Football: Messi, I am your wallbreaker!

Chapter 86 Heading to Camp Nou!

Barcelona city center.

The main light was off in the spacious living room of the upscale apartment.

Only the huge LCD TV screen emitted a cold, bluish light.

Messi sat cross-legged on a gray fabric sofa.

I pressed my thumb on the volume down button three times.

The "GG" sound finally subsided.

The agonizingly long 15-minute halftime break is finally over.

The elderly couple who kept twisting their waists on the screen finally disappeared.

My phone, which was on the sofa cushion, vibrated.

The screen lit up, and a message popped up in the Barcelona players' internal group chat.

"Leo, GG, it's finally over. Let's see how high this kid can jump in the second half."

Harvey's slightly hoarse voice came through the phone's speaker.

At the same time.

The Barcelona key players, scattered throughout the city, all straightened their backs on their sofas without prior arrangement.

The broadcast camera slowly panned across the entrance of the passageway.

Raindrops flew wildly under the searchlight.

Atletico Madrid's players, who came on in the second half, lined up and crossed the white line one by one.

Messi frowned as he watched the television.

My gaze swept back and forth twice through the group of red and white jerseys that ran out.

No.

Holy crap, they watched almost 15 minutes of that brainless guy during halftime.

As a result, Atletico Madrid substituted their entire team!

Not just Li Jing.

Falcao and Courtois are both gone!

Domestic broadcast room.

The director pushed open the soundproof door.

I jogged all the way.

He quickly slammed a newly printed list of changes to the starting lineup for the second half onto the commentary table.

He Wei stretched out his left hand and pinched the white paper between two fingers.

My gaze had just swept over the first row of the form.

His eye twitched upwards suddenly.

The red pen he was holding in his right hand froze in mid-air.

The pen tip hovered above the electronic tactical board, a drop of red ink almost falling.

"Dear viewers, a highly unusual situation has arisen!"

He Wei immediately pulled the microphone pole closer, his voice filled with immense astonishment and disbelief.

"Simone made the incredible move of making three substitutions in the first half!"

He Wei's hand holding the paper even trembled slightly.

"Li Jing, Falcao, Courtois! These three absolute core players were all eliminated before the second half even started."

Replace him!

The live stream screen went blank for a second, then exploded with comments.

What the heck? They're not playing anymore?

I stayed up late to watch the second half, and you just substituted me out?

[Wasn't it agreed that every battle would be a massacre?]

[It's only 2-0 now, what's going on?]

He Wei put down the white paper in his hand and slammed the pen cap heavily on the wooden tabletop.

"Faced with a commanding lead, Simeone, known for his relentless pursuit of victory, surprisingly decided to call it quits today!"

He Wei took a deep breath, and his tone became serious.

"He forcibly sheathed his sharpest blade just before the second half began!"

"Who is he guarding against!"

Calderón Stadium.

Inside the highest, most enclosed VIP box with the best view.

Guardiola was taken aback.

The black pen, whose cap he had just removed, slipped from between his fingers.

With a "thud".

The metal pen slammed heavily onto the leather notebook on his lap, then rolled onto the expensive carpet.

It left behind a long trail of ink.

He didn't even bother to pick up the pen.

"How dare he make a substitution at halftime?"

Guardiola suddenly turned his head and stared intently at his assistant coach Vilanova, who was standing next to him.

Because of the extreme emotional fluctuations, the last note of his voice completely cracked, sounding unusually sharp in the private room.

"Isn't he crazy? Didn't he chase down and score seven goals against Lazio?"

Guardiola stood with his hands on his hips, pacing around impatiently for a moment.

Two drops of sweat even appeared on his bald head.

He chuckled helplessly, "Interesting, this is too underhanded."

"Did they change the person after they noticed we were watching?"

Vilanova held the tactical board in her hand, her mouth slightly open, unsure of what to say.

Barcelona mobilized the entire coaching staff to conduct tactical observations for this half of the game.

Halfway through the interview, the person in question clocked out and left work.

In Barcelona, ​​the players' group chat instantly erupted into chaos.

Pique repeatedly pressed the talk button and sent three voice messages, each lasting over ten seconds, with the background noise consisting entirely of someone banging on the table.

"Shit! In the middle of the night, we endured watching fifteen minutes of some brainless Chinese old men and women dancing! And he just went to the changing room to take a shower?!"

"That old fox Simone is playing us!"

Messi stared at the empty broadcast screen, listening to the insults in the group chat.

His lips twitched slightly.

He calmly tossed the black TV remote into the crevice of the sofa.

These Madrid people are really cunning.

The south stand of Calderón.

The wind blew the rain everywhere.

The elderly football fan with a thick beard, wearing a red and white striped scarf, was holding a pair of black military binoculars in both hands.

