldn't think of a place where he needed to be 'opened', so he asked: "What is that place?"

Barty just curled his lips and smiled.

"Brothel."

(End of this chapter)