105: Chapter 105 Red Cards and Growth: England's Number 7 and Number 10

In the second half, the atmosphere at Stadio Artemio Franchi had completely changed.

The 1:5 scoreline hit like heavy hammers against the hearts of every Fiorentina player and fan, igniting uncontrollable humiliation and fury.

And this fury was focused, precisely and unabashedly, on the white number 52 who had just performed the "Five goals in nine minutes record" and single-handedly manufactured this tragedy.

Yu Bai, the hero who had returned like a king, instantly became the target of everyone on the Fiorentina team, a "thorn in their side."

After the match restarted, almost every time Yu Bai touched the ball, it incited fierce, merciless pressing and fouls from at least one Fiorentina player. The intensity of their actions escalated significantly, filled with venting malice.

The 47th minute.

Yu Bai received the ball on the left flank. Just as he turned, Kuba delivered a solid collision from the side, sending him out of bounds.

The referee blew the whistle; a normal foul.

The 49th minute.

Yu Bai attempted a wall pass with Dele Alli in the center. As soon as the ball was passed, Vecino's studs "incidentally" stepped on his foot.

Yu Bai winced in pain; the referee issued a verbal warning.

The 52nd minute.

While running off the ball, Astori surreptitiously pulled Yu Bai's jersey, almost dragging him down.

A foul, a continuous stream of fouls.

The goal was clear: to provoke him, exhaust him, and ideally, get him injured and off the field, or cause him to lose his temper.

The booing and jeering from the Fiorentina fans in the stands also surged toward Yu Bai like a tide. But he kept his lips pursed, his face expressionless, only silently getting up after each foul, brushing off the grass clippings, his eyes growing colder.

He was enduring it.

He knew this was the opponent's strategy.

He told himself to stay calm; responding with more goals was the most brutal revenge.

...

England, Leicester, at the home of Claudio Ranieri.

Only one floor lamp was on in the living room, casting a soft light. The television screen showed the intense action at Stadio Artemio Franchi. A cup of cold black tea sat on the coffee table.

Claudio Ranieri was not wearing his usual suit but was dressed in comfortable loungewear, sitting alone on the sofa, watching the match intently.

There was no Leicester City match midweek; tonight, he had shed his identity as a manager and was simply a pure fan carrying complex emotions.

Seeing Yu Bai perform the miracle of the "Five goals in nine minutes record" in his first match back, the expression on Claudio Ranieri's face was extremely complex.

It began with disbelief, followed by genuine, unadulterated joy and pride, as if he were seeing his most prized student shining brightly abroad. But immediately after, a faint, indescribable sense of loss and sadness quietly crept onto his brow.

"This kid... he never disappoints."

He whispered to himself, shaking his head, yet a smile played on his lips.

He truly hadn't expected Yu Bai to announce his return so wildly.

In his view, a stable return, finding his rhythm and scoring within three games, would have been a huge success.

But Yu Bai had slapped everyone in the face with an epic performance of 5 goals in 8 minutes and 56 seconds, exceeding his wildest imagination.

"It seems I am indeed no longer the only one with his 'manual'."

Claudio Ranieri chuckled self-deprecatingly, his gaze distant.

He recalled the absolute trust and freedom he had given Yu Bai at Leicester City, the extra training sessions on the pitch, the encouragement in the locker room... those times were so fleeting, yet so precious.

Now, Yu Bai had returned to the hands of Mauricio Pochettino and begun a new chapter.

He was happy for Yu Bai, but inevitably felt a slight bitterness, like a "good kid being taken away."

When he saw on the television that Yu Bai was being maliciously fouled by Fiorentina players one after another, with increasingly rougher actions, Claudio Ranieri's brows furrowed tightly.

His body leaned forward unconsciously, his hands clasped together, his eyes filled with worry.

"Stay calm, child."

He spoke to the TV screen as if Yu Bai could hear him, whispering in Italian, his tone carrying the unique concern and admonition of a teacher for his student.

"You must learn to stay calm."

