[Football] Bad Boy Batty

"The patient's condition has stabilized. You can go in to visit him, but remember not to let him have too much emotional fluctuations, which may cause the next surgery to be postponed."

After the attending doctor explained Aguero's condition, he left the corridor. The players and Manchester City staff who had been waiting for a long time immediately rushed into the ward.

Except Batty.

Batty didn't move. He remained sitting on the bench in the corridor with his back to the ward. His posture was well-behaved and even dignified. He stared at the pattern on the floor in front of him, as if he was petrified.

Aguero noticed this a few minutes later. He waved to let the people in front of the bed disperse, and then shouted to the door: "Hey Batistuta! Are you asleep? Why don't you come in?"

There was a small burst of laughter in the room, but Batty remained motionless.

It’s difficult.
Aguero touched his beard with the hand that was not connected to the blood oxygen monitor. He thought Batistuta would be the first to rush in and then wave his fist to pretend to threaten him not to scare people like that anymore.

"Leo, you go." He motioned to his friend to go and see what was going on outside.

Messi walked out and saw Batistuta still sitting in the chair in a daze like before. From this angle, he seemed to see himself a few years ago when he heard that Vilanova was in bad condition.

"Barty?" He nudged him.

"Let me do it." Neymar also came out of the ward. He walked around Messi and squatted in front of Batistuta. Then he stretched out his hand and snapped his fingers twice on the tip of Batistuta's nose. "Bati, the doctor said we can go in."

"Huh? Oh."

Neymar's approach worked, at least Batistuta responded.

He looked up at Messi, and then his eyes slowly slid to Neymar's face like a stutter. "I just want to stay here for a while," he said with a quick smile, "Don't worry about me, go in."

You can tell at a glance that he's hiding something.

Through the open door, Messi looked at Aguero in the room, then he shook his head.

"Oh my God! This little bastard." Aguero finally became impatient. He made a series of gestures to indicate to Messi and Neymar that they must get Batistuta in.

So they did.

Batty was carried in like a sack of potatoes.

What is even more worrying is that he did not put up any fierce resistance, and even just let out a small cry of surprise when he was caught by the two men.

"Hey! Look, he's finally here!" Aguero laughed a few times and deliberately raised the hand holding the detector to say hello. "It's really hard to see you, Batistuta, I'm the one who's sick."

When Batty saw the blood oxygen meter clipped on his finger and the screen next to it that monitored his heart rate, a hurricane-like wave of emotion appeared in his eyes.

That made Aguero feel a little guilty, after all, Batistuta was really worried about him, but he soon realized that he was the one lying on the hospital bed, so why should he feel guilty?

"Why don't you come in, little bastard?" Aguero waved Batistuta over. "I thought you didn't care about me at all. I've taken such good care of you over the years."

"No—" Batty moved his feet and slowly walked to his bed. "The corridor is a bit chaotic. I didn't hear the doctor talking. How do you feel now?"

"Very good, very good." Aguero raised his arm. "It's nothing serious, just a little arrhythmia, an old problem, I've had it before."

"Uh, um."

"So why don't you want to come in?" Aguero asked again. "Are you afraid of the hospital?"

"No."

"Yes, you are a frequent visitor here, so there is nothing to be afraid of." Aguero pondered for a while, "I can't figure out what is it in this room that makes you resist?"

"actually……"

"Tell me, if you don't let me know, I will call and harass you tonight."

Batistuta knew he couldn't escape, so he pursed his lips, sat down beside Aguero's bed, and then used his index and middle fingers to turn into little men and circled around on him.

"I've been to the hospital many times for injuries, but never in a ward like this," he said. "The last time I was waiting for a doctor outside a ward like this was when I was 11 years old. The doctor was very friendly. He touched my head and told me to be brave. It was ridiculous. How could a bully from Rocinha (slum) be a coward? Then he had nothing to say, just gave me my mother's ring. After that, I never saw my mother again, awake."

Oh my goodness.

Aguero took a deep breath, and then the air seemed to be stuck in his throat, and no matter how much he exhaled, it was useless.

But what no one expected was that——

A few seconds later, he suddenly jumped up, not caring about what was on the back of his hand, and just hooked Batty's neck hard, dragged him to the bed, turned him over and held him down.

"What the hell are you talking about, you little bastard!!!"

As he yelled, the heart rate monitor next to him sounded an alarm and the readings soared.

This scared everyone in the room.

"Oh my God! Separate them!"
"Don't--let go! Kun! Your heart rate is going up!"
"This is a hospital! How can we fight?"

