The path to becoming a football legend began with being ousted from Carrington by Manchester United.

"The beginner dungeon: Redemption of Istanbul is now open, and time in this world has stopped."

"In the 2005 UEFA Champions League final, Liverpool, trailing 0-3 at halftime, fought back to equalize in the second half, dragging the game into extra time, and then defeated AC Milan in a penalty shootout, completing an epic comeback."

"For AC Milan players, the moment they celebrated with champagne at halftime has forever etched them in the annals of shame, becoming a nightmare that everyone will never forget."

"Please redeem the AC Milan players, help them defeat Liverpool, and win the Champions League."

Please select the dungeon difficulty.

"Normal Difficulty: Possessing the enemy faction will grant you a guaranteed reward."

Nightmare Difficulty: Possessing a member of your own faction will grant you advanced rewards.

"Hell difficulty: Randomly possessing your own faction will grant you the ultimate reward."

"As this is a beginner dungeon, the rewards for this quest will be automatically increased by one tier."

After a moment's thought, Lin Yi chose Nightmare difficulty. After all, it was his first time, so he decided to try the medium difficulty first. Anyway, the rewards could be increased, so it wouldn't be a loss.

The person Lin Yi was going to designate was neither the Ukrainian nuclear warhead Shevchenko, nor the then-dominant Kaka, and he certainly didn't intend to possess Dida to compete with Liverpool for penalties.

Lin Yi's choice was to possess the body of AC Milan's head coach, Carlo Ancelotti.

"Selection complete. Relevant memories, appearance, and character relationships have been implanted. The instance will open in 10 seconds. Please prepare."

A flash of white light, and Lin found himself in the Atatürk Olympic Stadium in Istanbul, with time returning to 2005.

Touching his somewhat unfamiliar large belly, Lin Yi first looked up to observe the scoreboard.

The electronic screen showed a score of 3-3, with 120 minutes remaining. Extra time was about to end, and the two sides were about to enter a brutal penalty shootout.

As the referee blew his whistle three times—two short and one long—the players, dragging their weary bodies, gradually dispersed around the bench, waiting for the penalty shootout to begin.

Almost everyone wore a look of confusion and helplessness, even those with experienced veterans like Maldini and Cafu.

This is, after all, the Champions League final stage. After experiencing such a dramatic rise and fall, the AC Milan players are filled with fear.

The fear of losing the game in this way, the fear of losing the game while leading by three goals.

This is precisely why Lin Yi chose Ancelotti; he needed to give the players a boost of morale.

"Listen up, everyone." Lin Yi cleared his throat to get the players' attention. "It's not your fault that the game turned out this badly."

No one's expression changed. Everyone guessed that the head coach would take the blame upon himself, which was the same old trick.

In the current situation, such clichés are no longer effective.

Lin Yi ignored all of that and began his performance.

"Cafu, you're an old man after all. It's not your fault that you were too slow in tracking back and Gerrard seized the opportunity to score with a header. It's just that he didn't respect the old man."

Cafu clenched his fists so tightly that his nails almost dug into his flesh.

"Andre, you were completely lost throughout the match. It's not your fault, after all, Zhen Naro was tied up and without Big Beard's protection, you're just a whiny woman. How could I be so harsh on a woman?"

Pirlo, still half-asleep, has transformed into the Black Cat Sheriff, his eyes wide like saucers.

"Shevchenko, don't blame yourself for your performance. Not scoring isn't your fault, missing the game-winning goal isn't your fault, and being neutralized by an unknown player like Jimmy Traoré isn't your fault either. After all, that's about all you're capable of. By the way, can someone fucking explain to me who Traoré is?"

Shevchenko, nicknamed the "Ukrainian nuclear warhead," wished he were a real nuclear warhead so he could explode on the spot and blast this talkative fat man to smithereens.

"Jinnaro and Yap, you two don't need to take any responsibility at all. The whole world knows you two are roughnecks, and no one will place their hopes on you. Relax."

Gattuso and Stam exchanged a glance, secretly wondering what the consequences would be if they killed their own head coach.

"As for Paulo and Alessandro, the goal conceded had nothing to do with you two. You're both old guys. I'll be grateful if you can finish the 120 minutes safely without cramping or foaming at the mouth."

Maldini and Nesta's deep blue eyes flashed with a murderous glint.

Tomasson was thankful that he came on as a substitute at the last minute because his own coach was so mean; perhaps he could have escaped a disaster.

Just then, Lin Yi's gaze swept over him, and Thomason began to tremble, his heart filled with fear.

"Security! Where's security?" Lin Yi's eyes were full of confusion. He shouted twice, then pointed at Thomason and asked the people around him, "Who is this guy with trembling symptoms? How did you let the taxi driver in?"

Thomason really wanted to tell the head coach that he actually worked as an air conditioner repairman.

The assistant coach, unable to bear it any longer, whispered to Lin Yi, "Carlo, he's not a taxi driver, he's Jung Dahl Tomasson. You're the one who put him on the field to replace Hernan, who scored two goals."

Lin Yi waved his hand to indicate that he didn't care: "Whatever, who cares? Anyway, no one in the world knows him except his parents."

Ignoring the dejection in Tomasson's eyes, Lin Yi instructed Maldini: "Paul, you're the captain. When the penalty shootout starts, lead everyone to the center line, kneel down, and kowtow three times towards Liverpool, begging them to go easy on us and show some mercy so we can go back to Italy."

"Who speaks the best English? I'd like to volunteer!"

Maldini couldn't hold back any longer. He strode up to Lin Yi, gritted his teeth, and said, word by word, "Carlo, in your eyes, are we really that worthless?"

Maldini was panting heavily, his face almost touching Lin Yi's.

The others weren't idle either; they quickly gathered around, each letting out a low growl, like a pack of hungry lions surrounding a warthog.

Lin shook his head repeatedly, waving his hands and saying, "Don't get agitated, guys. I didn't say those things just now."

"If it's not you, then who is it?" Lin Yin could clearly see the veins on Maldini's forehead.

"Let me tell you a secret: my soul just traveled to the future. These comments I'm making are all from the internet, from what the fans are saying."

Lin Yi suddenly remembered something and turned to Cafu, saying, "By the way, Cafu, in the future I see you running for governor of São Paulo after you retire, but you lose because your opponent said you were a coward from Istanbul, and then all your supporters ran away. Everyone remember not to follow Cafu's example. If you lose later, never do anything so stupid again."

"Gentlemen, that's all I have to say. Those who are ready to surrender, go kneel over there with Paul. Those who want to win, come here. Let's get five of us together and take a penalty shootout."

After saying that, Lin Yi pushed Maldini away and walked to the side alone.

"Let me do it! I want to win!"

Count me in!

"I have no idea what surrender means!"

"I'm going to crush Liverpool!"

"Mr. Ancelotti, give me a chance. I don't want to be branded with shame!"

No one left, and everyone surrounded Lin Yi again, volunteering their services in a flurry of voices.

Lin Yi looked somewhat helpless: "Alright, alright, since no one's planning to surrender, then everyone, listen to my instructions!"