106: Critical Blow

The 30,000-seat stadium seemed to have all sound sucked out of it the moment the ball hit the net.

Only the wild roars from Hartlepool United’s bench and Vardy’s furious shouts as he charged towards the corner flag proved what had just happened.

Birmingham’s defender, Stephen Kelly, was still frozen in place.

He couldn’t understand it.

Just seconds before, he had clearly caught up to the number 9 striker and was about to complete a textbook tackle.

But the opponent hadn't even turned; he had just lightly flicked the ball backward with his heel.

The ball, as if it had eyes, threaded through his legs.

By the time he turned again, another figure, Shaun Maloney, was already dribbling towards the penalty area.

Kelly and another center-back instinctively lunged at Maloney, trying to block his shooting angle.

But Maloney didn't shoot.

After drawing all defensive attention, he calmly pushed the ball horizontally.

There, Vardy arrived, facing an empty net, and easily slotted the ball in.

From Carson’s throw-in to the ball hitting the net, the entire process was fluid and breathtakingly fast.

“We controlled the game for 40 minutes,” Birmingham manager Steve Bruce muttered to his assistant on the bench.

“They only used one counterattack.”

One was enough.

In the locker room during halftime, Hartlepool’s young players were flushed with excitement.

“Chris, Peter, you have to be more focused in the second half!” Captain Mark Tinkler’s voice cut through everyone’s chatter. “That kind of pressure will come again in the first half, and even stronger!”

Smalling and Hartley nodded heavily. The lingering shock from the first half was completely washed away by the goal, replaced by the exhilaration of having survived a close call.

Old John walked in, and the locker room immediately fell silent.

He didn’t bring a tactics board; he just looked around and then read out the message he had just received on his phone.

“The boss says, in the second half, replicate the first half.”

The players were a bit confused.

Old John paused, then read out the second part word for word.

“Let them attack, let them make mistakes, and then, kill them.”

It was cold, cruel, yet possessed a thrilling magic that made one’s blood run hot.

Vardy’s fist quietly clenched.

The second half began with a change of ends.

Just as Lin Feng expected, Birmingham went crazy.

Their formation was pushed even more aggressively, committing a large number of players to every attack, almost besieging Hartlepool’s goal with a desperate intensity.

But this time, Hartlepool’s defense was no longer the chaotic makeshift setup of the first half.

They began to operate like a precisely tuned machine.

Muamba tried to overpower Bridcutt in midfield with his strong body, but the latter broke up the play with a clean slide tackle.

Larsson received a pass on the right wing and was about to cross, but Danny Simpson and Shaun Maloney had already closed him down, forcing him to reluctantly pass the ball back.

“Chain defense.”

The term Lin Feng had drawn on the tactics board was becoming a reality on the pitch.

The distance between the three lines was compressed to the extreme.

Every player, like a link in a chain, moved as a unit, working together.

Birmingham’s attacks were like hitting a constantly moving, yet incredibly resilient, wall.

The most noticeable change came from Chris Smalling.

He had seemed somewhat naive in the first half, but now he was like a different person.

Jerome received a cross in the box. He used his body to hold off Hartley, preparing to turn and shoot.

Smalling surged in from behind, using an extremely precise block to poke the ball out for a goal kick a step ahead.

Jerome angrily complained to the referee, but Smalling just silently returned to his position and patted Hartley’s shoulder.

“Hold on!”

His gesture was small, but it gave the entire backline a sense of stability.

In the VIP box, data was constantly refreshing on Lin Feng’s holographic screen.

[Our defense coordination rate: 88% (stable)]

[Opponent mentality index: 6.2 (continuously dropping)]

[Fouls: Birmingham 12 : 4 Hartlepool United]

Time passed with Birmingham players’ futile attacks and frustrated complaints.

The boos from the stands began to shift from the away team to the home team.

They couldn’t understand why a Premier League-level team was being tormented by the defense of a League One newly promoted side, rendered completely helpless.

The match entered its final five minutes.

Steve Bruce made a final desperate attempt, using all his substitutions and bringing on all his attackers.

In the 88th minute, Birmingham won a corner kick.

Their goalkeeper, Colin Doyle, also rushed into Hartlepool’s penalty area, ready to challenge for the header.

All-out attack!

Larsson’s corner kick was taken, and the penalty area became a chaotic scramble.

Scott Carson leaped high, firmly catching the ball amidst the crowd.

Chance!

After landing, Carson didn't hesitate, immediately launching a powerful throw to the center circle.

Mark Tinkler was there!

There were no defending players around him.

Birmingham’s goal was empty!

Tinkler looked up, didn’t dribble, and shot directly!

A super-long-range lob from over fifty meters!

The ball traced a high arc in the air, flying towards the empty net.

At St. Andrew’s Stadium, everyone stood up.

Hartlepool’s bench, players and coaches alike, had already rushed to the sidelines, ready to celebrate.

The ball descended.

It grazed the outside of the post and rolled out for a goal kick.

“Oh—!”

A collective sigh of regret echoed through the stadium.

Tinkler himself pounded the turf in frustration.

But Birmingham had run out of time.

The referee blew the whistle for the end of the match.

One-nil.

Under the gaze of nearly 30,000 home fans, Hartlepool United, a newly promoted team from League One, eliminated Birmingham, who had just been relegated from the Premier League.

The “Giant Killers” had returned to the League Cup stage!

In the away fans’ stand, the few hundred Hartlepool supporters who had traveled erupted in thunderous cheers.

At the post-match press conference, flashbulbs continuously fired.

Birmingham manager Steve Bruce’s face was filled with helplessness.

“What more can I say?”

“We controlled the game for 90 minutes; they won it in 90 seconds.”

“Their defense was suffocating; their counterattacks... deadly.”

“This is football.”

This quote quickly made headlines in major sports media across the country the next day.

The Times: “The Northern Chain: A Tactical Victory.”

The Guardian: “Giant Killers Return! How strong is Hartlepool United’s dark horse potential?”

People began to re-examine this team and the never-before-seen, yet seemingly omnipresent, Chinese boss.

The team bus returned to Hartlepool overnight.

While the players were still celebrating their victory, Lin Feng had already returned to his office at the Phoenix Training Center.

For him, a victory was just one part of the plan.

Richard Arnold walked in and gently placed a package, bearing the logo of a Hollywood courier company, on Lin Feng’s desk.

“Boss, just received it. It’s from Los Angeles.”

Lin Feng opened the package.

There was no letter, no explanation whatsoever.

Only an autographed photo of Keira Knightley.

In the photo, she looked confident and charming.

Lin Feng turned the photo over.

On the back of the photo, a sentence was written in elegant, flowing English script.

“Congratulations, firework maker.”

“Looking forward to meeting you.”