51: Eve of the Storm

The League journey became muddy in the rainy away game against Lincoln City.

The cold wind carried fine drizzles, hitting the players' faces and the turf of Victoria Park.

The grass was repeatedly trampled by countless pairs of boots, dark mud splattered, and every step was met with heavy resistance.

The “1-1” on the scoreboard weighed heavily on the hearts of every Hartlepool United player.

It was cold and heavy.

This draw allowed the chasing teams behind them to erode another point from their lead in the standings.

In the locker room, there was none of the usual clamor.

Lin Feng didn't get angry; his calmness was more pressure-inducing than any rage.

He simply looked around, his gaze lingering on each player's face for a brief moment.

“The League is the ground where we establish ourselves.”

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable power.

“Never forget this point.”

These words penetrated the damp air and the players' somewhat restless hearts, which had been buoyed by their cup success.

They had become a bit overconfident due to their consecutive victories, as if they were treading on clouds.

This draw, however, pulled them back to the muddy reality.

Phoenix Training Center.

Days of continuous rain had softened the training ground's turf, and every run came with the sound of mud friction.

Two young figures brought new vitality.

Chris Smalling, with his tall stature, stood out in the League Two level of competition.

He had broad shoulders and long legs, and every step he took carried a steady power.

His technique was unpolished and raw, yet it revealed an innate calmness and judgment of the ball's trajectory.

In a training scrimmage, he made a clumsy but highly effective sliding tackle, breaking up Vardy's one-on-one chance.

The ball was poked out of bounds by him, while Vardy slid several meters on the wet turf due to inertia.

Vardy got up from the turf, mud on his face, but instead of annoyance, he grinned at the young black player.

He gave a thumbs-up and let out an admiring whistle.

Smalling just smiled shyly, then attentively listened to the whispered guidance of veteran captain Michael Nelson beside him.

Nelson's hand rested on his shoulder, guiding him on how to better use his body.

His learning ability was like a dry sponge, eagerly absorbing everything about professional football.

He yearned for progress, a yearning clearly visible in his moist eyes.

In another corner of the training ground, sixteen-year-old Jordan Henderson was like a tireless engine.

His running covered the entire midfield, every breath producing white mist, as if he never grew tired.

Every touch of the ball he made had a clear purpose.

In a practice drill, he sprinted from his own penalty area all the way to the opponent's half.

Without the slightest hesitation, he delivered a precise diagonal long pass.

The ball traced a low, flat arc, accurately finding Snodgrass who was surging down the wing.

Snodgrass didn't even need to adjust; he immediately dribbled into the penalty area.

On the side of the training ground, Gylfi Sigurðsson and Mark Tinkler watched this scene, a hint of approval in their eyes.

Tinkler gently patted Sigurðsson's shoulder, silently expressing his recognition.

This young player's desire to win and his commitment to the game gave them hope for the future and made them feel the pressure from behind.

The addition of Smalling and Henderson was like two catfish, stirring up the team's somewhat stagnant atmosphere.

Healthy competition spread to every corner of the training ground, preventing the veterans from becoming complacent.

After training, Vardy would pull Henderson aside to race in sprints; he liked the young player's unyielding spirit.

Sigurðsson would join his young compatriot for extra free-kick practice, with the Icelandic player sharing his experience without reservation.

Old John Mcdonald looked at the energetic young talents on the training ground, his face filled with happy worries.

His tactical board had more and more available pieces, but it also brought him unprecedented pressure.

He knew he had to keep learning to manage this team with unlimited potential.

He felt his old tactical ideas were struggling to keep up with the team's growth rate.

He habitually ran his hand through his sparse hair, his brows furrowed, his expression serious.

“Boss, regarding Henderson's position, I feel he seems more suited for…”

He started to visit Lin Feng's office more and more frequently, like a humble student seeking guidance.

He would carefully knock on the door, then sit down with a hint of apprehension.

He would describe in detail the observations he made during training, then wait for Lin Feng to provide precise instructions.

He knew deeply that he had to closely follow Lin Feng's 'advanced concepts' that transcended the times to effectively manage this team with unlimited potential.

The entire team's attention had shifted from the trivialities of the League to the upcoming do-or-die battle.

In the tactical analysis room, the lights were dim, with only the faint hum of the projector.

The air was filled with a mix of coffee and sweat, carrying a hint of tension.

On the projection screen, the first leg of the League Cup semi-final was repeatedly replayed.

Emirates Stadium, that thrilling 2-2.

Every player's face was filled with concentration, their eyes fixed on the screen.

Henry's every run, Fabregas's every pass, were slowed down, broken down, and analyzed.

Lin Feng stood personally in front of the screen, his laser pointer drawing one red circle after another in the gaps of Arsenal's defense.

His fingers gently tapped the table, making a rhythmic light sound.

“Pay attention, after Clichy pushes up, the protection between Gallas and Touré, that's their habitual weakness.”

His voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears, as if carrying some kind of magic.

“On the counter-attack, the ball must pass through midfield within three seconds, directly to Vardy.”

He emphasized the rhythm and direction of every pass.

He even had the team specifically conduct a penalty shootout simulation at the end of training.

For every penalty kick, Schmeichel would make various distracting movements in front of the goal, trying to simulate the pressure of a real match.

He wanted to be fully prepared for this decisive battle, leaving no stone unturned.

He wanted to ensure every detail was considered.

The entire town of Hartlepool also fell into a fervent anticipation as the decisive battle approached.

The largest fan pub in town hung a huge banner outside, the blue and white fabric fluttering in the wind.

“Trample the Gunners, advance to Wembley!”

The slogan was simple and powerful.

Tickets for the official fan buses organized by the club were sold out within half an hour.

Countless fans flocked to the ticket office, only to leave with regret.

On the streets of Hartlepool, fans wearing blue and white striped shirts were everywhere.

Children kicked balls in the alleys, mimicking the shouts of commentators.

In the office of the Hartlepool Mail.

Sophie Green was planning a brand new series of exclusive interviews, her pen moving quickly across her notebook.

She hoped to interpret the secret of the team's success through the perspective of these young prodigies within the squad.

She believed that the untold stories were the most touching.

The first name on her interview list was Gylfi Sigurðsson.

She believed that this young man from Iceland must hold the most moving stories about Lin Feng and this team.

The night before the decisive battle.

The lights of Victoria Park were on all night, illuminating the entire stadium as if it were daytime.

Staff members were doing the final pitch maintenance and arrangements, their figures bustling under the lights.

Lin Feng stood alone in the VIP box, overlooking the pitch that was about to witness history.

The evening breeze was cool, rustling his clothes.

He didn't speak, just watched quietly.

He seemed to already see the thrilling battle that would unfold tomorrow.

He saw the bustling stands, and he saw the players fighting hard on the field.