210: The Wembley Promise and the Legacy of the "Godfather"

Dusk in London cast a golden sheen upon the earth. Wembley Stadium stood silently in the sunset, its silver-white steel framework gleaming in the light and shadow.

Lin Feng walked alone through the empty player tunnel, his footsteps echoing in the silence. His hand brushed against the cold wall, feeling every inch of this football sanctuary.

The turf spread out before him, a captivating emerald green. Tomorrow, it would witness the jubilation and shouts of ninety thousand people. But now, he alone enjoyed this tranquility.

The system's holographic interface appeared in his mind. The [Tactical Master Simulation Duel] module was activated again, and data streamed down like a waterfall.

Ferguson's coaching habits were displayed one by one on the virtual sandbox. Old John was accustomed to bringing on attacking players when trailing and retracting the defensive line when leading. His psychological tactics were cunning and ruthless, and his on-the-spot adaptations were superb.

Lin Feng closed his eyes, simulating various possible scenarios in his mind. Ferguson might field his strongest lineup at the start, attempting to overwhelm young Hartlepool with his experience advantage.

He might also adopt a conservative tactic, waiting for Hartlepool to expose a weakness before delivering a fatal blow.

Every possibility was analyzed in detail by the system, and every countermeasure took shape in Lin Feng's mind. He wanted to ensure that in tomorrow's match, he would be one step ahead of Ferguson.

His phone vibrated, interrupting his thoughts. The screen displayed the club's latest business data.

Season ticket sales for the “Northern Dragon Arena” had surpassed the fifty thousand mark. This number shocked the entire English football world; a stadium not yet built had created such an astonishing commercial miracle.

The expansion into the Chinese market was also progressing smoothly. Several well-known brands had begun discussions about sponsorship, valuing not only the team's performance but also the commercial value of Lin Feng, the mysterious owner.

Northern Capital's reach continued to extend. The acquisition of the Portuguese sports data company was complete, and after being renamed “Northern Eye,” it would become the core of the club's global scouting network.

Advanced data analysis technology, combined with the system's Player Radar function, would give Hartlepool an absolute advantage in the transfer market.

As night deepened, Lin Feng left Wembley. For tomorrow's battle, he was ready.

In the hotel room, Sophie sat at her computer, typing on the keyboard. Her fingers flew, and a preview report was taking shape.

“The Final Step Towards Glory” was the concise and powerful title. The text flowed with her deep affection for the team, her admiration for Lin Feng, and her anticipation for tomorrow's match.

She did not disturb Lin Feng's preparations. As an excellent journalist, she knew the importance of giving space at crucial moments.

Her fingertips paused on the keyboard as she recalled every little detail of their journey. From initial doubts and questions to her current deep admiration, Lin Feng had conquered her heart with his wisdom and charm.

The diamond ring on her left hand sparkled in the light; it was Lin Feng's promise to her, and her aspiration for the future.

Outside the window, London's nightscape was brightly lit. Countless fans were preparing for tomorrow's final, and the entire city was buzzing for this football feast.

Morning light streamed into the room through the curtains. Lin Feng had already risen early, enjoying his breakfast with a calm expression.

A knock on the door sounded, and an assistant handed him an exquisite package. The mellow aroma of Scotch whisky wafted through the packaging, accompanied by a handwritten note.

“Enjoy the game, young man. Whatever the outcome, the future is yours. — Alex Ferguson”

Lin Feng chuckled; Old John's demeanor was admirable. He immediately asked his assistant to prepare a return gift, and a box of top-tier Cuban cigars was quickly sent out.

“Thank you for your blessing, Sir. I hope we will have the opportunity to share this drink after the match, celebrating a great game.”

The two godfathers of football exchanged greetings across the distance, their mutual respect transcending the boundaries of victory and defeat.

The team bus slowly drove towards Wembley. The atmosphere inside was somewhat subdued, and the players' faces were filled with tension.

