[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-start-with-r9-template":3,"chapter-start-with-r9-template-start-with-r9-template-chapter-118":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Start with R9 Template",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1388707,1840,"Chapter 118 - 118","start-with-r9-template-chapter-118",118,"\u003Cp>The trap was sprung.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Trippier's body was twisted into an unnatural shape, his center of gravity completely gone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was falling and he knew he was beaten.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Kieran Trippier wasn't just a defender; he was a street fighter who knew the dark arts well.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As he crumbled, a flash of malice crossed his eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'If I'm going down, you're coming with me.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Smack!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as Ling accelerated past him, Trippier didn't just fall. He forcibly planted his foot downward, studs exposed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was a stamp!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His studs crunched directly onto Ling's heel.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A sharp, electric bolt of pain shot up Ling's leg.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It felt like his ankle had been clamped in a vice. His momentum was instantly killed, and he crashed face-first into the turf, tumbling violently.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ball rolled away.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Trippier stood up, feigning innocence.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But as he walked past the prone Ling, he deliberately stepped over the boy's calf, dragging his boot slightly—a universal gesture of disrespect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"DAMN IT!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gary Neville slammed his hand on the desk, forgetting his professionalism entirely.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"That is dirty! That is absolutely filthy!\" Gary Neville roared into the microphone, his face flushing red.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I don't care if they deduct my salary for saying this—Trippier is a disgrace! That wasn't a tackle; that was a malicious stomp!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"A yellow card? No! That warrants a prison sentence!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Why can Tottenham only play by fouling? Why do they always crumble in Europe? It is precisely because of this garbage style of play! They are thugs in white shirts!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"If you watch closely,\" Gary Neville added, his voice trembling with suppressed rage, \"this isn't an accident. The heel stomp. The follow-through. They do this every week. It's systematic. It's trained.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tyler patted his partner's shoulder, trying to calm him down, but his own eyes were burning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That was a very dirty play down there.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the pitch, the reaction was instant and violent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Romelu Lukaku saw the stomp.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The big Belgian turned, his eyes blazing with fury. He charged at Trippier like a bull seeing red.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You dirty bastard!\" Lukaku roared, shoving Trippier hard in the chest. \"Do you realize what you're doing? You could break his leg!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Trippier staggered back but didn't back down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He smirked, a nasty, arrogant smirk.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Fuck off, Romelu,\" Trippier spat. \"This is the Premier League, not a nursery. If the kid can't handle the physicality, he should go back to playing house. Or go back to China.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked down at Ling, who was clutching his ankle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Get up, you soft prick.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That was the spark.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Manchester United players swarmed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pogba, Matic, Jones—they rushed in. The Tottenham players—Dier, Dele, Vertonghen—surrounded Trippier.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Chest to chest. Forehead to forehead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Don't touch him!\" Dier screamed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Shut your mouth!\" Pogba shouted back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Referee Andre Marriner blew his whistle frantically, diving into the scrum to separate the millionaires acting like pub brawlers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He dragged Lukaku away and flashed a yellow card in Trippier's face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Down on the grass, Ling took a deep breath.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The pain was throbbing, a dull ache radiating from his heel.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He tested the joint. Rotate left. Rotate right. It held.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'Thank god.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If that stomp had been an inch higher... it would have snapped his Achilles tendon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A cold, suffocating darkness washed over Ling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For a second, he wasn't at White Hart Lane.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was back in his past life. He remembered the popping sound of a ligament. The hospital lights. The doctor's pitying face. The end of a dream.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'What difference is there between a foul and murder if it kills your career?'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Rage, pure and molten, surged in his chest. It was suffocating.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He stood up, brushing the dirt off his knees. He looked at Trippier, who was laughing with Dele Alli.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'Respect?' Ling thought bitterly. 'You want me to earn their respect with goals?'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'Bullshit.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When a man tries to end your livelihood, you don't respond with art.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>You don't quote poetry to a rabid dog biting your leg.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This world is full of contradictions. They tell you violence doesn't solve problems. But on a football pitch, in the mud and the blood? Sometimes violence is the only language these people understand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling stared at Trippier's back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'I'm not going to swallow this.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the touchline, Jose Mourinho had gone nuclear.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He charged at the Fourth Official, veins bulging in his neck, pointing a shaking finger at the pitch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND?!\" Mourinho screamed, spit flying. \"Is that a yellow card? He tried to break his ankle! That is a red card! That is assault!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Mr. Mourinho, return to your technical area,\" the official warned, wiping his face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Fuck your technical area!