79: Thunderstorm in the locker room

The final whistle blew, sharp and piercing, like a dull knife scraping back and forth on nerves.

The Hartlepool United players, one by one, walked off the field with their heads down, their legs feeling like lead.

In the away team’s changing room, the atmosphere was so heavy it was suffocating.

No one spoke.

There was only the “creak” of muddy boots on the floor, and the incessant, irritating drip-drip-drip of a leaky faucet in the corner, tapping on everyone's nerves.

Even the few young players who usually loved to joke around were now tight-lipped, heads bowed, their breathing cautious.

The door creaked open, letting in a gust of cold wind.

It wasn’t Old John who walked in, but Lin Feng.

His face was expressionless, so grim it looked like water could be wrung from it; his eyes were as dark as a deep pool, sweeping over every player with their heads bowed.

No one dared to look up; they could even feel his gaze dissecting them inch by inch, exposing their ridiculous pride and complacency to the air.

“Tell me, what were you playing in the second half?”

Lin Feng’s voice was soft, yet it struck everyone’s heart like a heavy hammer.

“You forgot how to play after taking the lead? You thought you’d been promoted, so you could just stroll around the field?”

He walked to the center of the changing room, casually picked up a muddy towel that had been thrown on the floor, weighed it in his hand, and then slammed it down, splattering mud and leaving a dirty mark on the clean floor.

“Are you worthy of the fans who traveled so far to watch you play?! Are you worthy of the badge on your chest?! Are you worthy of your own efforts this entire season?!”

His voice suddenly rose, making a few young players flinch.

He took two steps forward and stopped in front of Jamie Vardy.

Vardy had his head down, rubbing his face hard with his hands, trying to wipe away the invisible shame.

“Jamie.”

Lin Feng’s voice had returned to that icy calm, but the calmer it was, the more oppressive it felt.

“Did you think scoring one goal meant you’d completed your task? Was your running distance in the second half even enough to walk from here to the airport for Ibiza?”

“Or have you already boarded the flight there ahead of time?”

Vardy’s body stiffened abruptly. He looked up, his lips moving, wanting to argue, wanting to curse, but that light, airy mention of “Ibiza” was like a slap across his face. All his defenses, all the excuses he wanted to make, were caught in his throat.

Under Lin Feng’s all-seeing eyes, he finally lowered his head even further, his face flushed red, as if he could still hear the teasing laughter of his teammates on the training ground echoing in his ears.

Lin Feng’s gaze then turned to the young Chris Smalling.

Smalling instinctively straightened his body, his back rigid.

“Chris.”

“That header,” Lin Feng extended a finger and tapped his own temple.

“When he jumped, where was your center of gravity? Where was your anticipation? Did you think you were practicing defensive positioning on the training ground?”

“Will the opposing striker give you time to think? Didn’t you see the timing of his jump, didn’t you feel his impact?”

Smalling bit his lip tightly, clenching his hands into fists so hard his nails were almost digging into his flesh. He felt an intense sense of shame.

That header, easily scored by the opponent, was like a branding iron, searing his heart and making him feel utterly mortified.

He wanted to say he tried his best, wanted to say he lacked experience, but the words caught in his throat, and he couldn’t utter a single one.

“I told you, the road to a championship is never smooth!”

“This defeat is the best test of your so-called ‘champion’s heart’!” Lin Feng’s tone held an undisguised mockery that struck the players’ hearts.

“If you can’t even withstand such a test, if you start to become complacent and carried away by a small achievement, then you will never become true champions!”

“You are just a bunch of lucky winners! A bunch of bastards with professional contracts, playing amateur football!”

The changing room was silent, with only Lin Feng’s stern voice echoing.

All the players had their heads down, their faces burning, filled with shame and self-reproach.

Their fatigue vanished under this cold fury, replaced by an unprecedented sense of alertness.

Old John watched with a pounding heart. He finally couldn't help but step forward and take responsibility.

“Boss, it’s my fault. I didn’t remind them in time, I didn’t keep them focused…”

“John, this isn’t just your responsibility; it’s the whole team’s problem!” Lin Feng interrupted him.

“But as the head coach, you do have an undeniable responsibility! I hope you learn from this game!”

Old John’s body trembled slightly, but a deeper reverence flashed in his eyes.

He knew Lin Feng was speaking the truth, and Lin Feng’s calmness and directness deepened his understanding of his young boss’s “divinity.”

He was no longer just a boss, but more like a strict mentor, a wise man who could foresee the future.

Lin Feng took a deep breath, scanned everyone, his tone softening slightly but still firm as a rock: “There are only two rounds left in the League, and the championship isn’t secured yet!”

“The Wembley trophy is glory, but the League championship is our foundation!”

“If you still want to end this season as champions, if you still want to achieve something in next season’s League One, then from now on, rein in your complacent hearts!”

“Regain your fighting spirit and focus!”

He paused, then added the final sentence.

“Next game, I don’t want to see a performance like today’s again. Otherwise, some people might have to start thinking about their future early.”

With that, Lin Feng didn’t spare anyone another glance, turned, and pushed the door to leave the changing room.

The door closed heavily behind him, making a dull thud.

In the changing room, only a room full of players remained, lost in silence and deep introspection.

This sudden defeat and the boss’s thunderous rage were like a bucket of ice water, dousing them from head to toe, thoroughly waking them up.

They knew that if they didn’t become alert, all their efforts for the entire season could go to waste.

Vardy clenched his fists tightly, veins bulging; Smalling closed his eyes, the moment of the conceded goal replaying in his mind, the shame making his chest heavy.

Jordan Henderson held his head tightly; he knew he had made mistakes today too.

Everyone secretly vowed in their hearts that they would never let such a thing happen again.

They would use the upcoming games to prove they deserved the title of “champions.”

Lin Feng walked out of the changing room, and cold raindrops hit his face.

He knew his words were harsh, even somewhat grating. But he had to do it.

Flowers in a greenhouse never grow into towering trees.

A timely storm can make a sapling grow stronger than a hundred sunny days.

He believed that these young lads could truly grow from this defeat.

His gaze pierced through the rain, already looking towards the final round of the League and the trophy that symbolized the championship.

That was not just a trophy, but also a touchstone for the next stage.