They stopped the "fight" as quickly as possible. Messi blocked Aguero at the head of the bed with a pillow, and Neymar grabbed Batistuta and dragged him off the bed. It was like the sea being split in two by Moses. Everyone was still in shock.

Batty's mouth was bitten, and he smeared the blood: "A Kun——"

"Don't talk, I don't want to listen! Bastard, I'm not dead yet!" Aguero was really angry. He calmed down first, then signaled his friend to take the pillow away. "I'm glad that you think of me as important as your mother, Batistuta, but I'm fine!"

He spoke rapidly in Spanish with an Argentinian accent, and Batistuta expressed his doubt with his eyes.

"Listen to me, I just have a heart rhythm disorder. Next week I will fly to the United States, have a small operation, put a chip here (he pointed to his chest), and then I can live a normal life, maybe I can continue to play football. Listen to what you just said, what are you talking about!"

After Aguero finished speaking, he lowered his head and looked for something. After searching for a while, he locked onto a pack of tissues on the bedside table. Before anyone could react, he picked up the tissue and threw it out.

The paper towel flew over Neymar's shoulder and hit Batistuta's forehead accurately.

The damage was not great, but it woke Batty up.

"Are you really okay?" He pushed Neymar aside and walked over. "Will you still be able to lift me up after scoring a goal in the future, Kun?"

"Of course." Aguero also leaned over and opened his hands. "Heart rate imbalance, it's not a big deal."

Only when the two of them were in a secure hug did the others breathe a sigh of relief.

Aguero understood how Batistuta felt at the moment, and he also knew that he wanted to do something, but in the face of illness, few people could really do something practical.

Even the King of Manchester City is like this.

He patted Batty on the back and said, "I'm going to have surgery soon. I want to ask you to do something for me. Is that okay?"

It is no exaggeration to say that Batty's eyes lit up.

"You tell me, I'll do it."

"Please pray to God for me," Aguero said. "I won't have many opportunities to communicate with him, so you can only help me. I may be able to use this power, okay?"

Batty nodded solemnly.

……

In the next month, Batistuta became the most pious person in the entire Manchester City (even in the entire Manchester). He prayed before meals, after training, before and after games, and even in the shower, and from time to time he would pull everyone together.

It has been a tough time, with Manchester City's magic and aura being snatched away by their neighbours. Manchester United have not lost a game since the start of the season, with many commentators speculating that they might be the team to go on to win another season after Manchester City.

Manchester City is currently ranked 6th in the standings.
Guardiola did not put pressure on his players. He knew that this was a difficult moment and all he could do was be with them and get through it together.

Finally, on a rare sunny day in Manchester, Aguero's surgery was successful.

On the day when the good news came back to Manchester City, all the players became excited and the Blue Moon Army celebrated by beating Newcastle 7-0 away.

Three days later, the Argentine striker returned to his home in Manchester. His mother also rushed back from Argentina to take care of him. In order to express her gratitude, they prepared a grand barbecue party. Most of the Manchester City players came, and many of his Argentine teammates also came.

"I knew it! I knew you could do it, Kun!!"

Batty returned to normal.

Well, maybe I recovered a little too much.

He drank nearly half a dozen bottles of mixed liquor, then put a blanket over his shoulders, put a wire hoop on his head that he got from somewhere, and danced on the table like a hobbit.

Aguero at the poolside shook his head helplessly, then took a fork to turn the grilled meat over, and complained to Messi next to him: "You know what I can't stand the most, Leo? My mother! She likes Batistuta too much, that little bastard... God, look, my mother never lets me sit at the table, but now she's clapping and playing for Batistuta at the table!"

"Yeah, you have to admit, that little bastard is charming." Messi sat on a woven rattan chair and watched the lively and warm party in front of him with a smile.

“When are you going to announce it?” he asked.

"Uh..." Aguero looked around at his friends, "Let's wait a little longer. It won't be too late until they have had enough of the madness."

……

"I was a little worried, but not anymore, I mean the derby in early December."

Batty picked up a piece of barbecue and spoke incoherently, but the barbecue was too hot and he couldn't hold it for long, so he could only reluctantly throw it back into the plate.

"Kevin, give me a, uh--" He raised his chin towards De Bruyne opposite him. He wanted to say fork, but under the influence of alcohol, he suddenly forgot how to say fork in English. "Give me a spoon with thorns, please, dear."

De Bruyne:?
"Spiky, spoon?"

"That's it—" Batty gestured for a long time but couldn't explain it clearly. In the end, he could only stand up and walk over crookedly to take out a fork from the basket, and then put it in front of De Bruyne seriously, "See, a spoon with thorns."