"They just want to provoke you."

"The more it's like this, the more you need to control yourself. Let your feet do the talking, not your temper."

...

However, the situation on the pitch was sliding toward the edge of losing control.

The 55th minute.

Perhaps realizing it was too difficult to get the ball in the attacking third, Yu Bai actively dropped back to the midfield near the center circle to receive, hoping to better connect and organize, avoiding the dense fouls by the opponent at the edge of the penalty area.

Ryan Mason completed a clean tackle in the backfield. He looked up, saw Yu Bai waving, and immediately passed the ball.

Yu Bai, with his back to the attacking direction, stylishly nudged the ball backward with the outside of his right foot while nimbly turning, attempting to control and pass the pressing defender in one motion.

This move was very "showy," full of confidence and skill. But the direction of his turn was toward his own half, looking more like a protective maneuver to control the tempo and observe, rather than a direct breakthrough forward.

However, just as Yu Bai completed the turn, his right foot planted as his supporting foot, and his left foot not yet fully adjusted—

A purple figure lunged from behind and to the side!

It was Federico Bernardeschi!

This Italian international, who had scored Fiorentina's only goal in the first half, saw Yu Bai receiving the ball with his back turned while tracking back. In a situation where it was completely impossible to touch the ball, he didn't pull back at all, his right leg sweeping hard and solidly into Yu Bai's supporting leg—his right ankle!

"Bang!"

It was exactly the site of his old ligament injury!

"Ah!"

Yu Bai let out a short cry of pain, losing his balance, and fell heavily onto the turf on his side!

Instantly, boundless fear drowned out the pain!

He didn't even have time to curse; he immediately covered his right ankle tightly with both hands, his face turning deathly pale, his heart pounding as if it were about to burst out of his chest!

It's over!

Did the old injury recur?!

That familiar, desperate, sharp pain and feeling of looseness...

Time seemed to freeze.

He kept his eyes tightly shut, his muscles tense, waiting for that expected, heart-wrenching pain to strike.

[Damn it! That move was so dirty! It was aimed at crippling him!]

[Bernardeschi, I...! Is this f***ing football?!]

[Yu Bao clutching his foot... My heart stopped! Scared me to death!]

One second... two seconds...

The expected, ligament-tearing agony did not appear. Replacing it was a burning, sharp, stinging pain from the ankle, along with a dull ache and numbness from being violently struck by a hard object.

Just a hard impact? Just kicked hard?

The ligament... seems fine?

Yu Bai opened his eyes abruptly, cautiously and extremely slowly moving his right ankle.

The range of motion was normal, without that terrifying "looseness"!

Although painful, it was the pain of muscles and flesh being kicked by hard studs, not the pain of a torn ligament!

A false alarm!

But the lingering fear swept over his entire body like a cold tide, breaking him out in a cold sweat.

Immediately, this lingering fear transformed at an astonishing speed into a monstrous, icy fury!

He raised his head, his gaze Shooting like an ice pick at Bernardeschi, who was standing nearby, "innocently" explaining to the referee that it was just a "tactical foul."

Intentional.

It was absolutely intentional.

And it was aimed at his most fragile, most fatal old injury!

This was not a normal tactical foul. This was a dirty, despicable infringement with the malice to ruin someone's career!

Stay calm?

F*** staying calm!

...

Leicester, at Claudio Ranieri's home.

"No!"

Seeing Bernardeschi's vicious kick clearly aimed at the ankle, Claudio Ranieri stood up abruptly from the sofa, his face livid, his hands clenched into fists.

As an old manager, he knew all too well the malice and danger of that action.

When he saw Yu Bai clutching his ankle and falling, his face pale, Claudio Ranieri's heart also jumped into his throat.

Only when he saw Yu Bai seemed to be okay and stood up by himself did he let out a long sigh of relief, but his brows furrowed even tighter.

He knew things were about to go wrong.

...

On the pitch, the main referee, Carlos del Cerro Grande, showed Bernardeschi a yellow card.

