Football: Messi, I am your wallbreaker!

Chapter 85: All the Barcelona players are showing me Li Jing's match!

The grass at Calderón Stadium was completely soaked by the rain.

After completing that unconventional aerial slam.

Li Jing's feet landed back on the slippery grass, carried by gravity.

The enormous recoil force surged from his ankle into his knee.

He took two large steps forward to completely dissipate the enormous downward momentum he was experiencing.

Li Jing stood up straight.

A light blue virtual panel immediately popped up in my mind.

[Mission Complete: Golden Bomber.]

[System accurately determined hang time: 0.83 seconds.]

[Mission Reward: The Air Master Simulation Training item has been added to the prize pool.]

After reading the text description on the panel, Li Jing decisively closed the interface.

Nice!

Li Jing mentally clenched his fist.

Li Jing suddenly turned around and charged directly towards the corner flag area on the right.

Li Jing pushed off the ground with both legs, and his whole body was lifted into the air again.

The body leaped high into the air, completing an extremely graceful half-turn in mid-air.

The moment he landed, he spread his legs and stood firmly, his entire lower body firmly planted on the grass.

He chopped his hands down from his chest to his sides.

"Siu—

—!

A tremendous roar burst forth from his throat.

The sound, transmitted through the microphones on the sidelines, completely drowned out the pattering rain around them.

Turan and Gabi, who were following behind, finally caught up.

The two men pounced on Li Jing from behind, one on each side, and slammed him heavily onto the wet grass.

Falcao sprinted all the way from the edge of the penalty area.

Instead of pushing into the crowd, he knelt heavily on one knee on the grass.

He reached out with both hands and grabbed Li Jing's jersey collar tightly.

Falcao pulled hard on the fabric, lifting Li Jing's upper body a little.

"Were you flying just now?!"

Falcao roared at Li Jing's face, the veins on his neck bulging.

"How long exactly have you been in the sky?"

Falcao spat everywhere.

"I stood there watching you jump. Spasic landed on both feet, and you were still up there!"

This top shooter's worldview was greatly shaken.

He simply couldn't understand this action of waiting for the defender to fall before heading the ball.

Did it eat a gliding eagle?

In the stands.

Red and white plastic raincoats and commemorative scarves were thrown into the air by more than 50,000 frenzied fans.

The entire stands erupted in cheers.

He stared intently at the huge broadcast screen above the stadium.

On the screen, the director switched to a very slow-motion replay of the jump.

The veteran fan's mouth was agape.

He wanted to join the entire audience in chanting Li Jing's name, but his vocal cords completely failed.

It couldn't make a sound.

This is a terrifying image of a body frozen in mid-air.

He swore he'd been watching football for over a decade and had never seen anything like it!

In the living room of a domestic apartment.

The father, wearing a Barcelona jersey, was holding a few tissues to wipe tea stains.

His hand hovered in mid-air.

The tissue remained motionless.

His eyes were glued to the super slow-motion playback on the 70-inch television screen.

"That core strength—that hang time—"

Dad swallowed hard.

He turned his head and glanced at his son, who was sitting cross-legged on the sofa next to him.

"He paused in the air for almost a second just now, didn't he?"

The boy jumped off the sofa, pointing at the TV screen with extreme pride.

"I told you so! I knew he had a secret weapon!"

The boy excitedly mimicked the famous gesture.

"He was just waiting in the air! He waited until the defender fell into the mud before he started heading the ball down!"

On the live broadcast screen, dense white bullet comments completely obscured the green grass background.

Exclamation marks flooded the screen.

"Newton's turning in his grave! Quickly, get some nails to seal it!"

"Holy crap, he waited in the air for that defender to land before smashing the ball!"

"That kind of hang time is absolutely record-breaking!"

"Physics no longer exists, everyone adjournment!"

In the broadcast studio.

He Wei pushed away the stack of tactical A4 papers in front of him with both hands.

The paper was pushed onto the carpet, but he didn't pick it up at all.

