mesbooks Chapter 29 For Our Football Dream!
Chapter 29 For Our Football Dream!
The competition was the next day.
After the mobilization meeting, Simon told everyone to go back.
Li Jing had already gone back, but then remembered something and turned back along the way.
Li Jing pushed open the door to the physiotherapy room.
Ortega was cleaning out the first-aid kit at the other end of the room, throwing used white bandages and empty medicine bottles into the trash can.
Li Jing walked over and plopped down on the physiotherapy bed covered with white sheets.
"Dr. Ortega, I have a professional question to ask."
"explain."
The old man didn't even look up, seemingly in a hurry to get off work.
Continue stuffing a few more bottles of cooling spray into the box.
"If a professional athlete's Achilles tendon is completely ruptured, can it be cured? Can they return to their peak performance?"
Li Jing's question was definitely not a spur-of-the-moment decision.
The system's mandatory task penalty was like a guillotine hanging over his neck; losing to Barcelona would rupture his Achilles tendon, and he had to figure out just how serious it was.
Ortega stopped what he was doing, turned around, and strode over.
He grabbed Li Jing's right calf and pressed down on the Achilles tendon with his thumb along the soleus muscle.
"You were faking your 'broken leg' last night, why are you worrying about a real broken leg today?"
Ortega rolled his eyes and said irritably,
"Listen, a ruptured Achilles tendon is devastating for a player."
This isn't something that can be cured by simply pulling a muscle and resting for half a month.
The old man held up two fingers and waved them in front of Li Jing's eyes.
"A truce will last at least twelve to eighteen months. This is the most conservative estimate."
Ortega's tone was very strong.
Even if you recover and return to the court, your explosiveness and absolute speed will be permanently damaged.
This is especially true for players who rely on their speed; once they intercept, they can immediately launch a cross-court attack.
Moreover, it will be accompanied by severe psychological trauma; you will be afraid to exert full force when performing movements in the future.
Li Jing placed the plastic bottle in her hand on the bedside table, concealing the seriousness in her eyes.
Is it a folding motion? Are you afraid to exert force when making movements?
Why the hell are you still playing football? Just retire already.
He understood what Ortega meant.
The problem is not only physical, but more seriously, it causes psychological harm.
"So there's really no way at all?" Li Jing pressed. "With modern medicine so advanced, isn't there always an exception?"
Ortega sighed, turned and walked to the sink to wash his hands.
"There are always exceptions." The old man pulled a towel to dry his hands. "Tomorrow's opponent, Villarreal, has a guy who has been struggling with Achilles tendon injuries for years."
"Who?"
"Santi Cazorla".
Ortega hung up the towel, walked back, and said...
"This guy has had several major surgeries on his right Achilles tendon, and he almost had to have it amputated due to a bacterial infection. A large chunk of flesh was removed from there, and they even transplanted a piece of skin from his thigh."
Li Jing frowned as he listened, feeling a chill run down his spine.
"That guy is only 165 centimeters tall. It's a miracle that he can survive in La Liga, a league full of physical battles."
Ortega shook his head, his tone filled with admiration.
"He also seems to have a nickname, 'Little Giant'...?"
"Moreover, he is a classic attacking midfielder who highly values technical skills. He is Villarreal's absolute core player right now."
Technical player? Classic attacking midfielder? Absolute pivot?
Just then, a blood-red system notification popped up in Li Jing's mind.
A mechanical sound then exploded in my mind.
[Ding! Key target detected: Santi Cazorla. Related mission automatically found!]
[Tasks can be stacked with acts of free will.]
The system panel unfolded on Li Jing's retina, with several lines of large text standing out prominently.
[Mission 9873: Defeat Santi Carraso, a player of similar stature to Messi, and achieve the following two conditions:]
[1. Lead the team to a victory over Villarreal with a score of 3-0 or higher.]
[Second, completely destroy Santi Cazorla's confidence in Villarreal's survival on the pitch.]
Li Jing's gaze shifted downwards, landing on the rewards section, and his breathing instantly became heavy.
[Reward for successful mission: 50000 training hours]
Fifty thousand points!
With these 50,000 points, not only can you make up for your weaknesses in heading and advancing, but you could also exchange them all for Messi's exclusive training sessions, which would amount to a full 500 hours!
Both being short football stars, Carrasso is even shorter than Messi.
Li Jing didn't dwell on the relationship between Carraso and Messi, or why defeating him would earn him extra training hours.
He had already started thinking of solutions.
After all, the pressure from the ruptured Achilles tendon is now putting some strain on his brain.
"Thanks, Dr. Ortega." Li Jing grabbed the electrolyte solution, stood up, and walked out.
