When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 11 The world can't wait to hear the stories of young geniuses (Please read on!)
Even though they were down by one goal, the passion of the fans at the Stade Louis II did not die down, but the atmosphere in Monaco's locker room was as heavy as lead.

Deschamps was writing and drawing on the tactics board, summarizing the tactical gains and losses of the first half. The players didn't dare to speak, but just listened quietly.

Suddenly, Jean-Pettit pushed open the door and walked in, looking around the dressing room.

"Gentlemen, we played like we were sleepwalking in the first half."

Deschamps turned around, his voice low but sharp like a blade scraping against everyone's eardrums. The marker seemed to roll carelessly from his outstretched hand, rolling to Shabani Nonda's feet.

Shabani looked up and was horrified to find that the Asian boy was not in the locker room.

The tactics board still has the team's movement analysis from the first half pasted on it, in which he was offside twice, missed a one-on-one chance once, and hit the crossbar once.

To be honest, it was only half a game, and he didn't play badly. If you put another center forward in his place, no one would necessarily do better than him.

The Egyptian striker, Mazar Abdulrahman, whom the team acquired for two million euros in the summer transfer window, has proven to be far inferior to him.

Nicolas Reinier and Sebastian Grax are only nineteen years old. It would be good enough if they could get some playing time in some peripheral games to get some experience.

They are still young and need a long time to grow.

The problem is that an unexpected young man suddenly appeared in Monaco's dressing room and, with just one debut, began to stand in the position of openly competing with him.

He was only eighteen years old.

Shabani turned and glared at Marcelo Gallardo, the Argentine sitting in the center of the locker room, his neck stiff as if to say "what's it to me?"

He recalled the words he had vaguely heard in the parking lot that day: "When are you going to kill Shabani?"

"I'm going to substitute you in the second half."

Shabani's Adam's apple bobbed as his right fingernails dug deeply into the bracers on his dark left arm.

He wanted to argue that during the breakthrough in the 28th minute, he was clearly pulled down by Diarra, but the referee turned a blind eye.

"I've already made him warm up."

Jean-Pettit said slowly.

"Why should I?" Shabani raised his head, his voice hoarse.

"I've scored so many goals this season, and I've contributed a lot to the team getting this far."

"What did that kid do?"

The air in the locker room seemed to freeze.

He covered his head with a towel and pretended not to hear.

At this moment, the still-naive Evra suddenly stood up as if to say something, but Squillaci pulled him back to his seat.

As the Monaco players walked out of the locker room, Shabani suddenly ripped off his wristband and slammed it to the ground.

The words "For Congo" sewn into the inside of his wristband are faintly visible, a distant blessing from his mother before each match.

In this story, Shabani is merely another "Morientes".

This is the cruelty of competitive sports: even if you did nothing wrong, even if you are not good, even if you are a hero of the team.

But so what? You will still be mercilessly crushed underfoot by stronger competitors.

He doesn't even mean you any harm.

In the cramped living room, the light from the television screen shone on three tense faces.

"Is that my brother?! Is he about to appear?"

A boy of about ten years old suddenly sprang up from the carpet, nearly knocking over the juice on the table.

He is Rowan, Roy's younger brother.

The camera panned across the fans in the stands, who were cheering enthusiastically. Then the camera focused on a young and handsome face on the sidelines. Roy's hair was wet with rain, and he had used a headband to hold it in place so as not to obstruct his vision.

Deschamps stood beside him, giving him tactical instructions, and Roy nodded slightly.

Their sister, Romi, curled up beside her mother's knees, twisting the loose threads of the faded sofa cover with her fingers. The two children were siblings born of the same mother.

As fourth-generation immigrants, they have largely integrated into French society and all have their own French names.

But Chen Lan still insisted on teaching them Chinese language and traditional customs. Southeast Asian Chinese are living abroad, and if they do not pay attention to their culture, they will be assimilated by the locals. Therefore, she attaches great importance to this aspect.

"I can't see what size he's wearing."

She asked in a low voice, her eyes glued to the screen, afraid of missing the moment her brother came on stage.

The mother didn't say anything, but simply pulled the children closer to her chest.

As the deafening anthem blared from the television, she instinctively glanced at the Buddhist shrine in the corner of the living room—thus missing the close-up shot of Roy's face.

There was a certain sparkle in his eyes.

After quickly raising his leg high to loosen his muscles and bones, he rushed to his position.

"At the start of the second half, Deschamps made a substitution in the locker room. We don't know if this was a somewhat hasty decision. The young Roy, who had just joined the team, replaced Shabani. Even though he contributed a goal and an assist in his debut as a substitute, it was still a far cry from Shabani's double-digit goals for Monaco."

When the Canal+ commentary started, the referee raised his whistle to his lips.

Lyon coach Paul Le Guen's face was grim. He looked at the newly substituted Roy and shouted at Diarra:

"Keep a close eye on him! He's still a kid; all he has is speed!"

He hasn't had time to study Roy yet, even though every Ligue 1 club's analysts have already documented his performance, there's just too little material to study.

Paul Le Guen never devised a strategy specifically to counter him.

Luindula passed the ball to Govou, and the players from both teams immediately began to move.

While Roy looked back to observe the Lyon players' positions, he also focused on blocking the passing lanes on Govou's side.

