[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-start-with-r9-template":3,"chapter-start-with-r9-template-start-with-r9-template-chapter-121":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},1388715,1840,"Chapter 121 - 121","start-with-r9-template-chapter-121",121,"\u003Cp>Hugo Lloris scrambled out of his net and he kick the goal post angrily.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Are you all planning to keep playing like this?!\" Lloris roared, veins bulging in his neck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He turned on Jan Vertonghen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"This is a fucking disgrace! This match will be written on your graves! Is this how you want to leave this stadium? As cowards?!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Tottenham players couldn't meet his eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They felt as if a thorn had pierced their hearts, bleeding out their belief.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Once, twice, thrice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The momentum was gone. The belief was gone. Pochettino's halftime surrender—taking off Kane—had signaled that this game didn't matter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And now, United were making sure it mattered for all the wrong reasons.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The match resumed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>United, sensing the job was done, dropped their gears slightly. They sat back, inviting Spurs onto them, conserving energy for the kill.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tottenham, desperate to salvage a shred of dignity, pushed forward.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dele Alli dropped deep, collecting the ball.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He feinted past Pogba, spun, and launched a desperate, beautiful long ball to Son Heung-min on the wing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Son summoned a burst of rage-fueled energy. He muscled past Ashley Young, cut inside Matic, and found a yard of space at the edge of the box.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bang!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He unleashed a venomous drive toward the bottom corner.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"It's in—no!\" Martin Tyler shouted. \"De Gea!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>David De Gea, cold and bored for most of the half, sprang to life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He dropped like a stone, his right hand stiffening to palm the ball around the post.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"He gives them nothing!\" Gary Neville gasped. \"Even at 3-0, he refuses to be beaten. That save is world-class. It is demoralizing.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The cheers at White Hart Lane died in the throat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That save extinguished the last ember of resistance. The Spurs players looked at each other, dazed and numb.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'We can't even score one.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>66th Minute\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The corner came in. Fernando Llorente and Phil Jones clashed heads with a sickening thud, but Jones won the battle, powering the header clear.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"United on the break!\" Tyler called.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nemanja Matic didn't hesitate. He cushioned a volley to Pogba.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Suddenly, the Red Arrows were flying.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pogba, Lingard, Lukaku, Ling. They moved with a terrifying, telepathic understanding.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pogba drove forward, leaning his body to fake a pass, then slicing a through-ball with the outside of his boot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thump.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ball dissected the Spurs defense like a scalpel through wet paper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jesse Lingard was through. He was slippery as an eel, ghosting past a static Vertonghen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was one-on-one with Lloris.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Lingard didn't shoot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He slowed down. He waited. He drew Lloris out, humiliating the keeper by refusing to panic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as Lloris committed, Lingard flicked his ankle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He squared the ball.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling was sprinting in. He had beaten Davinson Sánchez by five yards.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was an empty net.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tap.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>0-4.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling didn't chase the ball. He didn't run to the corner flag to dance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He sprinted forty yards to the sideline, right in front of the baying Tottenham fans who had abused him all night.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He stopped. He raised three fingers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He shook them at the crowd.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One. Two. Three.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Oh, look at that!\" Neville laughed nervously. \"He's doing the Mourinho! He is mocking them! 'Three goals? Respect! Respect!'\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling's face was stone cold. He remembered the insults. He remembered the 'dog eater' chants. He remembered Trippier's stomp.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'You want to abuse me? Fine. I will burn your house down.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>An eye for an eye. That was his creed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the touchline, Mauricio Pochettino punched the plastic siding of the dugout so hard it cracked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He slumped into his seat, head in his hands.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He felt deceived.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He thought there was a gentleman's agreement to calm the game down. Instead, Mourinho's team was tearing his reputation to shreds.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked at the clock. 73:42.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seventeen minutes left.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'Please,' Pochettino thought. 'Just blow the whistle.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Mourinho wasn't done.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He signaled to the fourth official.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Rashford ON. Herrera ON. Lingard OFF. Pogba OFF.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"He's bringing on fresh attackers?\" Neville noted, sounding surprised. \"He's bringing on pace? This is ruthless. Jose wants a cricket score.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>76th Minute\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tottenham tried to play out from the back, but their legs had gone to jelly. A lazy pass from Dier was intercepted by Herrera.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Herrera, full of energy, drove to the edge of the box.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He slipped it to Lukaku.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Belgian turned Sánchez, who looked like he wanted to cry, and smashed a shot into the roof of the net.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>0-5.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The away end was a sea of bare chests and swinging scarves.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The home end was emptying rapidly. Silence fell over North London, heavy and suffocating.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>83rd Minute\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Herrera lofted a long ball over the top.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling, exhausted but relentless, chased it down. He got there before Lloris.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A simple feint. Lloris fell over.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling walked the ball into the net.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>0-6.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Four goals for Ling!\" Tyler screamed. \"It is a masterclass! It is his first-ever four-goal haul! He has dismantled Tottenham Hotspur single-handedly!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling didn't celebrate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He felt an inexplicable emptiness. It was too easy. It was like beating a corpse.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>89th Minute\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The clock ticked toward mercy. But Marcus Rashford wanted his goal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Herrera and Rashford played a one-two on the edge of the box, dancing around defenders who had stopped running.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Rashford looked up, picked his spot, and rifled a shot into the far corner.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>0-7.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"SEVEN!\" Neville shouted. \"It is seven heaven for Manchester United! This is a massacre! An absolute demolition job!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The referee didn't add a single second of stoppage time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He blew the whistle the moment the clock hit 90:00.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Full Time: Tottenham 0 - 7 Manchester United.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The blood-red sunset over North London dyed the sky, casting long, mournful shadows over the pitch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>White Hart Lane, with its 118 years of history, felt violated.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The stadium, usually a place of pride, reeked of humiliation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was a funeral for the old ground, but instead of a eulogy, United had delivered a desecration.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Tottenham players stood frozen on the pitch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lloris sat on his goal line, staring at nothing. Son Heung-min covered his face with his shirt to hide the tears.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Their pride had been shattered like glass and ground into the mud.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The humiliation felt like an icy wind, stinging every inch of their skin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Deep down, they tried to tell themselves it was the schedule. It was the injuries. It was the manager's tactics.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But as they walked down the tunnel, listening to the United players laughing and shouting in the distance, they knew the truth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They had been broken.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And the scars would last a lifetime.\u003C\u002Fp>",1102,"2026-06-05T22:48:23.062Z",1,"novelbin.me","2a4cef6f3f22834ecd1830c9c143084d518de73ec14a719e07baad2a6a21e4ef","start-with-r9-template-chapter-30","start-with-r9-template-chapter-29",371,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fstart-with-r9-template-cover.jpg"]