34: League Cup quarterfinals

Inside the White Hart Lane stadium's halftime locker room, the lights were dim.

Old John's hands trembled slightly as he pushed open the heavy wooden door of Lin Feng's private box.

"Sir, the second half..."

Lin Feng didn't look up, his gaze still fixed on the distant pitch. There, Tottenham's players were engaged in an intense tactical discussion, Martin Jol's gestures particularly urgent.

"Aaron Lennon will be their breakthrough point."

Lin Feng's voice was calm, but every word struck Old John's heart heavily.

"The right wing, speed, a crazy assault. Michael Dawson will push forward to assist, and a huge gap will appear in their defense."

Old John's breathing quickened. He had witnessed Lin Feng's miraculous predictions countless times, but each time still left him deeply shaken.

"Tell Simpson and Robson to strengthen their cooperative defense."

Lin Feng finally turned around.

"Tell Vardy to get his speed ready. Strike the snake at its seven-inch mark; we need to seize their most fatal weakness to counterattack."

As soon as the whistle for the start of the second half blew, Tottenham launched an attack.

The moment Aaron Lennon received the ball, all of White Hart Lane erupted. His first step of acceleration was astonishingly fast, and the ball seemed to have a life of its own at his feet.

Danny Simpson took a deep breath.

His nineteen-year-old face was filled with focus, his eyes locked onto Lennon's every move. Lin Feng's words echoed in his ears, as if a magical power was guiding his steps.

Lennon's first charge came.

Simpson didn't rush in to tackle, but instead blocked off the optimal defensive angle. Matty Robson came over from the middle at the right time to assist, and the two formed a perfect pincer movement.

Lennon's breakthrough was thwarted.

Disappointed sighs came from the stands of White Hart Lane, but they were quickly covered by new shouts.

In the twelfth minute, Berbatov received a cross in the penalty area. His header was tricky and powerful. The air in the entire stadium seemed to freeze.

Kasper Schmeichel dived to save.

His body arced through the air, and the moment his fingertips touched the ball, the entire Hartlepool United bench stood up.

The ball grazed the crossbar and flew out of bounds.

Schmeichel fell heavily onto the turf, but his eyes gleamed with excitement. The feeling of defending his goal against a strong opponent made his adrenaline surge wildly.

In the twenty-fifth minute, Robbie Keane's powerful shot once again tested Schmeichel's nerves.

This time, Schmeichel punched the ball away with both fists, his movements clean and decisive, giving Tottenham no chance for a follow-up shot.

Hartlepool United's away fans began to shout loudly. Their voices echoed through White Hart Lane, forming a stark contrast with the home fans.

Tottenham's attacks became increasingly frantic.

Martin Jol waved his hands non-stop on the sidelines, his face filled with anxiety. Time was running out, and his team was still unable to break through this League Two defense.

In the seventy-fifth minute, a turning point appeared.

Tottenham earned a corner kick, and Michael Dawson leaped high, but his header went wide of the target. Schmeichel quickly controlled the ball and, without any hesitation, launched a throw.

The ball accurately found Sigurdsson.

The Iceland midfielder didn't pause for a moment, sending a horizontal pass to Snodgrass. The Scotland winger immediately looked up after receiving the ball, a sharp glint in his eyes.

Near the halfway line, Jamie Vardy was quietly accelerating.

His timing for the run was perfectly executed, just as the Tottenham defensive line's attention slackened, Vardy had already begun his deadly sprint.

Snodgrass's pass arced through the air.

The moment Vardy received the ball, Michael Dawson only then realized the danger. The England center-back desperately chased back, but Vardy's speed left him in despair.

The distance was widening.

Every step Vardy took was full of explosive power, his eyes locked onto Tottenham's goal. Paul Robinson had already come out, but Vardy showed no panic.

In the moment of the one-on-one duel, time seemed to stand still.

Vardy deftly pushed the shot, and the ball rolled past Robinson, slowly entering the goal.

Zero to two!

Hartlepool United extended their lead!

The away fans went completely wild. They raised their hands high in White Hart Lane, shouting loudly, their voices even drowning out the home fans' frustrated sighs.

Vardy ran towards the corner flag.

He spread his arms and roared to the sky. At this moment, he was the king of White Hart Lane, a symbol of a League Two player making history.

In the commentary booth, Jamie Redknapp's voice was trembling slightly.

"Unbelievable! Hartlepool United are two goals up against Tottenham at White Hart Lane! Jamie Vardy's speed is terrifying! He tore through Tottenham's defense!"

"This League Two team is making history!"

Lin Feng nodded slightly in the private box, without much change in his expression, as if all of this was within his expectations.

Tottenham's players fell into deep despair.

They couldn't understand why a League Two team could play so calmly at their home ground. Why every counterattack could precisely tear through their defense.

Martin Jol made his final adjustments, sending on all his attackers.

In the eighty-eighth minute, Berbatov finally pulled a goal back for Tottenham. The Bulgaria striker, after receiving a cross, drilled a spectacular volley past Schmeichel's goal.

White Hart Lane reignited with hope.

The home fans cheered wildly, trying to inject the last bit of strength into their team. But time was running out, and Hartlepool United's players held on tightly for the final few minutes.

The moment the final whistle blew, all of White Hart Lane fell into an eerie silence.

Two to one!

Hartlepool United defeated Tottenham Hotspur away from home!

This League Two team successfully advanced to the League Cup quarterfinals, creating one of the greatest victories in the club's history!

Old John's eyes were filled with tears, his hands trembling, unsure how to express his excitement. In the private box, Lin Feng quietly stood up and straightened his clothes.

He didn't celebrate excessively, nor did he show any excited expression.

For him, this was just the beginning.

The front pages of major British media outlets the next day were all dominated by the same headlines.

"Dragon Slayer Hartlepool!"

"The Miracle of a League Two Team!"