Govou passed the ball back to Diarra in midfield. As soon as Diarra received the ball, he was met with fierce pressure from Roy. Diarra was surprised by Roy's speed, but he still managed to pass the ball back steadily.

"Hmph! A hothead eager to show off!"

Diarra didn't take Roy seriously, and Roy, after failing to press the ball, quickly withdrew and continued to roam the vicinity.

After thwarting several probing presses from Monaco, Lyon gained possession at Juninho's feet, and the team began to push forward. Juninho calmly observed the situation and then delivered a precise diagonal pass to Dorasoo.

Suddenly, after a sprint down the wing, facing a formidable opponent like Coubillie, he made a diagonal run inside, received the pass, and then flicked forward, using the outside of his left foot to lightly send the ball to the left wing.

This brilliant run and pass opened up Monaco's right flank defense, allowing the onrushing left-back Casapa to surge forward at high speed before lobbing the ball into the penalty area.

Juninho's fame wasn't solely based on free kicks; in Roy's timeline, he was the absolute midfield commander for Lyon's seven consecutive championships.

With his exquisite dribbling and imaginative passing, he could have had an even more illustrious career if he hadn't lived in the same era as Ronaldinho and Kaká.

"Monaco's penalty area is in chaos, with both teams vying for the ball. If Lyon scores again..."

Paul Le Guen kept a close eye on the opponent's penalty area; another goal would seal the victory and take three points from the Stade Louis II.

This will be a crucial battle for Lyon to regain their momentum!
"Luindula! Header!"

A powerful and heavy shot!
The ball plummeted straight toward the right side of the goal, but Flavio Roma quickly scrambled to intercept it.

But the ball was not out of danger, and Lyon's attacking midfielder Dorasou arrived in time to unleash a powerful shot.

The ball grazed past center-back Rodriguez's ribs with tremendous force. The defender instinctively put his hands behind his back, which also blocked the goalkeeper's view.

"boom!"

Max lost his balance and rolled on the ground, but he blocked Dorasoo's close-range shot with his leg.

Amidst the frustrated cries of Lyon's away fans, Louis II's home fans erupted in a tidal wave of cheers.

"Max! A brilliant clearance! He's shut down a sure goal from Lyon!"

A still-shaken Monaco goalkeeper, Roma, yelled at Max, "You're a fucking genius!"

Mexicans raise their eyebrows and smile, concealing their achievements and fame.

The commentator shouted.

"The ball bounced to the right side of the goal, Bernardi cleared it, and the ball was lobbed towards the midfield!"

“Pulso is right at the ball’s landing point in the center circle! He’s waiting to receive the ball, and a Lyon player has already leaned against him, while two other players are closing in on him.”

As Pullso watched the football grow larger in the sky, a voice suddenly rang out beside him: "Head to the left!"

The football is falling!

Pulso headed the ball to the left, Roy stretched out his leg as if to control it, and Diarra immediately closed in aggressively.

But the outstretched foot hooks in mid-air, the point of contact with the ball changes to the heel, and the backspin knocks the ball forward.

"A delicate and imaginative pass—what is he trying to tell us? He's more than just speed!"

The next second, Rothen's figure swept past from the side, controlling the ball with his chest as he moved, then feinting and pulling the ball back to beat Lyon's right-back Chanelé.

He then passed the ball to the left flank.

Roy reappeared, with Diarra hot on his heels. After being tricked, Roy suddenly accelerated and passed by him. Diarra tried to keep up but found he couldn't keep up at all.

He remembered his coach's words: He has nothing but speed!

What a fuss!

With a touch of the ball, he simultaneously dribbled across the field, putting Lyon's center-back Patrick Müller on high alert.

As he approached at high speed, he braked suddenly with his right foot, and his left shoulder swayed and dropped, causing Müller to shift his center of gravity. Diarra behind him tried to close the gap from the other side.

But Roy immediately changed direction by flicking the ball at a 45-degree angle with the inside of his right foot.

He burst through the gap between the two players, then cut inside and surged into the left side of the penalty area, swinging his leg as if to push the ball into the far corner.

Coupe moved quickly in an attempt to block the way.

"The angle for a shot into the far corner from this position is too shallow! Coupet is ready; perhaps an attempt at a cutback cross will work."

A bang!
A powerful shot from a very narrow angle, the ball pierced the net like an awl, struggling within the ropes with its remaining force before finally falling.

The cheers from the die-hard fans in the stands suddenly stopped, then fell like a drop of boiling water into hot oil!
The Stade Louis II was absolutely electrified!

"Genius! Genius! Genius!"

The Monaco tycoons in the VIP box collectively pushed away their champagne bottles and leaned against the glass railing, roaring.

Paul Le Guen stared wide-eyed, his expression contorted, then touched his bald head in annoyance.

Deschamps clenched his fist, then looked relieved.

Amidst the cheers erupting from the bench, Shabani suddenly stood up, but then slowly sat back down.

I can not do it.

When Rothen, with his messy blond hair, rushed over and grabbed Roy by the neck.

The fans in the North Stand began chanting: "Il a 18 ans, il va tout casser!"

(“He’s 18, and he’s going to destroy everything!”)
The small living room was filled with the children's exuberant cheers.

"He scored! Mom! He scored!"

It felt like the World Cup final.

Sorry, the author is not a full-time writer. I will definitely have all the chapters saved up by the end of this weekend to establish a fixed update schedule.

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(End of this chapter)