Chapter 1 of 100

Chapter 1

20 min read4,995 words

"Team doctor! Team doctor!"

The old man, who had maintained a serious expression for most of the match, could no longer keep it up. He turned around and called out anxiously. At the same time, a figure darted out from his side and ran toward the incident on the field.

East Asian faces were rare in European football, though they had become more common in recent years with the improvement of Asian football. However, they were still a minority, especially for Chinese, who were as rare as giant pandas. The person running onto the field had such a face, but he was not a player; he was the team doctor.

The injured player was the midfielder Maniche. When Lin Sen arrived, the Portuguese player, who had been rolling on the ground, finally stopped. His flowing long hair was covered in grass, and his pained expression was twisted with agony.

Lin Sen glanced at the area Maniche was holding and then at his expression. A herd of llamas immediately began to surge through his mind. Isn't it true that a football field can sometimes be a grand theater?

"I can't get up. Change me out." Portuguese and Spanish are like brothers, and Lin Sen, who had been in Spain for several years, understood it clearly.

Can't even handle a little injury?

Lin Sen was taken aback, and the spray in his hand paused. He couldn't help but look back at the coaching bench. Aguirre, who was not old among coaches but always had a bitter expression, looked like a typical old man. Many people secretly called him "old man." At that moment, he was looking at the scene with a longing gaze. Above his head was a huge screen, and the numbers on it made the old man's heart burn.

0:3. The team leading by three goals was certainly not Aguirre's team.

Reluctantly, Lin Sen waved his hand, signaling for a substitution. The rest was simple. The stretcher quickly entered the field and carried Maniche off, and the Spanish midfielder Miguel came on as a substitute. Watching Maniche hop directly to the locker room, Lin Sen, standing outside the field, saw Aguirre's face turn ashen.

Who told you to insist on keeping him, who should have gone to Inter Milan, during the winter transfer window? Isn't this what they call self-inflicted suffering?

Lin Sen didn't feel particularly gleeful. He was just thinking.

This season, Atlético Madrid had boasted an investment of 80 million euros, with the goal of not just qualifying for the Champions League but also challenging the dominance of Real Madrid and Barcelona. However, after most of the season, Atlético Madrid was ranked 11th, finally securing their survival. The reality proved that the strong were still strong, and the weak were still weak. Barcelona, despite a slip-up, was still second in the league, and the first place was still the arch-rival of Atlético Madrid fans: Real Madrid. If the La Liga table were more normal, Atlético Madrid might have had a chance to qualify for the Europa League—well, at this time, it was still called the UEFA Cup. Unfortunately, the La Liga table was too bizarre. The sixth-placed Deportivo La Coruña had 58 points, while Atlético Madrid had 38, including this match, with seven rounds left. The Intertoto Cup? That was Aguirre's current goal, and he used it to motivate the players during halftime in recent matches. However, every time, they would be equalized when leading in the second half, and if they were tied, they would concede a goal...

Would a team aiming for the title care about the Intertoto Cup? In any case, for most Atlético Madrid players, this season was finally a season of no expectations.

As for why Lin Sen knew that Maniche should have gone to Inter Milan and that the UEFA Cup would be renamed the Europa League, it wasn't because he had heard it from others. His reason was much more sophisticated: he had foreknowledge. In more modern terms, he had traveled through time, not to the past or into someone else's body, but into his own body from ten years ago.

Ten years later, Lin Sen was the head of a large medical institution, with various doctoral degrees, a standard golden bachelor. Ten years ago, which was now, he was just a minor team doctor, with a gloomy future, a complete nobody.

So, after acting crazy for over a week, Lin Sen finally accepted his "new" identity. There was a loss, but there was also a gain. The world, at least, adhered to the law of moral conservation, giving him some compensation. He lost ten years, but in return, he gained a pair of eyes, a pair of eyes that even he couldn't fully understand. For example, when Maniche was injured, he could tell from the sidelines that he was just putting on a show: the color above his head hadn't changed at all.

