[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-start-with-r9-template":3,"chapter-start-with-r9-template-start-with-r9-template-chapter-128":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},1388730,1840,"Chapter 128 - 128","start-with-r9-template-chapter-128",128,"\u003Cp>Whoa!!!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The atmosphere in the Ramón Sánchez-Pizjuán Stadium erupted into a frenzy of noise—half gasps of horror, half roars of anticipation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the blink of an eye, Ling had flicked his ankle, and Jesus Navas had collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling didn't stop to admire his handiwork. He had broken the line. He was nearing the byline inside the penalty area.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sergio Rico, the goalkeeper, rushed out to close the angle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The shot was almost impossible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Top players play with their brains. Second-tier players rely on their bodies. Third-rate players simply don't know how to play.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Time seemed to slow down. Ling kept his head up. He saw the defenders scrambling back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He saw the space opening up at the penalty spot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Romelu Lukaku had initially made a run to the near post, but seeing Ling go wide, the big Belgian checked his run.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He peeled off the defender, finding a pocket of space in the center.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"CHUAN QIU!!!\" (Pass the ball!!!)\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A strangely accented Chinese phrase echoed through the Spanish night.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lukaku had evidently picked up a few words from Ling during training.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling smirked. He didn't need to be told twice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wrapped the outside of his right boot around the ball. A gentle, floating Trivela cross.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ball drifted over the desperate lunge of Clement Lenglet. It dropped perfectly into the path of the oncoming striker.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Boom!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lukaku unleashed a thunderous left-footed volley from five meters out!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The sound of impact was sickeningly loud. The ball rocketed into the roof of the net like a cannonball.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>1-2 Manchester United!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The thousands of traveling United fans in the upper tier surged forward, a wave of red ecstasy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the giant LED screen, the replay played in slow motion. It showed the cruelty of Ling's movement. The Elastico. The outside-inside touch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It happened in a single frame. Navas's ankles seemed to buckle under the sheer physics of the move.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"That is illegal!\" Martin Tyler shouted on the commentary. \"He has dismantled the defense and put it on a plate for Lukaku!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the home stands, the mood turned toxic. The Sevilla fans, so loud minutes ago, clutched their heads.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Berizzo was doing fine!\" one fan screamed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Why did we hire Montella?!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We came back against Liverpool! We can do it again!\" another shouted, though his voice lacked conviction.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the pitch, Lukaku roared. He sprinted toward Ling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The two players leaped into the air.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>THUMP!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They collided in mid-air for a chest bump.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling landed and staggered back slightly, wincing. \"Ouch. Romelu, have you gotten heavier? It felt like hitting a brick wall.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lukaku grinned, clutching his own chest. \"Maybe I've just gotten stronger, little man! Pure muscle!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling forced a smile, but his mind was racing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He is too big.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling noticed it during training. Lukaku had been bulking up, presumably to prepare for the World Cup with Belgium. He wanted to be a tank.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But in the Premier League, and especially in the Champions League, you need mobility. Lukaku's first step was heavier. His reaction time was a fraction slower.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'I need to talk to him,' Ling thought.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he keeps adding mass, his knees won't hold up. Speed is his weapon, not just strength.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the sideline, Vincenzo Montella had lost his composure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Don't lunge in!\" Montella screamed, veins bulging in his neck. \"How many times have I told you?! Do not dive in on him!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jesus Navas picked himself up from the turf, looking at the bench with innocent, frustrated eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'If you think it's so easy, boss, you come and stop him.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Navas looked at Ling's retreating back. He felt a pang of nostalgia—and age. He remembered when he was the young, lightning-fast winger tearing up defenses in England.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now? He was chasing shadows.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Banega,\" Navas gasped. \"Cover the inside. I can't handle him alone.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Peep!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The match resumed. And so did the Mourinho Masterclass.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A 2-1 away lead in the Champions League is gold dust. Mourinho didn't want a third goal. He wanted to kill the game.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He signaled to the pitch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Formation Shift: 4-5-1.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling and Rashford dropped deep, acting almost as auxiliary fullbacks. The midfield became a congested block of five.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From a bird's eye view, United formed three distinct, rigid defensive lines. They suffocated Sevilla. Every time the Spanish side tried to play through the middle, they hit a wall of Matic and McTominay. Every time they went wide, Ling or Rashford was there to double-team.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>89th Minute\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sevilla had one last push.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Navas received the ball on the touchline. He saw Ling in front of him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Summoning the last of his energy, Navas nudged the ball forward and executed a La Croqueta—shifting the ball from right foot to left to skip past Ling's tackle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was through!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But only for a second.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling turned. He dug his cleats into the turf.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zoom.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In three strides, Ling closed the five-yard gap.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He used his raw recovery pace to shoulder-barge Navas off the ball and clear it into the stands.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Navas stopped, hands on his knees, gasping for air. He looked at Ling, who wasn't even breathing hard.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'Youth,' Navas thought bitterly. 'It wins every time.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Peep-peep-peep!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The final whistle blew.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sevilla 1 - 2 Manchester United.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"OHHHH!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The away end erupted. It wasn't a trophy, but it was a massive step.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For the first time in years, United looked comfortable in the knockout stages of the Champions League.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dark days of Moyes' endless crosses and Van Gaal's sleep-inducing possession were gone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This team finally had teeth!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Ling walked toward the tunnel, soaking in the applause, he heard a high-pitched voice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Ling! Ling! Look!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked up.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A young boy, maybe seven years old, was leaning over the railing of the away section. He was holding up a piece of paper.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was a crayon drawing. A stick figure in a red shirt with the number 7, kicking a ball into a goal. It was crude, but the effort was undeniable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling smiled. He stopped and walked over to the stewards.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Hey little man,\" Ling shouted. \"Is that me?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Yes!\" the boy squealed. \"I drew it for you!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"It's amazing. Better than the real thing,\" Ling laughed. He pulled off his match-worn jersey. \"I tell you what. I'll trade you. My shirt for your art.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The boy's eyes went as wide as saucers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"REALLY?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Deal.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling tossed the sweaty jersey up. The boy caught it, burying his face in the fabric. He dropped the drawing down, and Ling caught it gently.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling unrolled the paper, looking at the scribbles. He tucked it carefully under his arm and walked down the tunnel, shirtless and smiling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Back in the locker room, he taped the drawing to his locker.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"New masterpiece?\" De Gea asked, grinning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Best trophy I've won all week,\" Ling replied.\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>",1159,"2026-06-05T22:48:23.062Z",1,"novelbin.me","46dfbc1c80cf16480af6b5a0b856e210f7e409cdfe1aa2408a284af2a93db613","start-with-r9-template-chapter-129","start-with-r9-template-chapter-37",371,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fstart-with-r9-template-cover.jpg"]