This decision caused dissatisfaction among the Tottenham players; Son Heung-min, Dele Alli, and others surrounded the referee to argue, believing it should have been at least a red card.

Yu Bai was helped to the sideline by the team doctor, where he underwent a simple check and spray treatment. His ankle hurt a lot, but it was indeed just a hard injury.

He moved it a bit, signaling that he could continue the match.

However, the coldness and murderous intent in his eyes had become too thick to melt.

Less than a minute later, possession changed.

Fiorentina was controlling the ball in the backfield, and Bernardeschi dropped back to the center circle to receive.

He had just received his teammate's pass, not even having turned around yet—

A flash of white lightning flew in from the side with astonishing speed and a merciless posture, sliding in!

It was Yu Bai!

Like a leopard that had been lying in ambush for a long time, he accurately predicted the Passing line. The moment Bernardeschi touched the ball, he delivered a vicious, studs-up slide tackle with no intention of pulling back, cleanly sweeping the ball and the man, sending Bernardeschi flying into the air before he fell heavily onto the turf!

"Ah—!!"

Bernardeschi let out a shrill scream, clutching his lower leg, rolling on the turf in pain.

"Tuuu—!!!"

The main referee Grande's whistle pierced the night sky!

He didn't hesitate to pull out a red card, flashing it directly in front of Yu Bai!

A naked retaliation! An indisputable red card offense!

Yu Bai glanced at that glaring red card, his face showing no surprise or luck, not even defending himself with a single word.

He got up from the ground, didn't even look at Bernardeschi, who was still screaming, and turned, walking toward the sideline calmly.

He did not regret it.

Not at all.

If it were a normal, intense tactical foul, even if the action was a bit rough, he could understand, or even accept it.

In the Premier League, he had long been accustomed to this level of intensity.

However, a foul aimed at his old injury, clearly with the malice of ending his career, touched his bottom line that he absolutely could not tolerate.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

You want to cripple me? Then I'll let you taste what it's like to be crippled first!

This was the ruthlessness and principle in his bones.

He valued this highly.

Football is a man's sport, but not a coliseum for beasts to run wild.

Some lines cannot be crossed.

[Red card! No problem! But... well done!]

[Young Master's retaliation... although not encouraged, it's satisfying!]

[Bernardeschi deserves it! The one who provokes first is the despicable one!]

"Calm down! Kid! You still can't learn to be calm!"

In Leicester, Claudio Ranieri watched Yu Bai get a red card on the TV. He slapped his thigh hard in anger, shouting at the screen, his face full of heartache and anxiety.

He knew why Yu Bai did that, he even understood that anger, but as a coach, he knew better the negative impact this red card would bring—suspension, public opinion pressure, the test of a young player's mentality...

...

On the pitch, the Fiorentina players were like angry wasps, instantly rushing toward Yu Bai, trying to surround him to argue or even start a fight.

Dele Alli and Kieran Trippier reacted extremely quickly, acting like bodyguards on either side, rushing to Yu Bai's side, using their bodies to separate the angry Fiorentina players and escorting him off the pitch.

Dele Alli even shoved Astori, who was at the front, with a fierce look in his eyes.

On the other side, Son Heung-min didn't pay attention to Yu Bai's side, but walked straight to Bernardeschi, who was receiving emergency treatment from the team doctor and grimacing in pain.

The Korean's face was cold, looking down at him, and using English that was accented but clear, he asked loudly and unceremoniously:

"Why?!"

"Why did you deliberately kick Yu's old injury?!"

"Are you trying to ruin his career?!"

"Your behavior is a disgrace to the pitch!"

Bernardeschi was gasping in pain. Hearing this, he raised his head emotionally, spread his hands, and defended himself in a mix of Italian and English: "What are you talking about! I didn't even know where his old injury was! That was just a normal tactical foul! The referee already gave a yellow card!"

"Liar!"

Son Heung-min interrupted him unceremoniously, his face full of disdain and anger, "The hell with that! Everyone saw it!"

