When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 104 Gentlemen, I Like War
Deschamps slammed his tactical board down on the locker room table with a loud thud.

All the players immediately straightened their backs.

“Listen,” he said, his sharp gaze sweeping across everyone’s faces, “we’re going to launch a blitzkrieg tonight.”

"Their defense has an average age of 31, and they turn slower than a cargo ship."

"Rothen, Giuly, charge forward like madmen for the first 15 minutes! I want to see their full-backs cramping up in the fifth minute!"

Deschamps suddenly turned around, pointing his tactical pen at Pulso: "Dado, you specifically targeted Andrade."

The pen tip then turned to Roy, "You're in charge of luring Naibette out."

He made a crisscrossing movement gesture, "And then!"

“Attack them from behind!” Roy said with a smile.

"clever."

Deschamps' lips curled into a slight smile, but he quickly straightened his face again. "After winning possession in midfield, you must pass the ball within three touches. Anyone who dares to hold onto the ball will be punished!"

He smiled meaningfully, "I guarantee I'll make him wear out sitting on the bench."

Deschamps gave a final look around: "Remember, we need to make Deportivo La Coruña feel the pressure of hell the moment the opening whistle blows. Now, go and tear their defense to shreds!"

The players formed a circle, and Giuly clapped his hands, the sound ringing out clearly in the locker room:

"Brothers, we have to take this today! We can't let them have another chance like last time!"

Roy stood beside him, his eyes scanning everyone's faces. Suddenly, he grinned and added, "By the way, today is Dado's birthday! We're going to give him a big win as a gift!"

The locker room erupted in cheers; some whistled, others clapped.

Pulso turned around with a rare smile on his face, rummaged through the cabinet, and shook the bottle in his hand—a 1974 Romanée-Conti, the deep red liquid gleaming like amber under the light.

“Roy gave me this,” Pulso said, raising the bottle. “If we win the game, we’ll all share!”

“Ouch——!!!”

The locker room erupted instantly. Rothen let out a strange cry, Bernardi whistled loudly, and even the usually composed Roma shook his head with a smile: "This wine is more expensive than my clean sheet bonus!"

Deschamps stood in the doorway, a slight smile playing on his lips, but quickly straightened his face again: "Alright, before we finish our celebratory drinks, let's win the game first!"

The players dispersed with laughter, each organizing their equipment.

Roy tightened his shoelaces, looked up at Pulso, and the two exchanged a glance—tonight, they were going to teach Deportivo La Coruña's defense a lesson.

Outside the locker room, the Champions League theme song was already playing; the match was about to begin.
The referee's whistle broke the clamor at the Stade Louis II.

Scaloni stood in the right winger position and subconsciously tugged at the shin guard on his left leg.

With Sanchez absent, he will have to single-handedly carry Deportivo's right flank in attack and defense tonight.

Monaco kicks off.

Roy gently passed the ball to Pulso, who immediately passed it back to Pedretti in midfield.

Scaloni slightly bent his knees, his eyes fixed on the ball's trajectory, ready to start at any moment.

After receiving the ball, Pedretti did not rush to advance, but instead passed it laterally to Bernardi on the right wing.

Scaroni immediately became alert and leaned his body slightly forward.

He noticed that Rothen on the opposite side was already eager to make a move and could make an attack at any time.

Bernardi received the ball and looked up to observe, while Scaloni immediately adjusted his position to block possible passing routes.

Just then, Bernardi suddenly made a long pass, and the ball flew through the air towards the left wing.

Scaloni turned his head and saw that Evra had already sped up.

"Return to defense!"

Scaloni shouted and immediately moved towards the middle.

He stood in the unfamiliar right winger position. The game had just begun, but fine beads of sweat were already seeping from his back.

The Mediterranean wind swept across the field, chilling his soaked jersey and causing him to shiver involuntarily.

Deschamps was giving loud instructions from the sidelines, while Irureta had a furrowed brow.

Scaloni knew he had to stay alert for the next 90 minutes.

Every run and every touch of the ball can determine the course of the game.

The ball was passed back and forth in Monaco's backfield, with Scaloni's eyes always fixed on its trajectory.

He took a deep breath, preparing for this tough battle.

Possession was transferred back to the backfield for reorganization.

Roma gently passed the ball to Givet on the right wing in front of the goal.

Instead of launching a long ball, the right-back calmly observed the situation and dribbled forward for five or six meters.

When Givet saw Bernardi waving for the ball, he immediately passed it across to the defensive midfielder.

Bernardi, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, passed the ball to Pedretti before the opponent could press him. At that moment, Scaloni was moving from the right flank towards the center, preparing to intercept any possible passing lanes.

