Player number 16 was stunned and failed to receive the ball, but Brian Carter reacted much faster than him. Still lying on the ground, he scrambled up using both his hands and feet, chasing after the football. The opponents had already pressed forward in force—if he could just intercept the ball, they could launch a counterattack, maybe even score a goal...

The football was getting closer and closer in his eyes. Just as Brian Carter thought he could catch up and start the counterattack, another foot suddenly hooked the ball away from his field of vision, leaving him lunging at nothing.

Brian Carter couldn’t brake in time. When he tried to turn and chase again, his foot slipped and he fell straight to the ground.

By the time he struggled up and turned to chase once more, he only saw the ball being passed away by that player, landing once again at number 16’s feet. Then, after two or three quick passes among the British players, with not a single red-shirted figure intervening, it was as if they were wooden stakes, or simply didn’t exist at all—just air. They could only watch as the opponents passed the ball right through the middle to the front of the goal, and then number 16 shot it into the net. The goalkeeper stood in front of the goal and waved his hand; it looked less like defending and more like greeting the British players: Hi, welcome to shoot.

Cheers, whistles, and applause from the British supporters echoed around the stadium.

“Damn it!”

5:0, the British student team was ahead of the Chinese international student team, with the goal scored in the ninetieth minute.

※※※

The football match was over, and the crowd gathered outside the field gradually dispersed. Some of them were still discussing the just-finished game. Even those who had come to cheer for the Chinese international student team left chatting and laughing—the crushing defeat clearly hadn’t left any mark on their hearts.

“Man, I’m exhausted…”

“Where should we go to relax for a bit?”

“I know a nightclub, there are lots of beautiful girls there…”

“Really? Hahahaha! Not bad!”

The players of the Chinese international student team who had just lost the match were sitting by the field, resting and chatting about topics completely unrelated to the game that had just ended. From the smiles on their faces, you’d never guess this was a team that had just lost 0:5 in front of a crowd.

The one laughing the hardest suddenly stopped, because he saw Brian Carter standing in front of him with a dark, stormy expression.

“Don’t you guys have any shame?” Brian Carter glared, eyes wide, and shouted at the man in front of him. “We just lost! And we lost by five goals! How the hell can you still laugh?”

The man was stunned by the sudden outburst, mouth agape, staring blankly at Brian Carter. He didn’t even know this guy—he’d only been introduced by the captain, Olivia Harris, before the match, and hadn’t even bothered to remember his name.

Now this stranger was lecturing him in this tone? Who did he think he was?

Once he recovered, he shot back, “Watch your mouth, asshole! So what if we lost? Life goes on, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, exactly. We lost because we’re not as good as them, what’s there to complain about?” someone else chimed in immediately—it was the guy who’d just said he knew a nightclub with lots of beautiful girls.

“Ha! Professional players lose who knows how many games in their lives, are you saying they shouldn’t even be allowed to live?” another person said sarcastically, making the others burst out laughing.

“Shouldn’t Baggio have killed himself after the ’94 World Cup?”

“So this kid must be the one who shot Escobar, huh? Ha!”

“Ronaldo’s unforgivable too, right? He lost the ’98 World Cup final!”

A group of people scrambled to mock Brian Carter, as if afraid of missing their chance to get a word in.

Amid the jeers, Brian Carter clenched his fists tightly. He was burning with anger, his chest heaving like a bellows. He wasn’t exhausted from running for ninety minutes—he just really wanted to punch this group of people in front of him.

At that moment, a young man with glasses, a gentle face, also wearing a red China team jersey but with a captain’s armband on his left arm, grabbed Brian Carter’s arm.

“Calm down, Da Chu!” The young man stepped in front of Brian Carter, separating him from the others.

The man who’d been rescued stood up and patted the young man on the shoulder. “Mr. Harris, I’ll give you face today. Tell your friend to watch his mouth. We’re all Chinese here, there’s no need for this, right?” With that, he turned and waved to the others. “Let’s go, brothers, let’s find a place to relax! I’m beat!”

The group responded with a roar and followed him away.

Olivia Harris waved to them, then turned back to try to calm the furious and frustrated Brian Carter. “Why bother, Da Chu? It was just a regular friendly match, everyone’s just playing for fun…”

“Getting five goals scored on us in front of so many people, being laughed at by others—is that your idea of playing for fun?” Brian Carter waved his arms, retorting emotionally. “Maybe we’re not as good as them, but at least our attitude should be right! At the very least, we should be running during the match—that’s a game, not a stroll!”