He took off one of the listening headphones and stared intently at the super slow-motion replay on the monitor.

In the footage, the difference in altitude between Li Jing and Spasic in the air is extremely clear.

The camera captured the trails of raindrops running down their faces.

"An incredible goal. Look at this position, everyone."

He Wei leaned closer to the microphone and turned up the volume.

"Spasic is already falling according to gravity; his feet are less than twenty centimeters off the ground."

"But Li Jing is still rising! He's still soaring higher!"

He Wei picked up a red pen and tapped it heavily on the solid wood table.

A "snap" sound came from the television stereos in thousands of households.

"Dear viewers..."

He Wei took a deep breath.

"That brief moment of airtime just now may have witnessed the birth of yet another iconic scene!"

He Wei's tone became extremely serious and excited.

"I have a feeling that after this match, La Liga and European sports media will be doing a frame-by-frame time-tracking!"

"Li Jing is very likely to break the all-time record for the longest hang time during a single jump in football tonight, on this rainy night!"

Inside the fully enclosed VIP box at the very top of Calderon.

Cold air was constantly blowing out from the vents overhead.

Guardiola stood up abruptly from the leather sofa.

The hat was no longer there.

He clutched his bald head tightly with both hands.

He strode to the floor-to-ceiling glass with one-way visibility.

Press your face directly against the cold glass surface.

Then he turned around in surprise to look at the assistant coach.

"That last moment—"

Guardiola stared at the Atletico Madrid players celebrating on the grass below, then turned to look at his assistant coach Vilanova beside him.

His voice trembled.

"Is he flying?"

Vilanova, clutching the tactical analysis board in his hand, was speechless.

Faced with such purely unreasonable air defense altitude and physical strength.

Barcelona's defense features Puyol and Pique.

How should we prevent this?

How to use tactics to contain a monster that stays in the air and doesn't need to come down?

"Ring ring"

The urgent ringing of a cell phone suddenly broke the oppressive atmosphere in the private room.

Guardiola released his hands from his head and reached into the left inner pocket of his black coat.

He pulled out the vibrating phone.

The screen lit up, displaying the name of their daughter, Maria.

He slid the answer button and held the phone to his ear.

"Dad! You were at Calderon, right?"

Maria's voice came through the receiver, a loud scream of extreme excitement.

There was absolutely none of the usual greetings we exchange during a regular phone call.

"Watching the game, what's up?"

Guardiola was holding his phone, his brow furrowed, and he rubbed his temples with his other hand.

I just feel a headache.

"Are you playing Atletico Madrid next week?"

Maria spoke very quickly and excitedly on the other end of the phone.

"You absolutely have to get me a signed Li Jing jersey! The way he flew through the air to score that goal was so cool!"

Guardiola's hand holding the phone froze.

Depend on!

He is a Barcelona manager.

Now his daughter is calling, asking him to get an autographed jersey from the opposing team's key player!

He felt a tightness in his chest as he listened to his daughter's unconventional idol-worshiping request for a monster from the enemy camp.

But as a seasoned doting father to his daughter.

He simply couldn't bear to refuse the request of his adorable 12-year-old daughter, who was as lovely as a sunflower!

Indeed, this is the greatest punishment for a man.

It's all about giving him a daughter!

Guardiola looked down at the young man wearing the number 13 jersey.

"Alright, alright!"

Guardiola tried to negotiate.

"How about I go back and get you a signed Lionel Messi jersey?"

"He's widely recognized as the best player in the world!"

A loud bang came from the other side!

"No! No, no!"

"I! Don't! Want! That ugly little uncle's jersey!"

Guardiola was helpless.

"Okay, okay. I understand."

The whistle was sharp and urgent.

The Seville players gathered in the center circle with heavy steps.

Left center-back Spasic stands behind the tee box.

He looked up and glanced at Li Jing, who had just run back to his own half of the field.

Rain lashed against Spasic's face. He raised his right hand and numbly rubbed his left elbow.

It hurts so much.

I just collided head-on with the other person's solid sternum, and the bone was subjected to intense compression.