After receiving the ball, Pedretti looked up and suddenly made a long diagonal pass to Rothen on the left wing.

Scaloni tried desperately to catch up, but he was already half a step too late.

Rothen deftly controlled the ball with his left foot and took a step toward the inside.

Just as Scaloni was about to block, Rothen flicked the ball with the instep of his left foot.

The ball traced a beautiful arc, passing perfectly over Mauro Silva's head.

Scaroni desperately stretched out his foot, only to touch air.

Roy first pretended to move to the right, then suddenly stopped and changed direction the moment Naibette's center of gravity shifted.

As the experienced center-back staggered and leaned to the right, a gasp rippled through the stands at the Stade Louis II.

Irueta's face turned deathly pale instantly. "Cover the gap!"

His roar was drowned out by the sudden burst of sound, and Andrade was desperately chasing back.

But Roy accelerated in the opposite direction and slipped between the two like an eel.

Deschamps abruptly stood up from the coach's bench, the hem of his leather jacket swinging violently with the movement.

The Monaco fans' stands exploded like ignited explosives, their blue and red scarves billowing like waves.

The die-hard fans in the stands stood up one after another, some even stepping on their seats and raising their arms above their heads.

"My God! Roy! This is like magic!"

Commentator Thierry Rolland's voice suddenly rose, "Look at that dribble! Naibette is completely outmaneuvered!"

"So calm! Roy is as composed as if he's taking a stroll in the park!"

Roland's voice trembled with excitement, "Look at Molina, the goalkeeper is completely panicked, he has no idea what Roy is going to do!"

Facing the onrushing Molina, Roy did not choose to take a powerful shot, but instead gently flicked the ball with the outside of his right foot.

"That's the guts of a top-class shooter! When they met head-on, Roy didn't even blink!"

Roland's voice rose higher and higher, "Molina rushed out too rashly, and now he can only watch helplessly as the ball flies over his head!"

The ball obediently flew over the goalkeeper and fell into the net.

Goal!

When Roy finished with that delicate chip shot, the sound of the entire stadium seemed to be paused.

Only when the ball hit the net did all the sounds erupt—cheers, curses, whistles, and stomping mingled together, completely igniting the Mediterranean night air.

The commentator suddenly erupted in a deafening roar, "Only two minutes into the game, Roy has torn apart the defense in the most elegant way! This is the value of a star player! This is why the fans are going crazy for him!"

"Look at this celebration! Roy didn't even sprint, he just calmly raised his index finger, as if to say 'this is just the beginning'! The Monaco bench has gone wild, while the Deportivo goalkeeper is still kneeling in front of the goal, unable to believe that all of this happened so fast!"

"A perfect start! A perfect goal! Roy is telling everyone with this goal: Tonight, this is Puta Beep Beep! Whose stage is this!"

Valerón raised his hand in vain near the midfield line to indicate offside, but the referee did not react.

The Monaco substitutes had all rushed to the sideline.

After scoring, Roy did not immediately run off to celebrate. Instead, he stood still, slowly opening his arms, like a king surveying his territory.

He curled his lips into his signature roguish grin and shouted at the roaring stands of the Stade Louis II: "Let them see what a devil's home ground looks like!"

The shouts of "Démon! Démon!" instantly resounded through the sky.

Monaco players surged in from all directions, and Pulso was the first to rush to his side, ruffling his hair forcefully: "You bastard, you're giving me a birthday present right at the start of the game!"

Rothen lunged from behind, nearly knocking both of them to the ground. The three of them rolled around on the grass, laughing all the while.

On the stands, red and white confetti fell like snowflakes.

The veteran fans in the south stand stomped their seats, creating a deafening roar.

A little boy wearing a Roy jersey rode on his father's shoulders, holding up a cardboard sign with "Démon ROI" written crookedly, his face flushed red.

The Deportivo La Coruña fan section was deathly silent.

The fan with his daughter quickly bent down and gently wiped away the little girl's tears: "Don't cry, baby. The game has only just begun."

The little girl nodded, sobbing, her small hands clutching her father's scarf tightly.

In the 8th minute, Deportivo La Coruña launched a relentless attack!
"Velleron has the ball in midfield!" Roland's voice suddenly rose. "This midfield magician makes a delicate turn, and Bernardi misses completely!"

Valeron looked up to observe, and suddenly delivered a surgical through ball with the outside of his right foot!

Tristan understood immediately, and in one swift step, he shook off Squillaci, and they were about to be one-on-one!

"Danger! Rodriguez makes a diving tackle!" the commentator shouted, his voice almost cracking. "He clears the ball out of bounds at the last second!"

Corner kick!

The shouts of Deportivo La Coruña fans were deafening.

Valeron stood in the corner flag area and took a deep breath.

