Chapter 123
Translator 8uhl
Chapter 123
Chapter Title The King and the Prince
Strangely enough, the Chelsea guys seemed unusually chatty.
The manager too.
Basomo Sibi, waiting for the day to clash with Yoon Taeyang once more.
Deloa, no more useless talk. This time, Ill show you.
His Jonathan, plenty of data accumulated. Yoon Taeyang is a beatable opponent.
Even now, Chelsea players interviews kept popping up in news articles whenever they felt like it.
But that got me thinking.
You know, holding our own against Chelsea right now is pretty impressive in itself.
It was exactly that.
They called it a relegation battle, but if the Premier League schedule wasnt this brutally tight, that term mightve vanished ages ago.
Take Chelseathey werent PSG level, but they boasted a squad that was straightup absurd.
Let me use FM, the game Ive been playing after work lately, as an example.
Igor Felipe Deloa, the Blue Goblin I once called my role model, has an ability rating of 196 and potential of 197 in FM.
He was the top active player in the game, with the highest ability.
Of course, games arent absolute measures, but it showed just how monstrous Deloa was.
In this era akin to the Warring States period, he was one of the fewalongside PSGs Kassamato win the Ballon dOr.
Chelseas defender Davy Wanderley clocks in at 181 ability.
He was one of the best active defenders, tied with Arsenals Ilkay Kozak.
As far as I knew, FM history had only a handful of defenders breaking 180 ability.
Basomo Sibi had lower ability but a potential of 178.
Long story short, they were a team that wouldnt get pushed around even by PSG.
In simulations, Premier League teams often won the Champions League because reallife stamina wasnt factored in.
Jealous.
Id love to manage a big club sometime.
Oh, by the way, the lowestrated PSG player from our previous matchup had 158 ability.
Insane numbers.
Gradinaru at 189, Chiligiris at 187, Kassama at 184.
Only PSG had three players over 180 ability.
Next were Real, United, Arsenal, and Chelsea with two each.
What about Newcastle?
Our highest right now is Menendez at 179 ability and 185 potential, then Illinyu at 179182.
Disappointing, maybe, but on the flip side, we had the most highpotential players.
Shalett, Lindeman, Sobiolaall three had random potentials of 9, which was ridiculously high.
As I said before, 10 per series is rare for me.
Anyway, thats not the point.
The key takeaway was that even in the game, current Newcastle was rated a clear tier below Chelsea.
Yet wed beaten them last season and once this season too.
You couldnt assume the stronger team always wins.
No guarantee wed beat Chelsea again for the double either.
All we could do was give it our all.
The problem was our squad.
After the grueling PSG match, Boxall had a minor ankle issue, and Redelri tweaked his hamstring, nothing major but out.
And to top it off?
The day before the game, Menendez came down with the flu.
He couldnt play tomorrow.
Replacing three key players in this state was no easy task.
Sure, Shalett could step in for Redelrieven if not fully grown, hed shown clutch performances in big games.
The real headache was midfield.
Losing Menendez and Boxall alone tanked our strength.
Rossi and Albrecht werent bad, but nowhere near bigclub starter level.
And not the managers preferred style either.
He loved allaction midfielders who could go boxtobox, demanding top stamina and work rateAlbrecht lacked it, and Rossi was defenseonly.
They were solid rotation players normally, but this match decided the title.
Ugh, whatever. Not my problem to worry about.
Still uneasy, I quit the game and flopped onto bed.
Can you play midfield, Silva?
Silva recalled the managers words from earlier that day.
Midfield, huh...
As a forward, hed never played midfield.
Well, maybe a few times way back, but it was so long ago the memories were fuzzy.
Including youth days, hed been playing pro for 30 yearsimpossible to remember every minute.
But experience piled up separately from memories.
Midfield?
Unfamiliar, but not tough.
Hed succeeded thanks to pace, but his soccer brain was sharp.
Lately, he felt better at passing than shooting anyway.