He waved his hand fiercely, stopped looking at Bernardeschi, and turned away while cursing: "Dirty guy!"

During the two months Yu Bai was recovering from his injury, Son Heung-min and Yu Bai got along very well.

There was absolutely no tension or estrangement due to competition for positions, as the outside media had deliberately played up.

They trained together, practiced Shooting together, and chatted in private.

Son Heung-min appreciated Yu Bai's technique and confidence, and Yu Bai also respected Son Heung-min's hard work and versatility.

They knew clearly that their technical characteristics did not conflict, and could even perfectly complement each other—Son Heung-min had no weak foot and could play left, right, or center; Yu Bai was also a multi-faceted player in the frontcourt, excellent at Dribbling, Passing, and Shooting.

They were teammates who appreciated each other, not opponents fighting to the death.

Therefore, seeing Bernardeschi use such a dirty method to target Yu Bai's old injury, Son Heung-min was truly angry; he felt he had to stand up and demand an explanation for his teammate.

As for Yu Bai's retaliatory red card, Son Heung-min felt no blame in his heart, and even felt a secret sense of relief and support.

He himself might not have chosen such an extreme way to retaliate, but he fully understood and respected Yu Bai's choice.

On the sidelines, Mauricio Pochettino stood there, watching Yu Bai walk over.

The young Argentine manager didn't have much expression on his face, neither furious nor reproachful.

When Yu Bai walked up to him, Mauricio Pochettino said nothing, just opened his arms and gave his disciple, who had just received a red card and left the pitch, a solid and brief hug, then patted his back gently and firmly.

Everything was said without words.

There was understanding, concern, and perhaps a silent warning of "don't be so impulsive next time."

Yu Bai nodded, and accompanied by club staff, he lowered his head and walked quickly into the tunnel.

The tunnel was dim, echoing with the noise from the stadium in the distance and the faint sound of water from the locker room.

Yu Bai walked silently. Everything that had just happened flashed through his mind like a fast-forward movie—Bernardeschi's vicious kick, his own panic when changing feet, the decisiveness when retaliating, the glaring red card, the escort of his teammates...

"Ah—!!!"

He suddenly stopped without warning, looked up at the dim lights on the ceiling of the tunnel, and let out a hoarse, low roar that was suppressed to the extreme, yet seemed to use up all his strength!

This roar echoed in the closed tunnel, full of unwillingness, anger, lingering fear, and an indescribable complex emotion.

The staff member following not far behind him was startled and quickly stepped forward: "Yu, what's wrong? Need help?"

Yu Bai panted, slowly lowered his head, wiped his face with his hand, and his voice was a bit hoarse: "I'm fine."

He paused, as if speaking to the staff member, or perhaps to himself:

"I just... wanted to vent."

"Is this perhaps... the necessary path to growth?"

The staff member looked at him, at the expression on this 17-year-old boy's face that mixed childishness with premature maturity, sighed, and said in the tone of someone who had been through it:

"Yu, you are a star."

"You are destined to become a superstar."

"Tall trees catch the wind. Things like tonight will only happen more often, not less."

"You have to learn to get used to it, learn to protect yourself, and also learn... to deal with it in a smarter way. This is unavoidable, you know?"

Yu Bai was silent and did not answer. He pushed open the heavy door of the locker room and walked in.

The locker room was empty, with only bright lights and neat lockers.

Yu Bai walked to his locker, slowly took off his jersey and shorts, which were already dirty with sweat, grass, and mud, and removed his shin guards.

He looked at the boy with complex eyes in the mirror.

Then, he turned and walked toward the shower.

Turning on the tap, the warm water poured down with a "splash," instantly wetting his hair, washing over his face, neck, chest, flowing over the glaring scar on his right calf, and finally gathering at his feet and flowing into the drain.

The water was fast and hot.

It seemed to want to wash away everything that had just happened—

The ecstasy of the "Five goals in nine minutes record," the anger of being violated, the fear of the old injury, the pleasure of revenge, the price of the red card, and those complex, indescribable emotions.