The ball drew a beautiful arc, and Naibette overpowered Gilwitt with a powerful header!

"Roma! A miraculous save!" Thierry Rolland jumped up excitedly. "The Monaco goalkeeper tipped the ball over the crossbar with one hand!"

Irureta stomped his foot hard on the sidelines, causing the hem of his suit jacket to fly up.

He roared at the field, "Push forward! Keep pushing forward!"

Deshang stood solemnly.

His eyes were fixed on the field, afraid of missing any detail.

The second corner kick was taken, and this time Valerón opted for a tactical corner kick.

Scaloni received the ball and suddenly changed direction, getting past Evra's defense, and swept a low cross across the face of the goal!

"Tristan!"

Roland's voice trembled, "Just a hair's breadth away! Givet poked the ball out of the danger zone with his toe!"

"Danger! Monaco's counterattack is coming!"

Roland's voice suddenly rose, "Deportivo's defense is pushing too high, that's a deadly space!"

"Bernardi receives the ball in midfield, looks up to observe—and launches a long, over-the-top pass! Giuly is on his way!"

The commentator's pace quickened, "Manuel Pablo is desperately trying to catch up, but it's too late!"

"Kuji is one-on-one!"

"Manuel Pablo chased desperately back, but it was too late!"

Molina rushed out of the goal, and Giuly calmly flicked the ball with his left foot, deftly shaking off the goalkeeper!

"Facing Molina's attack!"

Roland was so excited his voice almost cracked, "Look at that! A gentle flick with the left foot, beautiful! It completely threw the goalkeeper off balance!"

"Shot! Goal!!! Giuly! Calm as if he were in training! 2-0! Monaco extends their lead!"

Irueta's face was ashen, and his fingers trembled slightly.

Deschamps then jumped up and turned around to celebrate wildly with the players on the bench.

In just one minute, from nearly conceding a goal to extending the lead, the charm of football was on full display!

At the moment of the goal, Roy leaped high on the left wing and pumped his fist in celebration. He was closest to Giuly and was the first to rush over and jump onto the goal scorer's back.

Pulso then came running from a distance with his arms outstretched, knocking the two of them down onto the grass like a locomotive.

Rothen did not participate in the celebration; instead, he ran to the corner flag area and frantically patted the team badge on his chest in front of the camera.

Meanwhile, at Deportivo's half, Tristan bent over, supporting himself on his knees, and sighed heavily, while Valerón stood in the center circle, shaking his head repeatedly.

"That goal was fatal! Deportivo was just gaining momentum when they were dealt a heavy blow! Look at Irureta's expression, he simply can't believe his eyes!"

"Monaco's counter-attack efficiency is too high! Giuly's curling shot was a beautiful sight! Molina tried his best to block it, but it was too late!"

"The match was only 9 minutes in when Monaco were already two goals ahead! The Stade Louis II was in an uproar! Was this night going to be Deportivo La Coruña's nightmare?"

Irureta looked at Deschamps.

In Monaco's lightning counterattack, not only Giuly, but Roy and his teammates' teamwork was also textbook-worthy:

When Bernardi intercepted the ball in midfield, Roy immediately started his run, making a high-speed forward run down the left flank. He deliberately slowed down to draw Andrade's attention, preventing Naibette from easily covering Giuly. This clever run created a valuable one-on-one opportunity for Giuly.

As the target man, Pulso immediately dropped back to support Bernardi.

The moment Giuly started his run, he deliberately moved to the right, drawing Romero's defense away and clearing a path for Giuly's forward run.

Rothen, seeing a counter-attack opportunity on the left flank, immediately cut inside, drawing Manuel Pablo's defensive attention. It was this clever off-the-ball movement that gave Giuly a one-on-one chance against the goalkeeper.

As Giuly dribbled forward, Pedretti had already quietly moved to the center circle.

He raised his hands to signal his teammates to maintain their formation and be ready to respond to any possible counter-attack failures and subsequent defensive transitions.

Deportivo La Coruña launched a furious comeback after falling behind 0-2.

Valerón received the ball in midfield and tried to organize an attack, but Pedretti marked him closely, forcing him to pass the ball back.

Mauro Silva received the ball and attempted a long pass to Tristan, but Squillaci anticipated the move and cleared the ball with a header.

Commentator Roland's remarks:

"Deportivo wanted to speed things up, but Monaco's midfield defense was too solid! Pedretti was like a piece of chewing gum, sticking to Valerón no matter what!"

Roy became more and more relaxed as he played.

He frequently dropped back to midfield to receive the ball, and faced Sergio's pressing, he easily chipped the ball over Sergio, drawing gasps from the crowd!
Sergio, enraged, pulled him down from behind, but Roy just laughed and got up, mimicking Platini's pose, seemingly unconcerned.

