Chapter 28
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: La Decimoquinta -2
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The match kicked off with Real Madrid taking the first kick.
Liverpool unleashed their trademark high press right away. It had become a trend now, with most teams trying it out.
But Liverpool's high press had a slightly different flavor.
Even if you shake them off and knock them down, by the time you snap back to reality, they're blocking your feet—even if they have to crawl there.
I couldn't help but admire their relentless pressure inwardly.
Damn, EPL teams are no joke.
With all that money flooding into the EPL and top players and managers settling there, EPL teams had racked up eight Champions League titles over the past sixteen years. The league was in its golden era right now.
"Huff—huff—huff—"
Looking at the opposing striker panting as he ran...
Man, I really dodged a bullet not going to the EPL.
Almost ended up at Newcastle playing that soul-crushing soccer.
La Liga lets me toy around at 30% effort. That's why I'm happy here. I can look down on everyone.
Anyway, while I was lost in those thoughts...
Splash—
Little General Charlie Stone had sneaked up and slammed a body check right into me.
Tweet—
Fuck. This is the EPL? This is Klopp's high press?
"Hey, rookie! Heard you're bullying everyone in the saints' league? I'll show you what real physical play is this match."
Charlie Stone clasped his hands politely in front of the ref, appealing that it was an accident.
The ref gave him a verbal warning.
This is thrilling. Soccer's always full of surprises.
No card for something like that?
"Heh heh heh heh heh heh—"
Lying on the grass cracking up, and Sergio Pepe calls the doctor with a serious look on his face.
"Damn it! Doc! Jesus took a hit to the head!!"
[Ah... Jesus Joo is down on the pitch. Hope it's nothing serious.]
Charlie Stone, that psycho just body-slammed him lmao
Little General nickname for a reason
[Jesus Joo shakes it off and gets back up. Looks like no major injury! He flashes a big smile and waves to the bustling Real Madrid bench—signaling he's fine.]
Jesus bro's laughing. Liverpool can fuck off~
What does Jesus smiling have to do with Liverpool leaving?
When Jesus smiles, he plays even better. Facts
Bs Jesus ain't Ronaldinho
"Dios del Madrid Jesus!!"
"God of Madrid, grant us La Decimoquinta's glory!"
[Oh! The Santiago Bernabéu echoes with the Jesus Joo chant. It's always so epic.]
[Jesus Joo applauds his fans in thanks. Oh, and now he's taking the free kick himself!]
[It's farther than it looks. Can Jesus Joo score from here?]
[Jesus Joo... strikes it! Oof...]
Crack—!!!
[Jesus Joo's rocket shot smacks Charlie Stone right in the head. Is Charlie okay?!]
[Ref stops play. Liverpool's team doctor rushes onto the pitch.]
Jesus psycho! That's blatant intent—why no card, ref dickhead?!
Kloppets incoming?
Charlie's foul earlier got no card either.
That's different—this is retaliation!
[Jesus Joo approaches the downed Charlie Stone, seemingly asking if he's okay.]
Is he really asking if he's okay? Why's he whispering?
[Charlie Stone gets back up—thankfully. He hugs it out with Jesus Joo.]
Charlie's face looks murderous af;;
Jesus bro, you're fucked!!
[Drop ball to restart.]
[Charlie Stone boots it long into Madrid's half.]
[Great sportsmanship on display in this Real Madrid vs. Liverpool clash.]
???
Great sportsmanship??
[Jesus Joo receives from Luka Savić.]
[Oh! Dangerous! Charlie Stone lunges hard at Jesus Joo again! Ref, do something! That's a yellow at least!]
[Jesus Joo goes down from the heavy tackle... Wait, he's laughing?!]
[Charlie Stone approaches the downed Jesus Joo.]
That bastard's smiling too?
Ref's face is legendary
Ref: What the hell are these guys? Why are they laughing?
[Smiling Charlie Stone offers Jesus Joo a hand up.]
[Ref gives Charlie Stone a verbal warning.]
That's a verbal warning??