He held up his binoculars and scanned the entire bench from left to right.

It's empty.

I didn't see Li Jing.

That kid wasn't on the bench; he went straight back to the locker room.

The veteran fan put down his binoculars.

I looked up, my gaze sweeping across the vast rain curtain, fixed on the top of the stadium.

There was a brightly lit, enclosed private room.

The news had already spread among Atlético Madrid's die-hard fans long before the match started.

Today, the head coach of the Cosmos team personally came to Calderon to act as a spy gathering intelligence.

The veteran fans immediately understood their head coach's intention.

Protecting one's own, hiding one's true colors!

The elderly fan bent down and reached under the red plastic seat, feeling around.

He pulled out a large, dark blue megaphone with peeling paint.

Press the red power switch firmly with your thumb.

A piercing electrical sound came from the loudspeaker.

The older fan put the megaphone to his mouth and shouted at the surrounding crowd.

"Simone's hiding his true colors! Guys, stop looking!"

The veteran fan freed his other hand and pointed directly at the lit-up box above.

"Look up! See that private room? That bald guy's come all this way for nothing!"

The surrounding fans were stunned for two seconds.

More than 50,000 die-hard home fans instantly understood the meaning behind that rough roar.

Everyone turned around in unison.

With his back to the pitch where the ball was being passed around in midfield, he looked up and faced the box where Guardiola was.

Fifty thousand arms waved simultaneously in the rainy night air.

There was no one in charge.

Fifty thousand mouths opened, bursting into a deafening roar of laughter filled with sarcasm, glee, and arrogance.

The laughter turned into a huge wave of sound, directly shaking apart the rain clouds in the sky.

An elderly fan, holding a megaphone, vigorously waved his right arm like a passionate conductor of a symphony orchestra.

Keeping a beat.

The massive roar instantly coalesced into perfectly synchronized slogans, surging down the steps of the stands, breaking through the rain, and crashing directly into the one-way mirror.

"Pep!"

"Make sure you take good notes in your blank notebook! Take them back to Barcelona!"

"Calderon doesn't let you peek at his secrets for free!"

Followed by.

Fifty thousand people were clearly not enough.

The veteran fan waved again, and the fans immediately turned their attention to him.

Waves of sound reverberated, making the metal railings in the front row of the stands hum and vibrate.

"Leo Messi!"

"Stay put in front of the TV and watch! Did you enjoy watching GG today?"

"You're next to be crushed! Are you ready to get beaten up, Team Universe?!"

This coordinated mockery by 50,000 fans escalated the tension between Atletico Madrid and Barcelona to its peak.

The smell of gunpowder even drifted into the living rooms of millions of homes through the television broadcast equipment.

Inside the private room.

Guardiola's face was ashen.

I could hear the rhythmic mockery coming from outside through the glass.

Guardiola sighed.

As expected, the fans are a bunch of lunatics.

Guardiola didn't want to stay a second longer and strode towards the door of the private box.

Meanwhile, in an apartment in downtown Barcelona.

Messi, watching on television, heard the extremely clear shouts and curses coming from the broadcast.

He didn't smash anything, nor did he join Pique in complaining in the group chat.

He simply put his legs down, his feet on the carpet.

The Argentinians' gaze became increasingly focused.

In the depths of his eyes, a fierce and dangerous fighting spirit flickered.

challenge?

He has never been afraid of any challenge.

He'll shut these Madrid fans up at Camp Nou next week.

The view shifts back to the grass, which has softened from being soaked by the rain.

Without Li Jing and Falcao, two crucial firepower players who draw defenders away from the front line, Atletico Madrid's attack came to a complete standstill.

The second half of the game became extremely boring and fragmented.

When the Sevilla players realized that the two monsters on the other side had actually left the field, their nerves, which had been stretched to the point of breaking, instantly relaxed.

They took the opportunity to push their defensive formation forward in large numbers.

They were trying to save face on the road.

Atletico Madrid's midfield began to crumble, and their defense was repeatedly attacked.

The match has reached the 78th minute.

Sevilla winger Navas, near the right byline, used his lightning-fast acceleration to force his way past Atletico Madrid's full-back.

Stand with your left foot planted, then cross the ball with your right foot.

The ball, with a distinct arc, landed precisely at the far post of the six-yard box.

Chaos erupted inside Atletico Madrid's penalty area.

Negredo leaped high, forcefully shoving aside center-back Godin, and delivered a powerful header.

The ball bounced off the turf and into the net.

The score became 2-1.

Atletico Madrid's substitute goalkeeper Asenjo turned away helplessly.

He waded through the mud, walked into the white net, bent down, and fished out the mud-covered ball.