Roland laughed loudly:

"Is Roy putting on an act?! Sergio has been completely fooled! The Monaco players are too relaxed; they've even started playing around!"

In the 13th minute, Deportivo's impatience became apparent.

Scaloni made a strong run past Evra on the right wing, but his cross was of very poor quality and went directly out of bounds.

Tristan shrugged and complained, while Amaviska stomped his feet impatiently.

Subsequently.

Giuly played a one-two with Givet on the right wing, then delivered a low cross. Pulso cleverly let the ball slip through, and Rothen followed up with a powerful shot, but unfortunately it went just over the crossbar!

"Look at Monaco's teamwork! Giuly's pass, Pulso's lapse in play, Rothen's shot—it was all done in one smooth motion! Deportivo's defense was completely led by the nose!"

17 minutes.

Valerón attempted a through ball to Tristan, but Rodriguez made a precise interception. Monaco then launched a quick counter-attack, with Roy dribbling forward and passing to Pulso, who laid it off. Pedretti's long-range shot was saved by Molina!

"Monaco's tactical execution was perfect! The understanding between Roy and Pulso was simply unbeatable, while Deportivo's players became increasingly anxious, which will only make the situation more passive!"

Roy frequently dropped back to receive passes, using his skills and mentality to outmaneuver his opponents and completely control the pace of the game.

As a target man, Pulso's runs and playmaking kept Deportivo's defense constantly on its toes.

Giuly and Rothen constantly created threats on both wings, preventing Deportivo's full-backs from pushing forward easily.

Pedretti acted as a midfield shield, perfectly limiting Valerón's performance. Valerón was marked out of the game by Pedretti and unable to unleash his magic.

This directly resulted in Tristan being isolated and helpless, with very few opportunities to get the ball.

Meanwhile, Deportivo's wingers Scaloni and Amavisca could only make frequent, impatient breakthroughs, but their crosses were of extremely poor quality.

Monaco played with increasing ease, while Deportivo became impatient and made frequent mistakes.

Monaco completely controlled the pace of the game, and Deportivo's counterattacks repeatedly failed to succeed!

In their hotel room in Belgrade, Real Madrid stars lounged lazily on the sofa.

Zidane and Raul sat facing the television, Guti reclined and ate an apple, while Carlos and Helguera sat on the carpet playing cards.

The TV was showing the Monaco vs. Deportivo La Coruña match.

“2-0,” Raul glanced at the scoreboard. “Monaco are in good form today.”

In the 19th minute, Valerón's through ball went too deep, and Roma easily came out to collect it.

Guti suddenly sat up straight, his blond hair shaking wildly: "Watch this counterattack!"

Instead of launching a long ball, Roma calmly made a short pass to right-back Givet.

Givet took two steps and passed the ball to Bernardi before the opposing striker could press him.

"Your passing is very solid," Zidane nodded.

But his eyes were fixed on Roy, who was running in the center circle, raising his arms as he ran.

Bernardi passed the ball to Pedretti, who looked up and immediately passed it to Rothen on the left wing.

Rothen dribbled inside, and Manuel Pablo came forward to block him, but Rothen faked him out.

“This kid’s pretty fast,” Carlos said, throwing down his cards and turning around.

Rothen did not continue his breakthrough, but instead passed the ball back to the onrushing Evra.

Evra passed the ball across to Roy in the middle, who, without stopping the ball, passed it directly to Giuly, who then passed it back to Bernardi.

“This coordination,” Raul frowned.

Bernardi passed the ball to Roy again.

Roy received the ball at the top of the arc, facing a double-team from Nabet and Andrade, and made two quick changes of direction before suddenly passing it across to the onrushing Pulso.

“It’s over, Laco.” Elgra sighed.

Pulso arrived in time and unleashed a right-footed shot into the far corner! Molina couldn't reach it, and the ball flew straight into the net!
3-0!

Guti whistled: "No wonder the chairman wants him so much."

Zidane shook his head with a smile: "I told you all long ago, this kid is terrifyingly strong."

Raul looked puzzled: "What's the second team coach doing? I've never heard of him being this good before?"

Carlos suddenly slapped his thigh: "If we had this kid, could we have scored a goal against Partizan yesterday?"

Helguera rolled his eyes: "We didn't play well yesterday."

A burst of laughter erupted in the room.

Raul stared at the replay thoughtfully: "Look at Roy's change of direction, it's just like..."

"Like you when you were young? I think you look more like Ronnie."

Guti continued, casually tossing the apple core into the trash can.

