129: Chapter 129 The Feast of Attack at Four in the Morning (Part 1)

"Listen up, lads!"

Inside the home locker room at White Hart Lane, Mauricio Pochettino's voice wasn't particularly loud, yet it carried a metallic quality that struck at the heart of every player.

With his hands in his trouser pockets, he stood in the center of the locker room, his gaze slowly sweeping over every young face filled with fighting spirit. The air was thick with the scent of anti-slip powder, sweat, and disinfectant, along with a tension known as "the decisive battle."

"Many people say that because we returned home with four away goals, we have a massive advantage."

Mauricio Pochettino curled the corner of his mouth, revealing a near-mocking smile, "They are wrong."

"This has never been an advantage; it's a death warrant! It's the pack of explosives on the backs of the Borussia Dortmund players, and it's the Sword of Damocles hanging over our heads!"

His voice suddenly rose, "Because we have no way back! We cannot think about holding onto a 0:0, or a 1:1! That is the thinking of a coward! It is suicide!"

"Look at what we did in the first leg? We went to their hellish home ground and put four past them!"

He punched the air violently, "Now, back on our turf, back at White Hart Lane, back in front of our own fans—tell me, what should we do?!"

"Attack!" Harry Kane was the first to growl.

"Destroy them!" Dele Alli followed up.

"Send them home!" Erik Lamela waved his fist.

Yu Bai sat in front of his locker, quietly tying his shoelaces. His eyes were calm, but his slightly pursed lips betrayed the agitation in his heart.

Mauricio Pochettino's words ignited the flames in the locker room and precisely hit home with his own thoughts.

Conservative? No, that is not the style of this young Tottenham side, and certainly not the style of Yu Bai.

Mauricio Pochettino looked with satisfaction at the flames igniting in the players' eyes, and he walked over to the tactical board, slapping it hard:

"Yes! Attack! Use the way we are best at! Use firepower more intense than theirs to shatter any fantasies they have of a comeback! This is White Hart Lane, not Westfalenstadion! Here, we call the shots! Use running, use Passing, use Shooting, use everything at your disposal to tell those 'Hornets'—"

He paused, his gaze like lightning, enunciating every word:

"This is London! This is White Hart Lane!"

"This is Tottenham territory!"

"Get out there! Go fight! Go win everything!"

"Roar—!"

A long-suppressed roar erupted in the locker room.

...

White Hart Lane stadium. Packed to capacity.

The stands were completely submerged in white and blue, and a giant TIFO slowly unfurled, displaying the Tottenham crest and the massive slogan "COYS" (Come On You Spurs). The wall of sound was like a tsunami, rushing from all four stands onto the pitch, vibrating the eardrums.

The players from both sides walked out of the tunnel, holding the hands of the mascots.

Yu Bai took a deep breath of air mixed with the scent of fresh grass and looked up at the night sky, illuminated as bright as day by the floodlights.

This was his home ground, a place he had to protect and also had to conquer.

Europa League Round of 16, second leg. Tottenham vs Borussia Dortmund. First leg 4:3.

Playing at home, Tottenham held the advantage of four away goals, which meant Borussia Dortmund was fighting with their backs against the wall. They had to win by two or more clear goals at White Hart Lane, or win by a one-goal margin in a high-scoring game exceeding 4:3 (e.g., 5:4), to reverse the deficit and advance on away goals.

Desperate situations often bring out the strongest attacking power. Thomas Tuchel had no choice; he fielded the strongest attacking lineup he had available.

Starting lineups:

Tottenham (4-2-3-1):

Goalkeeper: 1-Hugo Lloris

Defenders: 16-Kieran Trippier, 4-Toby Alderweireld, 27-Kevin Wimmer, 33-Ben Davies

Defensive Midfielders: 15-Eric Dier, 8-Ryan Mason

Midfielders: 11-Erik Lamela, 20-Dele Alli, 52-Yu Bai

Forwards: 10-Harry Kane

Borussia Dortmund (4-2-3-1):

Goalkeeper: 1-Roman Weidenfeller

Defenders: 26-Łukasz Piszczek, 25-Sokratis Papastathopoulos, 15-Mats Hummels, 29-Marcel Schmelzer

Defensive Midfielders: 33-Julian Weigl, 28-Matthias Ginter

Midfielders: 10-Henrikh Mkhitaryan, 27-Gonzalo Castro, 11-Marco Reus

Forwards: 17-Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang

Both sides fielded their theoretically strongest attacking lineups! A fierce, end-to-end battle where neither side was willing to take a step back erupted the moment the opening whistle blew!

...

Huanledou Live Stream.

4:05 AM.

In the dimly lit bedroom, only the computer screen emitted a faint glow.

The Streamer, 'Streamer', had two dark circles under his eyes, his hair was as messy as a bird's nest, and he was wearing a wrinkled tank top, speaking listlessly into the microphone:

"Ha... yawn..." He first let out a huge yawn, rubbed his eyes, "Brothers, family, can you see me? Are you still alive?"

The chat flew by instantly:

"Holy sh*t! Streamer! You're alive!"

"The missing person has returned!"

"My youth is back! Streamer is actually streaming football! And it's for Young Master!"

"Streamer, are you okay? Why do you look like you're about to die of exhaustion?"

"My health? Heh."

Streamer wiped his face and tried hard to open his eyes wide, "I want to stream too, I f*cking want to stream Young Master's matches every day! But... but my health isn't good, you guys know that, I can't stay up late. Besides, my main job is streaming the NBA, as you know."

"But! This match today!"

He suddenly raised his voice, but coughed twice due to a lack of breath, "*Cough cough*... Today's match is one I'd risk my life for, for Young Master! I set ten alarms! I started trying to fall asleep at nine in the evening! Although I only slept for three hours in the end..."

[Sleep at nine? Are you trying to live a healthy lifestyle?]

Streamer: "My health is bad, I go to bed at nine every day (tactical facepalm)"

"However!"

Streamer looked at the rapidly scrolling chat, forced himself to perk up, and tried to regain some of his usual "professional Streamer" aura, "Kick-off is at 4:05 AM, that's not bad, right? I can't count this as staying up late; it should count as waking up early! Yes, waking up early! At 4:00 AM, when Kobe saw Los Angeles, I, Streamer, saw my Young Master!"

"Family! Have you ever seen the Streamer live stream at 4:00 AM!!!"

He roared at the camera with all his might. Although his voice was hoarse, that spirit of "doing it out of pure passion" shone through.

"Young Master! Go for it! Destroy the Hornets! Advance!"

"The betting is open! Predictions for Young Master's stats tonight: Goal? Assist? Or both a goal and an assist? Start spamming!"