192: The shock of "S-class"

In the conference room of the Phoenix Training Center, the hum of the air conditioning was completely drowned out by the clicking shutters of dozens of cameras.

Lin Feng sat in the center of the main table, his hands clasped on the desk, his expression calm as he looked at the dense crowd of reporters below. On the table beside him, eight contracts were neatly arranged, each representing a brilliant star of the future in football.

"Gentlemen, ladies," Lin Feng's voice echoed in the quiet conference room, carrying a convincing authority, "Today, we are not signing players; we are collecting works of art."

Tom Allison, chief sports reporter for The Times, suddenly looked up, his pen hovering in mid-air. This opening was too unusual.

"The first work of art," Lin Feng picked up the first contract, "is Joe Hart from Manchester City, 21 years old. I believe that in the near future, he will become England's best goalkeeper."

A stir arose from below. Manchester City's goalkeeper? Most reporters couldn't even recall the name.

"The second, the third," Lin Feng's tone remained calm, but a chilling glint flickered in his eyes, "Philippe Coutinho, 16 years old, from Brazil. Kevin De Bruyne, 17 years old, from Belgium. These two boys will redefine what creativity means."

John Motson, a veteran BBC reporter, nearly slid off his chair. 16 years old? 17 years old? Was this a joke?

"And Thibaut Courtois, 16 years old, Belgium. Sadio Mane, 16 years old, Senegal. Eric Dier, 14 years old, England." With each name Lin Feng uttered, the temperature in the conference room seemed to drop a degree. "Average age, 16.8 years old."

Dead silence.

The entire conference room fell into a suffocating silence.

Jeremy Clarkson, a reporter for The Sun, was the first to stand up, his voice sharp and piercing: "Mr. Lin, are you sure you haven't made a mistake? This is the Championship, not the Youth FA Cup!"

Lin Feng's gaze slowly shifted to him, a slight smile playing on his lips: "Jeremy, do you know what Messi was doing at 16?"

"I..."

"He was playing for Barcelona's first team," Lin Feng interrupted him. "Genius doesn't need to wait for age; genius just needs a stage."

Susan White, a female reporter for The Guardian, raised her hand: "Mr. Lin, may I ask what the total cost of these signings is?"

"Thirty-five million pounds."

Gasps could be heard in the conference room.

"Do you think a group of children is worth this price?"

Lin Feng stood up and walked to the window. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see the players sweating profusely on the training ground. "Susan, have you seen the Mona Lisa?"

"Yes."

"When Da Vinci created her, did anyone question her value?" Lin Feng turned around, his eyes as sharp as blades. "The value of a work of art is not in its age, but in its eternity."

The reporters below exchanged glances. This man's confidence was almost infuriating.

"Last question," Lin Feng returned to his seat. "Someone asked me if I was gambling the team's future. My answer is: I never gamble. I am only investing in the future, whether it's players or this world."

After the press conference, reporters poured out of the conference room like a tide. Sports newsrooms across England were going crazy.

"Mad Scouts!" shouted The Sun's headline editor.

"The most extravagant gamble in Championship history!" The Daily Mirror was not to be outdone.

"Billionaire's Football Laboratory!" The Times chose a more serious angle.

But in the conference room of the Phoenix Training Center, the real drama was just beginning.

Old John held the Olympic call-up list, his face as pale as a scrap of paper. "Boss, Schmeichel, Coutinho, De Bruyne, Courtois, they are all leaving. It's like going to war with our hands and feet cut off."

Lin Feng took the list, glanced at it, and then handed him a thick analysis report. "John, look at this."

The report's cover read: "Substitute Player Potential Analysis — Joe Hart and Youth Academy Assessment Report."

Old John opened the first page, his eyes widening instantly. Joe Hart's various data indicators actually surpassed Schmeichel's in some aspects.

"This... is this true?"

"I never fake data," Lin Feng's voice was as calm as a lake. "John, you need to understand one thing. At Hartlepool United, there are no irreplaceable players, only constantly emerging talents."

On the training ground, Coutinho was practicing passing. Every pass of his was as precise as a surgeon's scalpel, cutting through the defenders' positions. Vardy watched in amazement.

"This kid..." Vardy murmured to himself.

"What's wrong, Jamie?" Henderson walked over, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"I feel the pressure," Vardy wiped the sweat from his face. "Really, Jordan. These new kids, their skills..."

Henderson patted his shoulder: "Then let's get stronger."

Not far away, De Bruyne was practicing long shots. His right foot was like it had GPS navigation, every shot precisely hitting the corner of the goal. Even goalkeeper Schmeichel couldn't help but applaud.

"Kevin, where did you learn your shooting technique?" Schmeichel walked towards the 17-year-old Belgian.