On the television, the commentator's excited voice echoed in the room: "Monaco's attacking combination was a work of art! Roy and Pulso's understanding was simply seamless! Look at this goal, initiated by the goalkeeper, 12 consecutive passes, and finally Roy casually toyed with two center-backs in front of the penalty area, and Pulso delivered the fatal blow!"

Guti frowned as he stared at the screen: "Deportivo's defense has been completely breached. Nebert and Andrade are both top-class center-backs in La Liga, but they're like wooden stakes in front of Roy."

Zidane nodded thoughtfully: "The problem lies in the midfield. Deportivo's two holding midfielders, Mauro Silva and Sergio, were completely disrupted by Monaco's runs. Look, when Roy dropped back to receive the ball, Deportivo had no one marking him, allowing him to easily turn and organize an attack."

The TV screen switched to a replay, showing Roy changing direction twice in a row at the top of the arc, causing Naibette and Andrade to completely lose their balance.

“That kid is too smart,” Raul put down his water glass. “He doesn’t need to force his way through; a single feint is enough to create space. In Monaco’s system, he’s a free agent; he can drop back to organize the attack and also make runs forward to score.”

Helguera added: "The key is that the whole Monaco team is making runs and coordinating. Rothen and Giuly spread the width, while Pulso draws attention in the middle, creating enough space for Roy to perform."

Carlos: "You know, if we had a striker like that on our team, alongside Ronaldo and Raul..."

“Then our attack will be much more terrifying,” Zidane continued, his eyes gleaming with shrewdness. “Roy’s greatest strengths are his off-the-ball movement and explosiveness, as well as his ability to read the game. Have you noticed? He observes his teammates’ runs before each touch of the ball, which allows him to always make the most rational choice.”

Helguera added, "And Roy's positioning is so intelligent. He doesn't need the ball, but he always appears in the most dangerous positions. This style of play doesn't disrupt our existing attacking system; instead, it allows everyone's strengths to be better utilized."

Carlos suddenly slapped his thigh: "The most important thing is that he doesn't take credit! Look at that goal just now, he could have shot himself, but he chose to pass it across to Pulso."

The TV was showing Roy's celebration after the assist; he ran towards Pulso with a smile, showing no regret at not scoring himself.

“This kind of team-oriented striker is so rare,” Zidane concluded. “His presence can bring the whole team’s attack to life.”

The room fell silent for a moment, everyone staring at the figure on the screen who was retreating to defend.

Roy's tactical position only required him to score goals, but he still actively participated in defense, an attitude that made the Real Madrid stars present nod in approval.

On television, the commentator was still analyzing: "Roy has been directly involved in over 70% of Monaco's goals this season; such an all-around performance is reminiscent of his peak."

Guti suddenly grinned mischievously at Raul: "Captain, if he came to our team, shouldn't you give up your penalty kick duties?"

A burst of laughter erupted in the room, but everyone's eyes remained fixed on the television screen.

26 minutes.

Monaco pressed high up the pitch, Roy received the ball at the edge of the penalty area, faked out Naibette with a feint, and unleashed a powerful right-footed shot into the near corner!

The ball hurtled straight into the goal like a cannonball.

"Roy! Shot!!!"

Commentator Thierry Roland's voice suddenly rose, "Molina! A miraculous save!!! He tipped the ball over the crossbar with one hand!!!"

Deportivo La Coruña's entire team is in a state of having narrowly escaped death.

Molina got up from the ground, roared to the sky, as if he had used up all his strength.

Naibette collapsed to the ground, panting heavily; the defense he had just witnessed had left him shaken.

Valerón stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head and smiling wryly, clearly frustrated by the team's defensive lapses.

Irureta on the sidelines finally breathed a sigh of relief, but his face was still ashen. He shouted at the players on the field, "Mark them! Don't give them any space!"

Roy stood there, grinning, showing no frustration at having his shot saved. Instead, he gave Rothen a thumbs-up at the corner flag.

Pulso and Giuly had already rushed into the penalty area, ready to contest for the corner kick, their eyes filled with murderous intent.

Deschamps clenched his fist and waved it on the sidelines, clearly very satisfied with the team's attacking rhythm.

"Monaco are absolutely on fire today! Roy's shot was terrifying enough, but Molina managed to save it! But before Deportivo could even catch their breath, another corner kick is coming!"

"Look at the duel between Pulso and Romero, they're wrestling like wolves in the penalty area! Monaco's set-piece tactics today are all aimed at destroying Deportivo!"

"If this corner kick goes in again, Deportivo's mentality will completely collapse! Monaco's attacking onslaught just won't stop!"

Rothen took a run-up and curled a shot with his right foot! The ball was fast and flat, heading straight for the near post!

Suddenly, Pulso made a reverse run, leaving Romero half a body length behind, and leaped high into the air!