But what made him even more desperate than the physical pain was being forcibly used as a stepping stone in mid-air.

His prized air defense advantage was shattered by the opponent's extremely savage and terrifying physical prowess.

That kind of falling.

Seeing the huge difference in height as the other person was still hovering above his head.

It completely shattered his defensive confidence as a center-back.

After the restart.

Sevilla's overall formation has retreated significantly.

Everyone retreated directly to their own half of the court within a 30-meter zone.

They abandoned all pressing in the attacking third and compressed their defensive formation to the extreme.

Defensive midfielder Medel watched Li Jing roaming back and forth at the edge of the penalty area, and his running steps came to an abrupt halt.

He didn't even have the courage to closely follow and defend against him.

The collision and subsequent hang time made him realize that any physical confrontation was futile against Li Jing.

The remaining few minutes.

The match completely turned into a one-sided time-wasting game by Seville.

They would pass the ball back as soon as they got it, or simply pass it around between the defenders, never pushing forward.

The fourth official on the sidelines stood in the substitution zone.

He was holding a red electronic stop-time board.

He glanced at the garbage time on the field, where there was absolutely no competition and even the passing was extremely casual, and did not raise the sign.

The referee looked down at the timer on his wrist.

The second hand had just passed the forty-five-minute mark.

He immediately shoved the silver metal whistle into his mouth, his cheeks bulging out.

"Beep beep beep!"

Two short and one long.

The first half ended on time.

The players exited the field one by one through the players' tunnel.

In the broadcasting studio, He Wei opened a halftime statistics sheet he had just received.

"The first half is over."

He Wei placed his hands together, flat on the table.

"A purely personal performance of violence."

"Atletico Madrid are currently leading Sevilla by two goals thanks to Li Jing's brace."

He drew a heavy red circle on the number of shots on the data sheet.

From that powerful long-range shot that tore through the entire defense at the start of the game, to that aerial freeze that defied human understanding just now...

A missed header.

He Wei leaned back in his chair.

"Li Jing turned Calderon into his own personal stage."

He Wei leaned forward, looking at the camera and creating suspense.

What specific tactics will Simeone keep in mind for the second half?

How will Sevilla cope with this goal-scoring monster that's completely out of control?

"Will these two completely destroy Sevilla in the second half?"

"Dear viewers, please take a short break, and we'll continue with the second half!"

The heavy wooden door to Atlético Madrid's home dressing room was pushed open.

The players, covered in mud and their jerseys soaked, rushed into the house.

They were panting heavily as they found places to sit on the long wooden benches on either side.

The team doctor handed out a bunch of white dry towels to everyone.

Li Jing took the towel, casually wiped the rainwater off his head, and picked up a bottle of mineral water next to him.

Simone strode to the tactical whiteboard in the center of the room.

He did not pick up the black pen from the whiteboard tray.

Instead, he simply extended his rough fingers and gripped the two round black magnets that represented the positions of Li Jing and Falcao.

Apply force with your fingers.

They decisively pried the two pieces representing the core of the forward line off the board.

"Lee, Radhamel."

Simone turned around and called out their names.

Li Jing put down the water bottle in her hand and looked up.

Simone flipped his wrist.

Throw the two magnets into the empty metal box next to it.

A crisp "clang" rang out clearly in the noisy locker room.

"Take off the shin guards. Go take a shower."

Simone didn't waste any words and went straight to giving the orders.

"Both of you will rest in the second half."

The locker room fell silent instantly.

Costa, who was changing his shoes next to him, stopped what he was doing.

Li Jing nodded.

There was no rebuttal.

Since the system task has been completed ahead of schedule.

Staying on the field, aside from expending physical energy, doesn't really make much sense.

In the locker room, you must absolutely obey the head coach's instructions!

Falcao paused for a moment.

He was playing very enthusiastically on the field just now and didn't seem tired at all.

"Coach, we've only played half the game."

Simone raised his hand.

He extended his index finger and pointed towards the ceiling of the changing room.