He tossed the ball twice in his hand, then kicked it far towards the midfield.

In the remaining ten minutes or so.

Simeone frantically pressed his hands down on the sidelines.

The entire team was ordered to retreat and defend.

All eleven Atletico Madrid players retreated to their own half, effectively forming a 30-meter zone around the field.

They didn't give the opponent any more chances to shoot.

Frequent tactical fouls completely dragged the game into a quagmire.

The fourth official on the sidelines glanced at the uneventful pace of the game, not even raising the sign for injury time.

The referee glanced down at the timer on his wrist.

When the time comes.

He decisively shoved the silver whistle into his mouth.

"Beep beep beep!"

Two short and one long.

The final whistle blew over the Calderon.

The final score was 2-1.

Atletico Madrid secured a crucial three points at home with a narrow escape.

They have saved up enough confidence for their upcoming away game against Barcelona.

Since the start of the second half of the season, they have won four consecutive league games!

The mixed zone after the game.

Sports journalists from all over Europe crowded in front of the GG signs on both sides of the passageway.

Various long guns and short cannons were set up outside the red cordon.

Simone strode ahead, his leather shoes landing on the non-slip mat.

Li Jing followed behind.

He had already taken a shower, and his hair was half-dry.

He changed into a clean red Atlético Madrid official kit, zipped up to his chest.

A black backpack was slung over one shoulder on the right.

Li Jing walked to the middle area of ​​the sponsor's GG sign and stopped.

He took a bottle of mineral water with the cap already unscrewed from a staff member next to him.

He tilted his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing.

He gulped down a big mouthful.

A few drops of water slid down his chin and into the depths of his red collar.

Before the press officer could even begin to arrange the order of questions...

A Catalan journalist wearing black-rimmed glasses and a trench coat.

He pushed forward suddenly, and half of his body crossed the red line.

He shoved the microphone, bearing the logo of the Daily Sports newspaper, into Li Jing's mouth with extreme force, almost poking the water bottle in Li Jing's hand.

Everyone knows that Diario Sport is the mouthpiece of Barcelona.

The reporter's eyes were highly provocative, and he spoke rapidly with a distinct local accent.

"plum!"

"In the second half, facing Sevilla's counterattack, did you cower in the locker room like a tortoise, afraid of getting injured?!"

This obviously aggressive question immediately silenced the noisy interview area.

Several cameras quickly zoomed in, giving Li Jing a close-up of his face.

The provocations from the Catalan journalists never stopped.

He stretched out his finger and pushed up his black-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Next week, you'll be heading to Camp Nou to challenge the 'Dream Team,' to challenge the invincible Leo Messi!"

"You fans in the Calderon stands are extremely arrogant."

"But I want to ask you yourself, facing the world's number one, are you, this so-called goal-scoring monster, ready to receive a lesson from Barcelona's midfielders on the pitch?!"

It throws out a highly anticipated and explosive final suspense.

These rapid-fire questions showed absolutely no regard for the home team's reputation.

Clearly, these reporters did it on purpose.

To say they are Barcelona fans wouldn't be entirely accurate.

They are also very pure.

All I want is pure rage.

It would be best to ignite a fierce fighting spirit on both sides!

Simone stood two steps away.

The old man's brows furrowed instantly.

He was just about to step forward and kick the unruly reporter out.

Li Jing raised his left hand and made a gesture to stop Simone's movement.

He was holding the half-empty bottle of mineral water in his hand.

He looked at the short Catalan journalist at eye level.

Li Jing did not get angry, nor was he emotionally stirred by this provocation.

He simply screwed the plastic cap on the mineral water bottle tightly.

"Afraid of getting hurt?"

Li Jing countered with a question.

"You mean Barcelona, ​​whose average height is only 1.75 meters, dragged down by a bunch of Messis?"

He took a small step forward, his shoe sole pressing down on the mat.

Li Jing looked at the Daily Sports microphone shoved right in front of him.

"As for the preparations you mentioned."

Li Jing stuffed the mineral water bottle into the mesh pocket on the side of his backpack.

He put his hands into the pockets of his tracksuit jacket.

"You should ask the team that was so scared today that their head coach came to watch the game in person."

Li Jing lowered his voice slightly, and the oppressive feeling of looking down on someone was directly transmitted through the camera lens.

Done.

Li Jing completely ignored the stunned reporter and walked around the microphone.

They turned around together with Simone.

The two figures disappeared into the darkness of the passage.

Inside the corridor, flashbulbs were going off like crazy.

After regaining their senses, all the reporters immediately pulled out their phones and recorders and quickly began writing post-match headlines.

The powder keg has been completely ignited.

They even forgot about their opponent in this match.

They've already set their sights on Barcelona in the next match!