His jumping height completely overwhelmed the defenders, and he unleashed a powerful header towards the near corner of the goal!

Molina made a diving save, barely managing to touch the ball with his fingertips, but the force was too great, and the ball still slammed into the net!
4-0!

"My God! That headbutt was unstoppable! Pulso is absolutely on fire today!"

"Look at Deportivo's defense, it's been completely torn apart by Monaco's set-piece tactics! Romero simply can't stop them!"

"Purso scored twice! He was a beast in the penalty area today!"

The Monaco fans went completely wild in the stands, some lighting fireworks, others singing the team's anthem, turning the entire stadium into a sea of ​​red and white.

Despair spread among Deportivo La Coruña fans. A father with his daughter hugged her tightly, the little girl's eyes already red from crying.

Deportivo La Coruña fan Fernando covered his face with his hands, his shoulders trembling slightly, clearly trying to hold back tears.

Carlos took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with the corner of his shirt, as if that would wipe away the nightmare before his eyes.

Juan angrily waved his fist and shouted at the field, "What are you playing?!"

Louis finally couldn't hold back his tears, which welled up in his eyes. He lowered his head, not wanting others to see his vulnerability.

Deportivo La Coruña's defense has completely collapsed.

Just four minutes later, Naibette made a clearance error under pressure, and the ball rolled awkwardly toward the sideline.

Givet charged forward like a cheetah to intercept the ball and delivered a precise cross just as it was about to go out of bounds!
Pulso displayed the instinct of a top striker in the penalty area.

He first feigned a forward run, then suddenly changed direction and circled around to the far post, completely deceiving Andrade.

As the ball flew in, Pulso leaped high, overpowering the retreating Sergio, and unleashed a powerful header towards the far corner of the goal!

Molina stood still, not even having time to make a save!
"Hat trick!!! 5-0!!! This is a nightmare! Deportivo's defense has completely collapsed! Pulso! Pulso! He's Monaco's lucky charm today! Scoring three goals on his birthday to celebrate!"

Pulso sprinted wildly toward the corner flag, slid to his knees, and opened his arms to receive the adoration of the entire stadium!

Roy was the first to rush over and jump onto his back, and the two of them laughed heartily.

Other teammates rushed over and pinned the goal scorer down to celebrate.

Deschamps stood on the sidelines with his hands in his pockets, trying to remain calm, but the slight upturn of his lips betrayed his inner joy.

He turned and exchanged a few words with assistant coach Jean Petit, clearly confident of winning the game.

Irureta was utterly despondent. He slowly walked back to the bench and sat down, not even bothering to pick up his tactical board from the floor. The assistant coaches exchanged bewildered glances, unsure how to comfort their coach.

"Friends, we are witnessing a classic match in Champions League history! Monaco's overwhelming attack has declared their strength to all of Europe! And Deportivo La Coruña, last season's La Liga powerhouse, is completely lost in the sea of ​​red at the Stade Louis II tonight!"

The glaring 5-0 scoreline made every step of the Deportivo players feel heavy.

The roar of the Stade Louis II assaulted their eardrums like a tidal wave, and the cheers of the Monaco fans in the stands stung everyone's nerves.

But the most touching stories on the football field often begin in despair.

In the 32nd minute, Tristan fouled Squillaci viciously in the attacking third.

The foul startled the Monaco players—the usually serious striker's eyes flashed with ferocity. When the referee pulled out the yellow card, Tristan didn't even glance at it, turning and running back into the penalty area.

"cheer!"

Valerón clapped his hands and shouted, his voice barely audible in the noisy stadium, but his teammates saw his reddened eyes.

In the 35th minute, Mauro Silva brought down Rothen with a flying tackle in midfield.

This action drew protests from the Monaco players. Roy immediately rushed up to confront Silva, and Nebert even got into a head-to-head confrontation with Pulso, the two exchanging insults and spittle.

Irureta finally stood up on the sidelines. His suit was already wrinkled beyond recognition, but his eyes were getting brighter and brighter.

"that's all!"

He roared into the arena, "Let them see our fighting spirit!"

The broadcast camera panned across the Monaco bench, where Deschamps was frowning as he spoke with the fourth official.

Behind him, the young Ribery couldn't contain himself and tried to rush onto the field several times, but was held back by his assistant coach.

When the chaos finally subsided and Rothen limped to his feet, the boos at the Stade Louis II reached their peak.

Surprisingly, the French winger did not choose to lie on the grass, but instead firmly waved to the referee to indicate that he could continue playing.

This move suddenly made the already tense atmosphere become more delicate.

Commentator Thierry Rolland exclaimed in the broadcast booth: "This is the most primal passion of football. Monaco, leading 5-0, refused to back down, while Deportivo, trailing 0-5, refused to give in. Beyond the statistics, it's a battle of grit and dignity."

