Guardiola was a sharp man and could read between the lines. He imdiately understood what Chen Yu wasn’t saying.
"Chen, is there sothing wrong with Ronnie’s knee? I rember you saying there were two treatnt options."
Chen Yu nodded and explained the situation.
Guardiola understood imdiately. Ronaldo had been injured for eight months, which had already taken a huge bite out of Blanchini and the others’ earnings. So when Chen Yu proposed another surgery, followed by a ten-month recovery period, there was no way Blanchini would agree.
"So you’re saying that if he doesn’t have the surgery, he can recover, but his athletic ability will be nowhere near what it used to be."
Guardiola had seen many cases like this. His idol Baggio, for instance, had his niscus removed at seventeen. Guardiola had always believed that if Baggio had possessed a healthy pair of legs, his accomplishnts would have been far greater.
And then there was Piero. Before ’98, he could go toe-to-toe with Ronaldo, but after tearing the cruciate ligant in his left knee, he went from a superstar who dazzled the world with his speed and explosive power to a player relying on experience and technique.
And there were countless other cases like these.
Chen Yu nodded. "His knee has always been problematic. This ti, he ruptured his patellar tendon—the thickest one. Add to that his congenital trochlear dysplasia and the tornt of patellar tendinitis... even with his incredible physical gifts, recovering even seventy percent of his athletic ability after this would be a great achievent."
Guardiola fell silent. Even though he wasn’t an orthopedic surgeon, he understood the logic.
Ligants were just too important for professional players like them.
Lost in thought, Guardiola sat down next to Chen Yu. "This is a real problem. The main issue is Martins. Ronnie trusts him completely, hanging on his every word. So you’re right to be worried. They could very well talk him into choosing conservative treatnt."
He crossed his legs, thought for a mont, and then suddenly smiled.
"Chen, I know what to do. There’s no need to explain all that complicated dical science to them or tell them which choice is correct. They wouldn’t understand it anyway. You should just put it to them plainly. Tell them that if Ronnie could earn, say, a hundred million US dollars in the future, but choosing conservative treatnt now causes his performance to drop, he might only earn fifty million. Then they’ll make the choice on their own."
Chen Yu raised an eyebrow.
’That’s one way to handle it.’
From what Guardiola had said earlier, it was clear that both Blanchini and Martins were utterly obsessed with money.
’Since money is what they love, then I’ll talk to them about money.’
"Josep, thank you," Chen Yu said. ’This chat today was definitely worthwhile.’
Guardiola shook his head. "No, I should be the one thanking you. Ronnie is my friend, and I want him to have a responsible doctor like you. Chen, don’t worry. I’ll find an opportunity to talk to him, to persuade him to have the surgery."
As he said this, a thought suddenly flashed through Guardiola’s mind.
’Baggio!’
He knew his idol was desperate to play in next year’s World Cup, but recent rumors suggested that Trapattoni, the coach of the Italian National Team, was hesitant to call Baggio up.
Guardiola could guess the reason—his form, of course.
But Baggio was only thirty-four. This was likely his last World Cup. Missing it would be a regret he’d carry forever.
And then there was himself.
He hadn’t made it to the last World Cup, and Guardiola had no intention of missing the next one.
However, the thought was fleeting, and Guardiola didn’t voice it. Chen Yu already had enough on his plate; it was best not to trouble him further.
The next day, Chen Yu remained at the sanatorium, continuing to treat patients and gain experience.
He saw Ronaldo, but he still hadn’t brought up the surgery.
This attitude told Chen Yu everything he needed to know.
Another day passed, and Ronaldo’s other two agents finally arrived.
Blanchini picked them up in the city.
The two n were in a hurry.
Martins’s eyes were bloodshot and his skin was greasy. To get to France as fast as possible, they had even opted for a cramped economy-class flight, and the journey had clearly taken its toll.
After getting in the car, Martins yanked at his shirt collar and imdiately laid into him. "Giovanni, you idiot! Everything was fine. Why did you have to run off to the United States and bring back so Arican doctor to treat Ronnie?"
"You must have had too much ti on your hands! Otherwise, this whole ss wouldn’t have happened."
Blanchini, who had been smiling a mont before, instantly dropped his expression. He wasn’t about to indulge Martins.
’While you were fucking around in Brazil, I was already dominating Europe.’
"Alexander, let make sothing clear," Blanchini snapped. "I brought in a doctor from the United States for Ronnie’s own good. I just didn’t expect him to be so damn difficult." Blanchini was starting to regret it himself.
’I invited Chen Yu here for rehabilitation.’
’But this guy is *too* responsible. He even wants to do another surgery! Why can’t he just take the money and go? Doesn’t he have a pile of work back in the United States?’
Blanchini’s tone was harsh. Martins flinched, only then realizing his words had offended the man.
’This man is a godfather-like figure in the business.’
But his pride made it difficult for him to apologize.
Pita, Ronaldo’s press spokesman, quickly stepped in to diate. "This isn’t the ti for infighting. Let’s focus on what’s important. Giovanni, you said Ronnie wants to have surgery. Is that true?"
"It’s true."
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