Ref's a total noob, wtf so soft
Lmao calling a vet ref a rookie
[Friendship on the pitch? Jesus Joo and Charlie Stone chatting amicably.]
After the ref gave Charlie Stone his verbal warning and walked off...
Charlie and I kept up the trash talk.
"Rookie! Grass looks comfy down there, huh?"
"Ha. Old man. Keep those teeth hidden before I shove Sergio's dick in that gap."
But we never crossed the line.
No family talk in our trash exchanges. Ever.
We kept it going like that.
Tweet—! Tweet—! Tweeeet—!
The ref's whistle blew for halftime.
"Rookie, see you in the second half. You won't chicken out, right?"
"Old man, better wear a diaper for the second half."
We traded well-wishes and headed off the pitch to the locker room.
Valverde was firing up the team by showing footage of the Santiago Bernabéu right now.
"Reyes de Europa—we are the Kings of Europe."
"Precisely—we were the Kings of Europe! We haven't won the European Cup in fifteen years. Are we still kings?"
Madrid, Madrid, Madrid, ¡Hala Madrid!
Y nada más, y nada más, ¡Hala Madrid!
"Can you hear the fans out there craving victory?!"
"The fans are begging us."
"To smash those British jelly-eel-eating fucks and bring home the trophy!"
"Don't yield! Don't fall! There's no more defeat for you in Los Blancos' kit!!!"
"Vamos!! Let's go back!! To those days when defeat was unknown!! Hala Madrid!!!!"
"Hala Madrid!!!!"
Right on cue, the Madridistas started belting out the chorus.
Madrid, Madrid, Madrid, ¡Hala Madrid!
Y nada más, y nada más, ¡Hala Madrid!
"Madrid, Madrid, Madrid, ¡Hala Madrid!"
"Y nada más, y nada más, ¡Hala Madrid!"
The players joined in on the chorus.
The second half kicked off with Liverpool's ball.
Liverpool came out swinging too—like they'd gotten hyped up in their locker room. Full throttle from the start.
Thwack—!
Sergio Pepe blocked Liverpool striker Harry Cannon's golden chance—right to the face.
Smack—!
Luis, seeing Pepe down, desperately cleared the rebound toward the touchline. Pepe yelled at him.
"Puta!! Why didn't you counter?!"
The feed caught it, and the Madridistas cheered their local boy's fire.
"PEPE! Our eternal captain!!"
23rd minute of the second half.
The moment I got the pass from Luka Savić...
I scanned around. These Liverpool guys were finally tiring.
The press intensity had loosened compared to the first half.
I mean, run like that and you'd be gassed.
If not, you ain't human.
Meanwhile, with Liverpool's onslaught forcing me into a rest period early in the half, I was brimming with stamina.
I shrugged off the charging Charlie Stone. A simple feint and his legs buckled—he crumpled laughing.
"Damn it!!!! Fucking rookie!!!"
"Heh heh heh—"
I could feel my senses sharpening.
Shook off Jude Bellingham's press easily.
The kid grabbed my jersey and hung on.
Swatted his hand away and bolted.
"Fuck!! Don't rush in like an idiot!!"
There was Marcel Breuer, the monster defender adjusting the backline.
Body feint past one. La Croqueta through the gap between two defenders.
Marcel Breuer went in with a sliding tackle.
A light drag-back dodged it. Then I curled it toward the far corner.
"No fucking way!!!"
The ball bent just out of the keeper's reach—straight into the net.
I spun around, charged the Real Madrid fans, threw an uppercut, and roared.
"¡Vamos!!!!!!!!!"
The Madridistas' chants exploded at the wondergoal.
"Dios del Madrid Jesus!!"
"God of Madrid, grant us La Decimoquinta's glory!"
"Madrid, Madrid, Madrid, ¡Hala Madrid!"
"Y nada más, y nada más, ¡Hala Madrid!"
And then, Sergio Pepe barreled in from the center circle at full speed and tackled me into the turf.
"Vamos!! Let's sing of Madrid's glory with Jesus!!"
Damn bastard. Way too heavy.