"Why are you thanking me?" Ortega asked, completely bewildered.
"Never mind, thank you anyway, doctor!"
Li Jing pushed open the door and strode out.
……
Villarreal, eastern Spain.
In a small town with a permanent population of only 50,000, the sunlight is extremely dazzling.
Villarreal training ground.
On the green field, Santi Cazorla, the "Little Giant" who is only 165 centimeters tall and is revered as a god by the whole town, is standing at the top of the penalty area.
Across from him stood a tall, thin boy.
If Li Jing were present at this moment, he would definitely find this boy to be very familiar.
Rodri.
This kid is only fifteen years old, but he has already grown to 182 centimeters tall, which is two heads taller than Cazorla.
"Watch closely, Rodri!"
Cazorla pointed at the ball rolling on the ground and gave loud instructions.
"When you encounter a bouncy ball like this in the penalty area, never try to shoot it with all your might!"
As he spoke, he made a perfectly standard demonstration move as the ball rolled towards him.
"Don't try to solve problems with violence; use your brain!"
Cazorla used the inside of his right foot to scoop the ball to the side and below.
"Avoid the defender's body, push in an arc! Push it directly into the corner!"
The ball drew a beautiful arc in the air, bypassed the training dummies that served as a human wall, and nestled into the net, grazing the inside of the post.
Rodri nodded frantically beside him, his face full of fanatical worship.
I memorized that ball perfectly!
What a beautiful arc!
There were no powerful volleys or unstable shots from just outside the penalty area.
Simply use the passing technique to make the football curve.
Perhaps one summer, at some moment, he will suddenly remember.
"When the ball comes through a scramble in the penalty area, aim for a shot that curves around the defenders!"
"I understand, Mr. Santi!"
Rodri ran over and retrieved the ball.
"As long as you're here, the miracle in our town will never end! You'll definitely lead the team to points in tomorrow's game at Calderon, right? We absolutely cannot be relegated!"
Cazorla chuckled and ruffled Rodri's messy hair.
"Of course, watch my secret weapon!"
Cazorla walked to the edge of the penalty area and placed the ball at the penalty spot.
He took three steps back, took a deep breath, and precisely lobbed the ball with the inside of his right foot.
The ball soared into the air, tracing an extremely strange yet perfect arc.
It was almost right at the junction of the crossbeam and the pillar, a blind spot where the net went in!
"It's perfect!"
Rodri shouted excitedly.
"That free kick was unstoppable! Atletico Madrid's big, clumsy goalkeeper definitely couldn't have saved it!"
Cazorla patted the grass clippings off his hands and looked up at the boy in front of him who looked like a telephone pole.
"Haha, of course, that's my specialty."
"50 cents a day, no practice for nothing!"
"Hey, speaking of which, Rhodes, you're really tall..."
Cazorla gestured to show their height difference. "How old are you?"
"I'm fifteen," Rodri answered honestly.
Cazorla's eyes widened: "This guy's 15?!"
He shook his head, walked to the sidelines, picked up his water bottle, and took a sip.
Cazorla practically watched Rhodes grow up.
The developmental period for boys falls within these few years.
At first glance, Rodri was already two heads taller than him.
Carasso gestured for Rodri to sit down; he didn't want to look up at Rodri when he spoke.
"Okay, Rodri, do you know why everyone at Villarreal calls me the Little Giant?"
"I asked Cazora casually."
Rodri immediately raised his hand to answer, "I know that, sir!"
"Oh? Tell me about it."
Rodri said in a very serious tone:
"Because back in your adolescence, after extra training, you were seeking guidance in the locker room when the cleaning lady saw your shadow..."
"puff--!"
Cazorla spat out the water he had just drunk.
Rodri continues:
"My aunt was startled when she saw that huge shadow. So, sir, they say that's why you're not tall enough, otherwise you could be much stronger, so I've never dared to..."
"Stop, stop, stop! What nonsense are you talking about?!"
That's a rumor, a rumor!!!
That day, it just happened to be inside my pants...
No, no, no, none of that matters!
You're such a naive child, speaking so recklessly.
Cazorla's face turned bright red, and he quickly interrupted Rodri.
He decided that he had to prove himself today.
Cazorla cleared his throat and adopted an extremely serious tone.
"No, Rodri. If that were the case, they'd at most call me 'the little giant,' or 'the little guy with a giant'..."
Cazorla's attempt to explain only made things worse, so he quickly waved his hand.
"Anyway, they will never call me Little Giant!"
Rodri scratched his head, looking puzzled.
"Then why do we call you Little Giant?"
Cazorla pointed to the setting sun on the horizon.