"No, let's take a break in the second half!"

"That damn bald guy has been sneaking around watching from the stage for 45 minutes!"

"I don't want him to see it anymore."

"Who knows what disgusting and bizarre tactics will pop into that bald guy's head if he keeps watching!"

In terms of tactics.

He acknowledges that Guardiola is an absolute tactical genius.

All sorts of strange and unusual new tactics can emerge from them.

As a fellow head coach, Simeone considers himself to be more innovative in tactics.

He is indeed not as good as Guardiola!

Simone walked up to the bench and patted Li Jing on the shoulder.

"You've shown enough weapons today."

"You guys have broken Seville's morale."

The old man lowered his voice and delivered the final decision.

"But we can't let him see all our cards next week."

"He must be memorizing your changing-of-direction habits and jumping techniques."

"We're going to Camp Nou next week! That's the final battleground that will decide the fate of the entire season."

Simone slammed his fist on the cabinet door.

"In the 65th minute of the second half, the halftimeers are also coming off the field!"

"Save all your energy for next week, to crush Barcelona!"

Inside Calderon's VIP box.

Guardiola sat back down on the leather sofa.

He rubbed his face with both hands and swiped his thumb across his phone's contact list.

Quickly find a familiar number.

Dial Harvey's phone.

The phone rang twice and was quickly answered.

"Turn on the TV immediately."

Guardiola didn't exchange any pleasantries. "Switch to the sports channel and watch the second half of Atletico Madrid's game."

Without waiting for a reply, I hung up immediately.

Continue searching.

Dial Iniesta's number.

"Turn on the TV right now and watch the Atlético Madrid match."

hang up.

He made several calls to key individuals in succession.

At last.

Guardiola's finger stopped on a name.

He took a deep breath and dialed the number of the Argentinian player on the team who was number ten.

The call was connected.

A very calm and casual voice came from the other end.

"Coach? Is something the matter?"

There was also early childhood education music in the background.

"I'm here with you."

Messi was stroking Antonella's belly with great happiness.

At this point, Messi hadn't yet made that classic gesture of tucking the football into his jersey to announce Antonella's pregnancy.

However, as a father, Leo naturally knew about this news in advance.

"Leo".

"Do you have time?"

Guardiola said, emphasizing each word.

"Turn on the TV right now. Let's see what monsters we'll be facing next week."

The sense of oppression in that sentence was incredibly strong.

Messi paused for two seconds, then replied with a "okay".

In a luxury apartment in downtown Barcelona.

Messi, dressed in loose loungewear, puts down his phone.

He placed the puzzle piece with the cartoon pattern on the wooden coffee table.

He reached into the crevice of the sofa and pulled out a black TV remote.

I pressed the power button.

then.

He sent a message in a private group chat among several of his key Barcelona teammates.

Barcelona at this time.

In every corner of this city, there are top-tier football stars worth tens of millions.

Xavi, Iniesta, Pique —

Because of respect for the head coach, and because of the message Messi sent in the group chat.

Everyone sat neatly in front of the television in their respective living rooms.

The screen lights up.

The rain was still falling over Calderón.

In the picture.

Two elderly people, one male and one female, dressed up using special effects.

They were clearly Asian, an old man and an old woman.

The camera zooms in and out, and a gift box falls from the sky, revealing a bottle that spins and glows.

Then two phrases started bombarding me on repeat: "No gifts this holiday season, except for old platinum."

"Brain Gold (drawn out), a youthful and healthy product."

Fifteen minutes into the halftime break.

The Barcelona players were just standing there dumbfounded, watching GG.

And what they found most unbearable was...

GG time is like free.

Almost every other guy hears this damn brainwashing voice.

Pique, sitting in front of the TV, finally couldn't hold back any longer.

"Shit! Just how much money does this Chinese company have?!"

"Is this how you display GG?"

"Isn't this the European debt crisis? What about the predicted economic recession? Doesn't this have any impact on China at all?"

"This is simply mental pollution."

Pique's scalp tingled.

>