De Bruyne smiled shyly: "My father said, football is about making opponents despair."

"Your father is right," Schmeichel looked at him, his eyes full of admiration. "Keep practicing, and you will become the best midfielder in the world."

Meanwhile, in another office at the club, Lin Feng was on an encrypted call with Northern Capital's chief trading officer.

"Jason, how is Project Siren progressing?"

"Boss, we have already converted eighty percent of our stock assets into cash. Our current cash reserves have reached 2.3 billion US dollars." Jason Webb's slightly excited voice came through the phone. "Lehman Brothers' stock price is still falling; we can start shorting at any time."

"Very good." Lin Feng looked at the real-time data of the global stock market on his computer screen. "Remember, we are not speculating; we are investing in the future. When panic reaches its peak, that's when we harvest."

"Understood, Boss. Apple, Google, and Tesla stocks are all on our acquisition list."

"Add Amazon and Facebook," Lin Feng's voice carried a wisdom beyond his time. "Five years from now, you will thank me for today's decision."

After hanging up the phone, Lin Feng walked to the window. In the distance, at the Northern Dragon Arena construction site, tower cranes were slowly rotating, hoisting steel beams into place. This future football sanctuary was about to rise from the ground.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in."

Sophie Green pushed the door open, holding a voice recorder and a notebook. Her face bore the sharp expression characteristic of a reporter.

"Mr. Lin, thank you for giving me this exclusive interview opportunity." Sophie sat down in a chair and went straight to the point. "I want to ask a very direct question. Are you gambling the team's future?"

Lin Feng turned around and looked at her deeply. He had been waiting for this question for a long time.

"Sophie, do you know Buffett's investment philosophy?"

"Value investing."

"Right." Lin Feng sat opposite her. "I am also a value investor. It's just that I don't invest in stocks; I invest in genius."

"But these players are too young..."

"Messi was playing for Barça at 16, Cristiano Ronaldo transferred to Manchester United at 17, and Kaka was shining at AC Milan at 18." Lin Feng's voice was full of conviction. "Sophie, genius never needs to wait for age; genius just needs to be discovered."

Sophie stopped writing and looked up at him: "Do you really believe they are all geniuses?"

"I don't believe it; I'm certain," Lin Feng's gaze was as firm as steel. "Five years from now, when you see them playing in the World Cup for their respective national teams on television, you will understand every word I've said today."

Sophie felt her heart rate quicken. There was an indescribable charm about this man, that absolute sense of control over the future, which was irresistible.

"Any more questions?" Lin Feng asked.

"One last one," Sophie took a deep breath. "What if they fail?"

Lin Feng smiled, a smile as profound as the night sky: "Sophie, in my dictionary, there is no word 'failure.' There is only 'not yet successful' and 'about to be successful.'"

Night fell, and the Phoenix Training Center gradually quieted down. But in Richard Arnold's office, the lights were still on.

"Boss, the reaction from the minority shareholders is interesting." Richard put down the phone. "Out of twelve shareholders, only three responded to our acquisition offer. The other nine are waiting to see."

"Let them wait and see," Lin Feng poured a cup of coffee. "When the team gets promoted to the Premier League, the value of their shares will increase tenfold. By then, when we discuss the acquisition again, they will proactively lower the price."

"Are you really sure the team can get promoted?"

Lin Feng looked at the night view outside the window, his voice full of absolute confidence: "Richard, have you ever seen a king question his own crown?"

Just then, Lin Feng's private phone rang. Caller ID: Chinese Football Association.

"Mr. Lin, I am Chairman Li of the Chinese Football Association." A slightly reserved voice came through the phone. "We hope to conduct some cooperative exchanges with Hartlepool United..."

Lin Feng's lips curved slightly. Globalization begins here.

"Chairman Li, I'd be delighted."

Ten minutes later, a preliminary agreement for a trip to China was reached. Two friendly matches, a youth training cooperation project, and a pathway for Chinese players to play abroad.

Lin Feng hung up the phone and walked to the balcony. The summer night breeze carried the scent of grass, and the distant sound of waves was faintly audible.

Old John appeared at the door: "Boss, training is arranged. Starting tomorrow, we will face the real test."

"John," Lin Feng didn't turn around, his voice drifting in the night wind. "Do you believe in miracles?"

"I..."

"I don't believe in miracles," Lin Feng turned around, a fire burning in his eyes. "I create miracles. John, let them see how the storm sweeps through the Championship. Starting with the Chinese Olympic team."

In the distance, at the Northern Dragon Arena construction site, night shift workers were still working intensely. The massive steel framework, illuminated by night lights, resembled an awakened ancient beast.

This summer was destined to be extraordinary.