In the 37th minute, Scaloni was knocked down by Evra on the wing. The first thing he did after getting up was to grab Evra's collar.

When the referee ran over, the usually shy Argentine player was still yelling in a tearful voice, "That's a fucking foul!"

The Monaco players began to frown. They had thought the game was over, but now every tackle from their opponents was ruthless. After being knocked down from behind by Sergio, Roy lay on the ground and smiled helplessly—he recognized that look in his eyes; it was the fierce glint of a beast driven to the brink.

Deschamps, unable to sit still on the sidelines, walked over to the fourth official and complained: "They're kicking people!"

But the referee simply shook his head, signaling for the game to continue.

39 minutes.

Amavisca dribbled down the left flank and, facing Givet's defense, suddenly stopped and changed direction, delivering a precise diagonal pass with the outside of his foot.

Tristan charged into the penalty area like a beast, and with a powerful shot amidst the double-team of Squillaci and Rodriguez! The ball blasted into the net like a cannonball!

The entire away team's stand fell into a brief silence.

Deportivo La Coruña fans stared blankly at the field, as if they couldn't believe their eyes.

The despair of being five goals down made them almost forget the joy of scoring, until the ball actually hit the back of the net, bringing them back to reality.

"We scored! We finally scored!"

Cheers erupted like thunder in the stands.

The fans who had remained steadfast instantly erupted in cheers, their blue and white scarves dancing in the sunlight, forming a surging ocean.

Some people knelt on the ground and wept bitterly, while others hugged the strangers next to them tightly. Everyone shouted with all their might, as if to release all the pent-up frustration accumulated throughout the game.

The father, his eyes red-rimmed, gently stroked his daughter's swollen eyes, saying, "Did you see that? We scored! Never give up!"

A smile finally broke out on the little girl's tear-streaked face. She imitated her father, raised her tiny fist, and joined in the cheering.

At this moment, the hearts of all Deportivo La Coruña fans were united.

They may know that the hope of a comeback is slim, but at this moment, the goal is the brightest light in the darkness.

The players on the field did not celebrate. Tristan picked up the ball and ran quickly towards the center circle, but the cheers from the stands continued for a long time, which was the best tribute to the spirit of never giving up.

On the sidelines, Irureta suddenly jumped up and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Attack!! Attack!! Don't be afraid of conceding goals!! Score as many as you can!"

His suit was disheveled, and his tie hung askew around his neck, but the fire in his eyes never died out.

44 minutes.

Deportivo La Coruña gets a corner kick.

Valerón stood at the corner flag, took a deep breath, and scanned the penalty area.

The entire Monaco penalty area was in chaos, with blue and white jerseys intertwined with red and white jerseys, and constant pushing, pulling, and underhanded maneuvers.

The corner kick is taken! The ball arcs dangerously high, flying straight into the six-yard box.

Goalkeeper Roma made a mistake coming out, and the ball bounced off the chaotic crowd.

Squillaci's clearance was short, and Scaloni appeared like a ghost! In the instant he fell, his toe precisely poked the ball. The ball slowly rolled across the goal line and hit the far side netting.

"Another goal! Scaloni!"

The commentator's voice trembled with shock, "Deportivo La Coruña have scored two goals in five minutes from a desperate situation! 5-2!"

Scaloni, who scored the goal, did not celebrate. He lay on the grass, staring blankly at the sky. Sweat mixed with grass clippings clung to his face, and his chest heaved violently.

The goal came too late, far too late. There was no celebration from his teammates; Tristan silently helped Scaloni up, and Valerón had already turned and run towards the center circle.

Irureta on the sidelines had completely disregarded his image.

The once-refined coach, his suit disheveled and tie askew, waved his arms and shouted hoarsely, "Keep going! Keep going! Don't stop!"

His voice resonated throughout the stadium, as if he were using his last ounce of strength to ignite the players' fighting spirit.

At the same time, the cheers of Monaco fans rang out like thunder.

They collectively sang a self-composed battle song: "Roy! Tear them apart! Roy! End the game!"

The singing came in waves, attempting to suppress Deportivo's counterattack with its momentum.

The Stade Louis II has become a melting pot of emotions.

On one side is Deportivo La Coruña, determined to fight back, and on the other side is Monaco, determined to hold onto their victory; on one side is the Albiceleste, whose hope has been rekindled in despair, and on the other side is the Red and White team, determined to win.

Both sides seemed to have forgotten that there was still half a game left.

Both sides demonstrated the purest spirit of football – an unwavering fighting spirit and a determination to defend honor.

One minute of added time in the first half.

Monaco launched a final lightning counterattack.