Yes, it was the color. As long as Lin Sen was willing, a color would appear above everyone's head. Normally, there was no color above a person's head, but once something happened, a color would appear. The colors could vary in intensity and hue, and each color seemed to represent a certain state or emotion. Of course, this wasn't the most balanced aspect for Lin Sen. The most balanced part was that these eyes seemed to have the ability to see through things. This was a capability that any man would dream of, and anyone who said otherwise was a hypocrite. So, Lin Sen decided to follow his original path to success, to be a wealthy person, a pure person, a person of noble character, and a person who had transcended base interests—well, the last point could sometimes be omitted.

The Calderón Stadium was unusually quiet today, the air so heavy. Before Maniche fell, Lin Sen's gaze had not been on the field. He had been observing a fan in the nearest stand.

Atlético Madrid, known as the "Bed Sheet Army," had this nickname not only because their red and white striped jerseys resembled the bed sheets of Spanish inns a century ago but also because of the composition of their fans. Most Atlético Madrid fans were middle-class and blue-collar workers, and the stadium was located in a poor area of Madrid. The fan in the stand, a man in his fifties, was slightly overweight, with a disheveled half-face of beard, clearly neglected. However, his attire was impeccable: jersey, scarf, small horn... all the typical fan gear. But his current state was clearly not good. If Lin Sen could get closer and use his eyes to see his condition, he was sure that the color above his head would be a deep yellow.

Yellow represented disappointment and dejection.

Deep yellow represented extreme disappointment and dejection.

His arm hung limply, the scarf around his neck already in his hand, but it seemed more like it was hanging than being held. His gaze, which should have been focused on the green pitch, was now scattered, his eyes wandering aimlessly. His throat, which should have been ready to roar, seemed to have difficulty even breathing... Around him, the entire stand had become sparse, the shouts had stopped, the arms had forgotten to wave, and even the flags with special significance were now lying crookedly, as if they had forgotten the reason for being there. When such a scene appeared on a stand that should have been hot and lively, even Lin Sen could feel a dense, almost tangible atmosphere, as if it had squeezed all the oxygen out of the air, making everyone feel suffocated.

Lin Sen looked up at the scoreboard again. The numbers on it were particularly glaring. The numbers themselves were not scary, but what was scary was when they became a habit. He believed that everyone now desperately wanted to hear a sound from the field, a sound that would bring relief to both the players and the fans.

The sound, two short and one long...

The poor Aguirre finally gave up the struggle. With ten minutes left in the match, he, who had stood on the sidelines for eighty minutes, finally turned and walked back to the coaching bench, then sat down, his hands almost covering his entire face, leaving only his eyes, which stubbornly and helplessly watched the field.

Lin Sen's gaze moved.

Instantly, the color above the old Mexican's head changed from the anxious color to a deep yellow, just like the old fan in the stand.

The match was over.

This season, Atlético Madrid was destined to achieve nothing, which Lin Sen had known from the beginning. In his memory, the 2007-2008 season, when Atlético Madrid was eager to challenge Real Madrid and Barcelona, ended in a loss, failing to qualify for the Champions League and finishing fifth, qualifying for the UEFA Cup. However, history seemed to have deviated slightly. Now, Atlético Madrid couldn't even qualify for the UEFA Cup, let alone the Intertoto Cup. As for Aguirre, the old Mexican would likely be sacked midway through the next season, but that was under the condition that Atlético Madrid finished fifth this season. As for now, who knew what would happen?

"Lin."

Just as Lin Sen was about to leave, a hand tapped his shoulder. It was López. Antonio López, a genuine product of Atlético Madrid, had experienced the club's most difficult period, including its relegation. After Atlético Madrid returned to La Liga, he was loaned to Osasuna for two seasons, but upon his return, he never gave up his position as the starting left-back.

"My left calf is really hurting. Check it out for me later." López, who had been lively on the field, now leaned on Lin Sen, limping and grimacing. "That bastard's tackle was too dirty."

Lin Sen nodded, supporting him while glancing at his calf.

On the surface, there was a faint bruise.

Internally, the capillaries under the skin were a mess.

Fortunately, there was no bone injury, and the muscle damage was minor, not a big problem.

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