Boavista First-Team Base
The training base for Boavista's first team was only across the road from the B team, but for many players, this road was a chasm.
9:00 AM.
Lin Yuan stood at the entrance of the first-team locker room, carrying a worn-out sports bag.
As he pushed the door open, a scent mixed with expensive cologne, sweat, and a certain sense of superiority wafted toward him. The chatter and laughter inside came to a brief halt the moment he entered.
Over a dozen gazes swept over him. Some were scrutinizing, some cold, but most were mocking.
"Yo, is this the 'murderer' Pacheco was talking about?"
The speaker was a Black player with a Mohawk who was tying his laces while winking at his teammates. "I heard he almost broke someone's leg in the youth team? How terrifying."
A few chuckles rang out.
Lin Yuan remained expressionless, walking straight toward the only empty locker in the corner.
He recognized that Black man—Camacho, Boavista's starting attacking midfielder. With flashy footwork, he was the team's "dribbling master" and the type of player who looked down most on blue-collar workhorses.
"Hey, Chinese guy." Seeing Lin Yuan ignore him, Camacho raised his voice a few notches. "This isn't a kindergarten like the B team. Be careful during training later. Don't break your own two legs; nobody here will pity you."
Lin Yuan pulled on his jersey, revealing lean, rock-hard muscles. He turned his head, his gaze as calm as a pool of stagnant water.
"Worry about your own legs."
Camacho froze for a moment, then his face darkened. "Quite the tough mouth."
...Twenty minutes later, on the training ground.
Just as Lin Yuan expected, the pace of the first team was a completely different world compared to the B team.
"Rondo! Hurry up, rookie in the circle!"
The warm-up was the classic "monkey in the middle."
Lin Yuan was assigned to the middle of the circle.
This was his weakest link. His physical attributes were S-rank, but his ball feel was currently only D-rank, even worse than some amateur players.
"Pass! Hey, over here!"
"Too slow! Too slow!"
"Are you made of wood?"
The football moved like an obedient elf under the feet of Camacho, the winger Santos, and others, passing rapidly. Lin Yuan was like a clumsy bear, running back and forth in the middle, every attempt to stick out a foot half a beat too slow.
Camacho went out of his way to toy with him. Even when he could have passed the ball, he waited until Lin Yuan rushed in front of him before flicking it away with a contemptuous nutmeg.
"Nutmeg! Hahaha! How many times is that?" Camacho laughed exaggeratedly. "Hey, is Chinese Kung Fu meant for getting nutmegged?"
The surrounding teammates were also laughing. Head coach Petit stood by the sidelines wearing sunglasses, his expression unreadable, and he didn't stop the session.
Sweat dripped from Lin Yuan's chin. His breathing was heavy, and his lungs felt like they were on fire.
Not from exhaustion, but from anger.
The feeling of being toyed with like a monkey made the blood in his body begin to boil.
[Ding!]
[Detected that the host is suffering intense humiliation; anger value is soaring!]
[Extracting temporary template...]
[Congratulations on obtaining: Gennaro Gattuso (AC Milan era · Mad Dog form) Trial Card (30 minutes)!]
[Skill Buffs: Death Entanglement (significantly increases close-quarters harassment ability), Beast Instinct (increases prediction of passing lanes by 100%), Fear Aura (creates psychological pressure on the ball carrier).]
Lin Yuan lowered his head, a cruel arc suddenly curling at the corner of his mouth.
Gattuso?
The "Butcher" who once gave even Zidane a headache?
Perfect.
"Hey, big dummy, still want more?" Camacho stepped on the ball and beckoned Lin Yuan with a finger. "This time I want to try a rainbow flick over you."
Lin Yuan looked up.
In that instant, Camacho felt like he was being stared at by a hungry wolf, and an inexplicable chill ran down his spine.
"Come," Lin Yuan spat out a single word... "Beep—!"
Warm-up over, Petit blew the whistle. "Scrimmage! Starters in yellow vests, substitutes in red. That newcomer... Lin, you go to the red team and play defensive midfielder."
The match began.
As the core of the starting team, Camacho had the most opportunities on the ball.
Three minutes into the game, Camacho received the ball in the center circle. He habitually wanted to turn and shake off the defense elegantly as usual.
But this time, the wind suddenly picked up!
A red figure, carrying a terrifying sense of pressure, instantly filled the space behind him.
"So fast?!" Camacho was startled and instinctively tried to pull the ball back and turn.
Bang!
Two bodies collided violently.
Lin Yuan didn't even look at the ball; he was going for the man! Fair physical contact!
Camacho felt as if he had been hit from the side by a high-speed truck. His center of gravity instantly gave way, and he tumbled away pathetically, rolling three times before stopping, his mouth full of grass clippings.
Lin Yuan poked the ball to a teammate in stride.
"Foul! This is murder!" Camacho jumped up and roared.
"Good ball! Play on!" Petit shouted coldly from the sidelines.
Camacho gritted his teeth and scrambled up.
Fifth minute.
Camacho tried to break through on the wing, but there was that red nightmare again.
Lin Yuan executed a precise ground slide tackle. Although he didn't hit the man, those shiny studs were only two centimeters away from Camacho's ankle.
Camacho was so scared he jumped straight up, losing the ball.
"What are you afraid of?" Lin Yuan stood up from the grass, patted the dirt off his knees, and spoke in a low voice like a demon's whisper. "Weren't you having fun just now?"
Tenth minute.
Camacho's foot on the ball was actually trembling slightly.
He realized this Chinese guy wasn't trying to steal the ball; he was targeting the person. Whenever the ball reached his feet, Lin Yuan would pounce like a mad dog, and even the hot breath on his neck made him feel suffocated.
This was the power of the [Gattuso Template]—not to win the ball, but to make the opponent afraid to have it!
Finally, in a panicked play, Camacho kicked the ball directly out of bounds.
The entire field was silent.
The dribbling master who had been so arrogant before training began was now covered in cold sweat, his gaze wandering, not even daring to look in Lin Yuan's direction.
Lin Yuan stood in the center circle, his gaze sweeping over everyone who had just laughed at him.
This time, no one dared to meet his eyes.
By the sideline.
Head coach Petit took off his sunglasses, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes.
The assistant coach beside him asked in a low voice, "Boss, this kid's technique is too raw. His pass completion rate is less than 60%, do we really want to keep him?"
Petit looked at the back of the figure on the field who was making the starting attacking midfielder tremble, a cold smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"Raw technique can be trained. But this kind of temperament that forces the fear out of an opponent's bones cannot be taught."
"We need this mad dog. Next week against Benfica, put him in the match squad."