He closed his eyes, letting the water wash over him, but his brain was exceptionally clear.

Yu Bai.

This lesson, have you learned it?

He asked himself silently in his heart.

After a brief silence, deep in his heart, another voice rang out, with a trace of self-mockery, yet with an incredibly clear realization:

Yeah...

You learned it the "hard" way...

But it seems, you also "learned" it.

Learned the malice and targeting that a top superstar must endure.

Learned that when your bottom line is touched, you must fight back without hesitation.

Learned the price of impulsiveness.

And perhaps... started to vaguely realize, besides fighting violence with violence, are there smarter and more powerful ways to respond?

Growth is always accompanied by pain and cost.

This lesson was painful and expensive, but it seemed unavoidable.

...

In the end, the ten-man Tottenham held on to the 5:2 score away from home and returned to London with a huge advantage.

The next day, Enfield training base.

The training session was mainly for recovery and relaxation, not high intensity. After experiencing intense European matches and high-intensity travel, the players needed to adjust.

After training, Kyle Walker seemed exceptionally excited. He shouted loudly, gathering many teammates to a small pitch and small goal that had been temporarily marked out in a corner of the training ground.

"Come on! It's agreed! Once Yu is back, we do it!"

Walker waved a stack of banknotes in his hand with a mischievous smile, "One-on-one tournament! 100 pounds before each person goes up! Old rules, scoring or getting the ball intercepted/cleared out of bounds ends it, winner takes all!"

The rules were simple and rough: one-on-one, on a small pitch, using small goals, the first to score wins.

This was a game the young players at Tottenham liked to play, full of confrontation and fun.

Soon, Harry Kane, Dele Alli, Son Heung-min, Christian Eriksen, Danny Rose, and even captain Hugo Lloris (who insisted he wouldn't attack but only defend the goal, but was laughed at and chased to attack) joined in with great interest.

Yu Bai was also pulled over by Walker, and he smiled and took out 100 pounds.

The atmosphere was warm and cheerful.

Just nearby, in front of the floor-to-ceiling window on the second floor of the main building of the training base.

Three figures stood quietly, their eyes crossing the laughing training ground and falling accurately on the white number 52 who was doing one-on-one with Alli, moving nimbly and elegantly.

The one in the middle, with graying hair and glasses, with a temperament that was both scholarly and majestic, was exactly the manager of the England National Team, Roy Hodgson—"Old Man Hodgson."

To his left was assistant coach Gareth Southgate. And on his right was another young assistant carrying a black briefcase.

Roy Hodgson's eyes were focused and eager. He watched Yu Bai use a light La Croqueta to get past Alli, then calmly shoot and score, drawing a cheer from the watching teammates, and the corners of his mouth couldn't help but reveal a satisfied, winning smile.

"Gareth," Roy Hodgson spoke, his voice steady, "I've finished reading your report from last night."

"'Five goals in nine minutes record'... an unbelievable performance."

"But what impressed me even more was his reaction after being maliciously fouled."

He paused, "Although not calm, but... very gutsy. Our The Three Lions sometimes lack this kind of ruthlessness and responsibility."

Gareth Southgate nodded: "Yes, Roy. His technique, scoring ability, and big heart are all what we urgently need. And he is only 17 years old, representing the future. We must take him completely before other football associations react."

Roy Hodgson nodded slightly. He turned around and looked at the assistant with the briefcase behind him.

The assistant understood and immediately stepped forward, respectfully opening the briefcase.

Roy Hodgson reached in and first took out a brand-new, pure white England National Team home jersey, with the striking The Three Lions emblem embroidered on the chest, and a huge number on the back—7.

He gently placed the number 7 jersey on the table next to him.

Then, he reached into the bag again and took out another identical England jersey, with the number on the back being—10.

Number 7 and number 10.

The two most legendary, core, and symbolic numbers in the history of the England National Team!

Roy Hodgson looked at the two jerseys placed side by side on the table, his eyes deep.