Barcelona, Spain, inside a mansion.
Watching the match on TV co to an end, Fabregas sat on the sofa absentmindedly, missing the cup with his coffee several tis, spilling it all over his hands and the floor.
A few Barça players sat beside him, watching TV, lost in thought, feeling sowhat complex.
Pique turned his head to glance at him and jokingly asked, "Your forr team won, are you still happy?"
"No." Fabregas put the coffee on the table and lay on the sofa, saying, "My real team can only be Barça, going to Arsenal was just for experience."
"Haha....." A faint laughter echoed, a few people chuckled briefly, realizing others weren’t laughing, they shut their mouths.
Pique’s joke didn’t serve to lighten the mood, so he asked again, "What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing." Fabregas shook his head, not wanting to share his worries and ominous feeling.
"Asi Bao’s report."
The team’s forward Pedro walked over from the staircase, not noticing the oppressive atmosphere on the second floor, introduced, "A Premier League 18-year-old young general scores 10 goals in seven rounds, rising to the top Premier League scorer, not bad, another genius."
He had been chatting with brothers downstairs and didn’t know they had just watched a ga upstairs.
After clicking to see the detailed report, he continued to laugh, "In the Arsenal vs. Tottenham derby, Ma’el scored twice, reaching the 10th Premier League goal.....wait, Ma’el?"
Pedro glanced at Fabregas, rembering sothing, widened his eyes, saying, "Him? That’s the guy?"
The one who had conflicts with Xiaofa and hit him several tis?
Pedro roughly understood why no one was speaking on the second floor, he awkwardly put away his phone and sat down on the sofa.
Fabregas looked at him, puffed his cheeks, but dared not say anything.
"Who scored 10 goals in seven rounds?"
Another figure ca up the staircase, his voice distinct, his hair seed freshly cut.
It was ssi, he ca with a warm smile, yet there remained traces of youth on his face.
But no one dared to underestimate him.....with two consecutive Golden Ball Awards and scoring over 50 goals in a single season, he beca the highest-valued player in the world today.
Many Barcelona players sat upright, even though ssi didn’t hold any captain-like roles, his importance to the team, the weight of his words, surpassed anyone else.
"Ma’el." Fabregas turned his head, voluntarily expressing his discomfort, "Only 18 this year, he’s the one who had friction with at the Arsenal youth academy."
"Oh... it’s him,"
ssi nodded, indicating he knew this person, joined everyone on the sofa, "To have such numbers in a top league, that’s not bad."
"Higher than yours back then."
Pique joked again, he was one of the few in the team not afraid of ssi, "Watch out, he’s coming for your Golden Ball soon."
"Haha...." This ti the laughter was noticeably louder, it was clear everyone thought this was more like a joke, even ssi showed so smile.
Fabregas laughed twice unprecedentedly, shaking his head, saying, "Even if he can surpass my achievents at Arsenal in the future, even if he can win the Golden Boy Award, he absolutely cannot challenge the Golden Ball Award.
"The Golden Ball isn’t just about goals and assists, it requires team honors.
I’ve said countless tis, staying at Arsenal, he won’t have anything."
He said a lot, seeming to have accumulated resentnt for a long ti, his tone carried heavy jealousy.
Not far away, Pedro discreetly checked the Premier League standings, ssi also ca over to watch along with him.
Upon seeing Arsenal’s score, Pedro suddenly pressed the exit button.
ssi raised his head, hesitated for a mont, then said, "What if Arsenal has a chance to win the title?"
"Impossible." Fabregas said with certainty, pointing at the TV screen, "I’ve always been following the Premier League, this season’s champion is definitely still Manchester United!
If Arsenal’s little investnt could win the title.....hah, then the other Premier League teams might as well disband."
He really shouldn’t have so much resentnt towards this team he’d been with for 8 years, but the incident before he left still upset him.
If Arsenal could win the title, that couldn’t just be counted as slapping his face, it would be like beating his corpse.
How would the world view him?
How much ridicule would he face, how many people who dislike him would be satisfied?
That is absolutely not, cannot happen.....as a genius player, Fabregas trusted his judgnt and believed his choice was right!
...
London, England, at White Hart Lane.
"5 wins, 2 draws in 7 rounds, 17 points tied with Manchester’s Twin Heroes, only due to a 1-goal disadvantage, Arsenal ranks second; is Mr. Wenger satisfied with this result?"
Post-match conference, Wenger and Redknapp sat in a row, accepting interviews from reporters.
Their entirely different expressions clearly explained their mindset at this mont, even outsiders could easily discern the winner and the loser.
"There’s nothing better than this."
Wenger answered smilingly, candidly saying, "In recent seasons, we’ve never had such a start."
Beside him, Redknapp looked uneasy, originally wanting to take down Arsenal using their ho advantage in the derby, unexpectedly helping them climb to second in the standings instead.
He lost the match himself and helped the arch-enemy climb further.....this was the worst possible outco.
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