"It's because in a previous match, I scored a crucial goal."
Cazorla's voice became somewhat distant.
"It was a match played at dusk. After I scored, I opened my arms to celebrate, and the setting sun cast a very long shadow of me. A reporter covering Villarreal took that picture."
He looked at Rodri:
"That's why everyone calls me the Little Giant Under the Sunset."
Rodri exclaimed "Oh!" as if he had just realized something.
Rodri looked at Cazorla and nodded seriously.
Just as the two were chatting, a series of hurried footsteps came from the sidelines.
I saw two people.
"Rodri, you need to go to the cafeteria for lunch! Otherwise, the food will get cold!"
"Santi, you're still practicing here."
The teaching assistant sighed.
Tomorrow's match is a do-or-die battle.
Hearing the assistant coach's tone, Rodri knew that there must be important matters to discuss before tomorrow's game.
Rhodes got up and left first.
There were only two people on the field.
Watching Rodri's departing figure.
Cazorla's smile faded: "I know."
"In the first half of the season, we beat all the weak teams we could score against."
The assistant coach pointed to the leaderboard on the tactics board.
"We're currently third from bottom, deep in the relegation zone. If we can't snatch three points from a volatile team like Atletico Madrid, and then face Real Madrid or Barcelona, this small town of 50,000 will be relegated to the Championship!"
Cazorla patted his assistant coach on the shoulder: "Don't worry, I'll handle it. Atletico's defense is solid right now, but their new Chinese defensive midfielder is too reckless. I've watched the video; he relies entirely on physical contact, and his defensive actions are too straightforward. I'll wear him down with the tempo of the game."
The teaching assistant nodded and turned to pack up the training equipment.
"Okay, Captain. I'll go pack my things. You go eat too!"
"Let's do our best tomorrow!"
……
Half an hour later.
Huang Qian's changing room.
The teammates had all showered and gone home, leaving only dim lighting in the locker room.
Cazorla sat alone on the bench.
He took off his socks, his composure from when he was with Rodri and the assistant coach gone.
Cazorla bent over in pain, his hands gripping the Achilles tendon of his right foot, which was covered in surgical scars.
Large beads of cold sweat dripped from his forehead and splattered onto the floor.
The skin around the Achilles tendon had an abnormal purplish-red color, a consequence of multiple surgeries.
The team doctor's desperate warning echoed in his ears: "Santi, your leg absolutely cannot withstand the high-intensity physical contact of La Liga! If this continues, the wound will reopen and become infected, and you'll have to have it amputated!"
Amputation.
These two words weighed on Cazorla's chest like a mountain.
He bit his pale lips hard, trembling all over from the pain.
But in Cazorla's eyes, an extremely crazed light surged.
"Just a little longer..." Cazorla murmured to himself in the empty locker room, his voice extremely hoarse, "Just let me hold on a little longer!"
He looked up at the yellow number 10 jersey hanging on the cabinet.
"I really want to... I really want to play for Villarreal a little longer!"
Fortunately, Cazorla had watched the video of Atlético Madrid's first half of the season.
This Atletico Madrid team doesn't seem to be putting too much pressure on us!
Offense is like an old man's silver spear, defense is like a widow's boudoir.
Ugh, how could I have used such a vulgar analogy?
However, this Atletico Madrid team only needs to be the same as the one in the video.
He is confident of forcing a draw, or even winning!
He will protect the football dreams of everyone in the small town of Villarreal!
The other side just spent money aggressively in the winter transfer window to make signings; he has always hated this kind of football atmosphere of buying players at every turn.
It's not pure at all.
How can that compare to their football dreams?
……
Suburbs of Madrid.
Li Jing pushed open the door and locked it from the inside.
He walked to the bedside, lay down on his back, and looked at the ceiling, taking a deep breath.
He brought up the system panel.
55000 points can be used for special training hours and remain in the center of your line of sight.
These are all gains they reaped from Di Maria and Higuain in the previous match against Real Madrid.
Li Jing quickly sorted out the current situation in his mind.
La Liga has an extremely fast pace, and relying solely on physical strength to withstand the pressure is a significant disadvantage.
This morning I listened to Simeone's tactical instructions. Defense not only requires toughness, but also absolutely precise coverage.
We must improve our ball intelligence and tactical awareness.
Li Jing made the decision.
Football is a sport where twelve people form a barrel; what's needed isn't versatility, but rather making one's own plank long enough.
"System, allocate all 55000 hours to tactical training!"
Li Jing is currently quite busy and hasn't considered that tomorrow's opponents are treating him as the first obstacle in their football dreams.
But he seems to be the BOSS!
...