Roy received the ball near the center circle and, facing Deportivo's exhausted defense, calmly passed it to Giuly, who was making a run down the right flank.

Without making any adjustments, Juli unleashed a powerful shot! The ball flew like a cannonball straight into the top right corner of the goal.

Molina made a diving save!
The Deportivo goalkeeper barely managed to tip the ball over the crossbar with his fingertips!
"Corner kick! Monaco's last chance in the first half!" The commentator's voice was hoarse with tension.

Rothen strode towards the corner flag, and the entire Stade Louis II held its breath in anticipation.

The corner kick is taken.

Squillaci leaped high at the near post and gently headed the ball on!
The ball changed trajectory and flew towards the penalty area!
With his back to the goal, Roy leaped into the air amidst the scramble and unleashed a spectacular bicycle kick!

Molina made another incredible save! He blocked the ball with one hand, sending it flying out of bounds in a bizarre arc—

In that split second, a red and white figure pounced like a tiger!
Pulso leaped into the air and slammed the ball into the net! 6-2!

"BUUUUUT!!! Pulso!!!"

Roland was at a loss for words: "Four goals in a row! A perfect finish! Monaco put the first half of the game on a high note!"

The Monaco fans' stands were boiling like a furnace, and a sea of ​​red and white churned endlessly at the Stade Louis II.

The shouts of "Pulso! Pulso!" were deafening, as if they were about to lift the roof off the stadium.

Excited fans hugged and jumped for joy, and some even disregarded security personnel's attempts to climb over the railings and rush onto the field.

Pulso climbed out of the net, his face still covered in grass and sweat, but he beamed with the brightest smile.

He opened his arms to welcome the deafening cheers from the Stade Louis II.

Roy was the first to rush over, laughing as he tackled him to the ground: "Happy birthday, old buddy! Is this gift big enough?"

"Perfect!"

Pulso shouted on the grass, his voice drowned out by the laughter of his teammates.

Giuly squeezed in and ruffled Pulso's hair: "Four goals! What's gotten into you today?"

“Just a regular breakfast,” Pulso grinned, “but maybe with a little extra gunpowder.”

In this sea of ​​jubilation, Pulso tilted his head back, letting sweat and tears stream down his face.

His vision was a little blurry, but he could clearly hear the words he had said to his teammates when he saw the Marseille fans' adoration for Deschamps from the team bus outside the stadium during last season's League Cup semi-final away game against Marseille: "This is legend! We'll have ours too."

At this moment, those words resonated even more deeply within him.

Four goals in the first half of the Champions League match, a massacre, a four-goal haul that will go down in history.

Pulso knew that from this night onward, every inch of the pitch at the Stade Louis II would remember his name, and every stand would tell his story.

This Croatian striker has etched an eternal mark on this red and white temple in the most stunning way.

Tears blurred his vision, but the smile on his lips grew deeper and deeper.

The embraces from his teammates, the cheers from the fans, and the head coach giving him a thumbs-up from the sidelines all told him: tonight, he is the king of this stadium.

Manchester.

Ferguson sat in an armchair in his study, his eyes glued to the television screen.

Arsenal were pushed to their limits at home by Dynamo Kyiv, and the 0-0 scoreline at halftime left Wenger looking grim on the sidelines.

Ferguson took a sip of whiskey, a smile unconsciously creeping onto his lips—nothing is more gratifying than watching an old rival suffer a setback.

Just then, the phone on the coffee table rang. Ferguson frowned and picked up the receiver. David Gill's excited voice came from the other end: "Alex! You need to change the channel right away and watch the Monaco vs. Deportivo La Coruña match!"

"What?" Ferguson replied casually, his eyes still fixed on Wenger's grim face on the screen. "What has that French kid gotten himself into this time?"

"It's more than just a name!"

Gil's voice almost pierced the receiver, "Monaco turned Deportivo La Coruña into a sieve in the first half, 6-2! It was a massacre!"

Ferguson's hand suddenly stopped.

He put down his wine glass, picked up the remote control, and quickly changed the channel.

When Monaco's scoreboard came into view, his eyebrows almost flew off his hairline.

"Jesus Christ," Ferguson murmured to himself, watching the goal highlights playing on the screen.

On television, the commentator was excitedly analyzing Pulso's four goals, which equaled the Champions League record for most goals in a single match, previously held by Van Basten and Inzaghi.

He also set a new personal record: the highest number of goals scored in a single half of a Champions League match.

But Ferguson's eyes were fixed on the French striker Roy, who was omnipresent on the field.

This kid always moves like he's walking a pet, leaving Deportivo's defense in a mess.

“Damn it,” Ferguson said to Jill on the other end of the phone, “we have to fight for first place in the group!”

(End of this chapter)