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Rui Faria grabbed Mourinho by the belt, physically dragging the manager back before he could get sent to the stands.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mourinho spun around to face the pitch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He cupped his hands around his mouth. He didn't care about tactics anymore.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He cared about loyalty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"HEY!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He locked eyes with Matic. With Ashley Young. With Pogba.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Are you just going to watch him get hurt?!\" Mourinho roared, his voice cutting through the crowd noise.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Tackle them! Hit them back!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Be bigger bastards than them! Do you understand?! Protect your family!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The United players heard him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They looked at Ling as he was limping slightly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They looked at the smirking Spurs players.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Their expressions hardened. The glint in their eyes changed from competitive to predatory.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling wasn't just a teammate anymore.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was the kid.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The one who worked harder than anyone. The one who cooked for them. If he went down, the title went down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>United were not lambs to be slaughtered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The order had been given!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The match resumed, but it was no longer a football match. It was a street fight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>38th Minute Eric Dier received the ball.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He shrugged off Lingard and tried to turn.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before he could move, Nemanja Matic arrived.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The giant Serb didn't play the ball. He slammed his shoulder into Dier's chest, sending the Englishman crashing to the turf.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whistle. Foul.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Matic didn't even look at the referee. He just stared down at Dier.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'Try it again.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>41st Minute Mousa Dembélé floated a diagonal pass to the left flank. Son Heung-min controlled it beautifully.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knocked it past Valencia and surged forward, picking up speed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The next second, his world went upside down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ashley Young came flying across the turf like a homing missile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He left the ground. Two feet. No ball. All man.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>CRUNCH.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Young wiped Son out completely.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The South Korean star flew into the air, spinning, before crashing heavily onto the grass.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The home fans winced. The replay on the big screen was brutal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Referee Marriner sprinted over with yellow card already in his hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Control yourselves!\" he shouted at Young. \"This is a football pitch, not a boxing ring! Next one is a Red! Do not test me!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Son lay on the ground, clutching his shin, his face twisted in genuine confusion and pain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'Why me?' he thought. 'I didn't foul anyone! I'm innocent!'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Yeah! Have some of that!\" The United fans in the away end roared, baying for blood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Don't you dare back down!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Dirty Manc bastards!\" the Spurs fans screamed back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>45th Minute - Stoppage Time\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The atmosphere was toxic. Every challenge was met with screams.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Phil Jones and Smalling crunched Harry Kane in a sandwich tackle, winning the ball.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jones hoofed it long toward the left flank.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ball hung in the night sky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling backpedaled, watching the flight of the ball. He felt a presence behind him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was Trippier.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Spurs defender was glued to him, pressing his chest into Ling's back, taunting him relentlessly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Want to fall over again, princess?\" Trippier whispered in his ear, his breath hot. \"Are all you Chinese boys this soft? You're made of glass.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling didn't respond. He planted his feet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Honestly,\" Trippier continued, seeing the ball drop, \"your physique is pathetic. The girl I was with last night was stronger than you. Go home.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Trippier loaded up his legs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He jumped early, slamming his body into Ling's back, adding a subtle shove to ensure Ling couldn't win the header.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Ling had no intention of winning the header.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He waited for the contact.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Trippier jumped, leaning his face in close... Ling didn't jump for the ball.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He planted his feet, rotated his core, and swung his left elbow backward with vicious, calculated force.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>THUMP.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bone met bone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ball sailed harmlessly over their heads and out of bounds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Kieran Trippier didn't land on his feet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The blow caught him square on the temple.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His eyes rolled back and his body went instantly limp in mid-air.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He collapsed to the turf like a puppet with its strings cut. motionless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling landed softly. He looked down at the fallen defender.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'Who's soft now?'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>---------\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Read 30 chapters ahead and support me on patreon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>patreon (.)com\u002FNewbietranslator\u003C\u002Fp>",1486,"2026-06-05T22:48:23.062Z",1,"novelbin.me","826ab5bc3ef852726dc270706d84b735419b4b593408c8f767f16e29b5f1c763","start-with-r9-template-chapter-25","start-with-r9-template-chapter-24",371,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fstart-with-r9-template-cover.jpg"]