"Hahahahahaha he calls that a spiked spoon!"
"He's drunk, so cute!"
"Is anyone recording this? I want it so badly!"

"Yes! I recorded it!"
“Remember to send me a copy!”
"Oh! And me!"

Amid the good-natured laughter of the crowd, Batty pursed his lips and sat back in his seat.

"Where was I just now? Ah, Manchester United." He changed the subject and said disdainfully: "I don't believe they can win all the games in the season. Only Manchester City can do it, and they are red."

"Maybe you can't make it to that game, Akun, but believe me, we will win that game, for you." Batistuta raised his glass, "Manchester United can't do it, I said, I want to give you this game as a gift! TO Agüero!"

Everyone raised their glasses with him.

"TO Agüero!"

Aguero graciously accepted his friends' blessings. He drank the Argentine national drink in his hand and then knocked on the glass to attract attention.

"Everyone, I have an announcement to make," he said, looking towards Messi.

Messi gave him a firm look.

"I don't want to spoil the fun, but this is a decision I made after careful consideration and I want to share it with you here." Aguero smiled and said: "I plan to retire."

The party fell into complete silence.

"Sizzle"

The sound of Batty's spiked spoon scraping across the plate was particularly harsh.

The DJ quietly ran to the console and turned off the music.

"You mean, uh, you're going to retire," Barty said casually. "When?"

"Right away," Aguero said.

"Right away? You mean next season? After the World Cup?"

"No, I mean now."

"..."

Batty stopped talking. He put down what he was holding in silence, then left the dining table and sat down facing the wall in the living room.

Except for him who was sad enough to leave, no one else moved.

Aguero explained his decision to everyone and talked about his mental journey during this period. About 10 minutes later, the atmosphere at the table recovered a little and he was finally able to leave to check on Batistuta.

Messi followed, as did Neymar, and most of City's people, who followed him to the living room.

As the one who retired due to illness, Aguero seems to be more open-minded and broad-minded than anyone else.

"Come on, Batty." He grabbed Batty's wrist and pulled him to the sofa. "Don't be sad, I'm just not a professional player anymore. I'm still me."

Batty looked at him, his eyes a bit like an abandoned puppy.

"Honestly, I am very satisfied to be able to play with all the people I like at the end of my career." Aguero hugged Batistuta's shoulders and said, "In the past five years, we have won the Premier League trophy, the League Cup trophy, the FA Cup trophy, and the Champions League trophy. I have nothing to regret. In Manchester City, I got it all."

"So that's how you made your decision."

"Well, after all, there's a time bomb ticking in my chest." Aguero made a bad joke about himself, "You don't want to have a repeat of what happened on the training ground last time."

Batty glared at him fiercely and wanted to hit him on the shoulder, but considering his physical condition, Batty's fist finally landed on the sofa.

"Don't call me a jerk anymore," he said. "You are the biggest jerk."

“Don’t be like this—”

"how?"

"Your sullen face is sad," Aguero said. "Look at the bright side, Batistuta, and the derby against Manchester United. After I retire, I can support you like a fan."

"what are you saying?"

"They are the fans who sit in the diehard seats in every game, don't you remember? Among them are your fans, with your portrait printed on their faces, wearing shirts with the words 'I love Batistuta' on them, and holding signs that say 'Bati, look at me!'" Aguero danced and imitated the appearance of those crazy fans, "I really love you, Batistuta, baby! Look at me!"

"puff--"

Batty finally laughed at his strange sense of humor.

"Hey, that's right!" Aguero gave a thumbs up. "This is our little king! The little rascal who always smiles as arrogantly as the sun - baby."

"Humph." Batty rolled his eyes, accepting his decision. "Because of you, after the derby goal, I opened my jersey and the words on it changed from 'I love Kun' to 'Kun is a jerk'."

Aguero made a pleading gesture, and suddenly, he stood up as if he had thought of something.

"I'm retired, so the number 10 is vacant." He looked at Messi next to him, "Leo?"

"Oh no no." Messi shook his head quickly, "I like the number 30, it brings me back to the feeling I once had. Don't give it to me, Ney?"

"Me?" Neymar looked up in surprise. "No. 11 is fine. I'm used to wearing No. 11. And the last time I wore No. 10 in the club was not a good experience."

After saying that, the three of them looked at Batty together.

It was like a relay race, and Manchester City's No. 10 jersey was the baton. After passing through Aguero, Messi, and Neymar, it finally reached Batistuta.

Batty: ...

Why does it feel like it was given to him because no one else wanted it?

(End of this chapter)