Old John looked at the young faces, and a wave of tenderness surged in his heart. He did not give any pre-match pep talk but quietly turned on the onboard television.

The screen lit up, and images of the town of Hartlepool appeared. Those familiar streets, familiar faces, entered their view one by one.

An old man stood with a cane in front of the club, a glimmer of hope shining in his cloudy eyes.

Children wearing the team's jerseys shouted encouragement in their tender voices.

Factory workers put down their tools, waving to the camera in greeting.

Shop owners stepped out of their stores, giving a thumbs-up to show support.

One by one, simple smiles and sincere blessings instantly changed the atmosphere inside the bus. The tense expressions gradually dissipated, replaced by firm determination.

Vardy looked at the familiar figure on the screen, his eyes instantly welling up. That was the factory where he used to work, and the person waving to him was a fellow worker with whom he had sweated.

“Brothers,” Vardy stood up, his voice choked, “for them, we must bring the trophy back!”

A low roar erupted inside the bus. Every player recalled his own story, his own dream, and the responsibility he bore.

De Bruyne clenched his fists, the Belgian youth's eyes burning with fighting spirit. Coutinho took a deep breath, determination etched on the Brazilian's face.

Henderson gazed out the window, the young captain bearing the hopes of the entire team. He knew that today they represented not only themselves but also the dream of that small town.

The outline of Wembley gradually became clear. The colossal arch soared into the sky, and the silver-white exterior walls shimmered in the sunlight.

The bus stopped at the player entrance. The players filed out, each face etched with focus and determination.

Inside the player tunnel, the two teams slowly converged. Red Manchester United, blue and white Hartlepool, two colors intertwined in the narrow space.

Gary Neville scanned the young faces opposite him, a hint of disdain flashing in his eyes. He leaned closer to Rooney, his voice low.

“Let them see what a real final is.”

Henderson's ears were sharp; he heard the remark. The young midfielder did not respond, only looking straight ahead calmly. But in his eyes, a flame was burning.

It was the flame of defiance, the flame of fighting for dignity, the flame of proving oneself.

At the end of the tunnel, the shouts of ninety thousand people surged like a tsunami. Sunlight streamed through the roof, dyeing the turf a golden green.

History was about to be written here. The clash between Northern Dragon and the Red Devils, the collision of youth and experience, the contest between dreams and reality.

Lin Feng sat in the VIP box, holding a cup of coffee. Sophie leaned against him, biting her lower lip nervously.

“Are you confident?” Her voice was as light as a feather.

Lin Feng did not answer, only gently stroked the back of her hand. His eyes were as calm as water, but beneath the surface, there was an iron-like resolve.

Ferguson chewed gum in the opposite dugout, his characteristic gesture exuding shrewdness. His gaze swept over every Hartlepool player on the field, silently calculating his tactical arrangements.

But what he didn't know was that Lin Feng had already seen through his every thought and prepared every countermeasure.

The players emerged from the tunnel, and a deafening roar of cheers instantly erupted. The red ocean and the blue-and-white sky intertwined, and the dreams of ninety thousand people converged at this moment.

Vardy looked up at the stands, searching for familiar faces. Although the distance was great, he knew that the people back home were watching the match on television.

De Bruyne gently stroked the turf, feeling the warmth of this sacred ground. Coutinho closed his eyes, listening to the voice within him.

Henderson walked towards the center circle, each step firm and powerful. As captain, he was to fire the first shot for the team.

Lin Feng stood up, his gaze profound. Sophie looked at his profile, a huge sense of pride swelling in her heart.

This was her man, the one who created miracles, the king who would never give up.

The referee checked his equipment, and the assistant referees took their positions. Ninety thousand people held their breath, awaiting the arrival of a historic moment.

Wembley's turf had witnessed countless legends; today, it would once again witness the birth of a new dynasty.

The whistle was about to blow, and the war was about to begin. Northern Dragon had already spread its claws, ready to soar into the sky in this football sanctuary.