The real question.
How long will this hold up?
Silva touched his knee.
Meticulously managed since season start, reduced minutes, yet it ached daily.
Painkillers got him through games, but it could shatter midstride anytime.
Just hang on this season.
Last season.
Even sub time in the final league round, he wanted to bow out to applause.
Not asking much, right?
Hed endured years alreadyeight games left, no problem.
The crunch was next match.
Manager said full 90 minutes starting against Chelsea.
Please, no blowout in those 90.
Honey, whatre you doing there? Game tomorrow, right? Early night?
Right then.
His wifes voice made Silva turn.
Oh, yeah, bed time. Kids asleep?
Yep.
Those rascals, played hard today.
Silva grinned warmly.
He had a 10yearold son and 5yearold daughter.
Both precious beyond words.
His wife sat on his knee, smiling at his fondness, and pecked him.
Quit moping and lets sleep. Big match tomorrow. Youre starting, right?
Yeah, up we go.
Silva rose with her and hit the sack.
She looked at him.
Not much season left now, huh?
Yep. Time flies.
She saw the regret in his eyes.
It almost made her scoff.
Others retired in earlymid 30s, yet here he was, years older, still wistful.
You love soccer that much?
He smirked at her question.
Whats to say?
Youve had a long run. Time to hang em up. Youve prepped for coaching forever.
True, hed join Newcastles staff postseason.
Yeah, gotta. Just...
Silva rubbed his nose.
Feels bittersweet.
Bittersweet? After all that?
Nah, its Taeyang.
Taeyang?
Yeah, wanna play with him more.
She pouted. Lately, Silva always brought up Taeyang.
It irked her a bit.
Seemed like her husbands name had faded from the city, overshadowed by that Taeyang.
Mr. Toon.
Toon incarnate.
Noticing, Silva stroked her hair.
Dont be too bummed. Its natural.
But Ale came home crying the other day. Friends teased his dads a hasbeen!
AleAlejandro Silva, his son. At that, Silva burst out laughing.
Not wrong. I am a hasbeen.
Hey, you too!!
Dont worry. Im still king of this team.
And Taeyang?
Hes the prince.
Hugging her, Silva added.
And someday our boys play for Newcastle. Hell inherit Taeyangs throne.
A dream, but the kids skills already seemed better than his own.
Just not super into it yet.
Hmm... Come watch with our son this time. No, every game from now on.
Seeing Dad and Taeyang play might spark his dream. With that, Silva drifted off.
Premier League Round 31! Newcastle United vs. Chelsea at New St. James Park.
A title showdown between these two?
Yes. Newcastle top with 73 points, Chelsea second on 72.
Todays result could swap placesor decide the champion.
Match day.
Before the whiteandblack and blue kits hit the pitch at New St. James Park, the two title rivals lined up at the tunnel exit.
Broadcast cameras swept over them, zooming on one.
A blonddyed East Asian boy.
The Premier Leagues hottest star, matching his fame Taeyang.
Face devoid of nerveslike a debutant from last seasons endinstead lazily relaxed. He tilted his head, locked eyes with the lens, and flashed a grin.
Someone on Soccer Gallery would cap it later palace maids would save the GIF to phones, cherishing it.
Camera lingered briefly before panning to Chelsea.
Unlike Taeyangs casual vibe, solemn, determined faces.
Having built ambitiously yet locked in a grind with unexpected Newcastle, they looked razorsharp today.
After Chelsea, it fixed on one.
Mr. Toon, Silva.
Strutting, he spotted the camera and struck a goofy pose.
With that, players marched out.
Waaaaaaaaah!
Cheers erupted for once, Newcastles king Mr. Toons chant rang out.
Silva glanced at the Toon Army, rubbed his nose.
Yeah, the king was still him.
Hey, prince.
...Yes?
Watch how a king fights.
What?
Taeyang flinched at Silvas unusual vibe.
This old mans up to something today.