Chapter 140: The Terrifying Cristiano Ronaldo! The Premier League Era Has Arrived!
After the 4–0 thrashing of Barcelona at home in the first leg, everyone was convinced Bayswater Chinese already had one foot in the semifinals. So their 1–0 win at Camp Nou in the second leg came as no surprise.
This season's Barça had a clear air of self-destruction.
Rijkaard was set to be sacked. No one knew who would take over next.
But what was certain was that a full-blown overhaul was coming. Players like Thuram, Zambrotta, and others were on the chopping block.
With that kind of uncertainty hanging over the squad, how could anyone expect the players to be fully focused?
Especially with both Ronaldinho and Messi missing from the lineup.
After the first leg, the Catalan media went after Rijkaard and the players with everything they had.
But after the second leg, they turned their fire on Bayswater Chinese.
Accusations flew that the Premier League side had won "dishonorably."
Even Mundo Deportivo and Sport played the sore loser, barking like sore wolves:
"Next season, we'll be back—and we'll kill you!"
...
The Champions League semifinal draw was now official.
Manchester United had narrowly beaten Liverpool 2–1 over two legs, winning the all-English clash.
The other two semifinalists were Chelsea and Bayern Munich.
In Yang Cheng's previous life, Bayern hadn't even qualified for the Champions League this season.
But after signing Ribéry in 2006, Bayern's strength surged.
With Hitzfeld returning mid-season, they capitalized on their momentum and clinched a crucial Champions League berth.
This season, with Hitzfeld at the helm, Bayern had made it through the bracket smoothly—helped by favorable draws avoiding Premier League and Serie A giants—marching all the way to the semifinals.
The matchups were set:
Manchester United vs. Bayern Munich
Bayswater Chinese vs. Chelsea
Bayern, having spent nearly €60 million in the summer, were no joke.
And Hitzfeld was a seasoned tactician.
The media and fans were salivating at the prospect of this clash.
1999 Champions League Final?
United vs. Bayern.
Ferguson vs. Hitzfeld—part two.
As for Bayswater Chinese and Chelsea, the West London Derby in the Champions League semifinals was already headline material.
Two bitter rivals, meeting again—but this time on the biggest stage in Europe.
More importantly, for the second straight season, three Premier League clubs were in the semifinals.
It was no longer a fluke.
It was a trend.
As La Gazzetta dello Sport wrote:
"The era of the Premier League has arrived."
This season, all Italian teams had failed to make it past the quarterfinals.
AC Milan were even knocked out in the Round of 16—by Bayswater Chinese.
...
April 12, 2:00 PM. Premier League Matchweek 34.
Bayswater Chinese hosted Fulham.
Technically another West London derby.
But the gap in quality was obvious.
Yang Cheng had rotated his squad midweek against Barcelona to conserve energy.
This time, Džeko, Arshavin, and others all started.
In the 24th minute, Modrić assisted Džeko for the opening goal.
After the break, Fulham still posed no real threat.
In the 60th minute, Arshavin scored again—assisted once more by Modrić.
With two assists, the Croatian maestro was named Man of the Match.
Elsewhere:
Liverpool beat Blackburn 3–1 at home.
Manchester United came from behind to beat Arsenal 2–1 thanks to goals from Ronaldo and Hargreaves.
Yang Cheng couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed in Liverpool.
If he were on better terms with Benítez, he might've called to ask:
"Do you regret it?"
Had Liverpool beaten Arsenal away a few weeks back, they could've caught up in the race.
Yang Cheng still couldn't understand Benítez's tactics that day—why so cautious at the start?
Chelsea, meanwhile, drew 1–1 with Wigan.
...
After Matchweek 34, Yang Cheng and his team got a rare full week to rest.
Everyone exhaled.
They'd been running on adrenaline for weeks.
With the FA Cup semifinals coming at the weekend, Yang Cheng gave key players—including Arshavin—a full two-day break.
The rest got one.
While other clubs played Matchweek 35, Bayswater Chinese and United were preparing for their respective FA Cup semifinal ties.
Bayswater Chinese once again sent out their full rotation team to face West Bromwich Albion.
Yang Cheng kept his word.
Up front: Bale, Lewandowski, Walcott.
Midfield: Matuidi, Matić, Rakitić.
Defense: Marcelo, José Fonte, Koscielny, Piszczek.
Goalkeeper: Begović.
Interestingly, both Fonte and Koscielny had been first-choice center-backs back in the Championship.
Even though Koscielny had lost his starting spot after Pepe and Thiago Silva arrived, he remained a reliable rotation option.
Same for Fonte, now edged out by Silva, but still dependable.
It was normal.
As the club grew, more players would leave, and new ones would arrive.
Except Modrić.
The Croatian had been with the team from League Two all the way to the Champions League semis.
Still the heart of the midfield.
Everyone now realized—Yang Cheng had been right all along.
Modrić was world-class.
Since Wembley became their home, all FA Cup semis were played there.
But for this match, Bayswater Chinese were officially the away team.
West Brom went full strength.
Yang Cheng rotated.
It was a tense battle.
Only in the 54th minute did Bayswater Chinese finally break through.
Gareth Bale crossed from the left, and Lewandowski finished from close range.
1–0!
That was the final score.
Bayswater Chinese advanced to the FA Cup Final.
The day featured two semis—one at 12:45 PM, the other at 4:00 PM.
United beat Barnsley 1–0, thanks to an early 9th-minute goal from Ronaldo.
So the FA Cup Final was set:
Bayswater Chinese vs. Manchester United.
May 17.
Just three days before the Champions League Final on May 21.
...
Midweek: Premier League Matchweek 35.
Both Bayswater Chinese and United were playing away.
United visited Mark Hughes' Blackburn.
Ferguson's squad clearly showed signs of fatigue—
Especially the front three.
As Tevez, Rooney, and Cristiano Ronaldo's front-three combination became more lethal and their understanding sharper, Ferguson increasingly relied on them across all competitions.
Other players—like Nani, Ashley Young, Park Ji-sung, and Saha—were used mainly as substitutes, only starting when one of the main three was unavailable or when a game was already wrapped up.
This led to extreme fatigue for the trio.
In midfield, veterans Scholes and Giggs remained crucial, and Ferguson leaned on them heavily.
So when matches came in rapid succession, these key players' form started to dip.
In the FA Cup semifinal, the trident started together again.
By the time United faced Blackburn, the team looked visibly sluggish.
They only managed two shots in the entire first half.
At halftime, Ferguson subbed off Giggs and brought on Ashley Young.
That change flipped the match.
In the 86th minute, Young whipped in a cross from the left, and Tevez nodded it home—the only goal of the game.
United's attack may have been underwhelming, but their defense remained rock-solid.
Meanwhile, Bayswater Chinese were also on the road—but their opponent was tougher:
Arsenal.
Yang Cheng's team pressed from the opening whistle.
Just five minutes in, Gilberto Silva mispassed straight to Lass Diarra, who immediately launched a counter.
Though the chance didn't result in a goal, it set the tone.
Arsenal were on the back foot for the first 10 minutes.
In the 11th minute, Van Persie crossed from the right. Adebayor rose to meet it—header went just wide.
Bayswater Chinese hit back quickly. Arshavin attempted a long-range chip that narrowly missed Lehmann's goal.
It became a back-and-forth slugfest.
Then, in the 29th minute, Kolo Touré played a long ball.
Adebayor muscled past Thiago Silva, brought it down on his chest, spun into the box, and slotted it into the bottom-right corner.
1–0, Arsenal!
But just six minutes later, Bayswater Chinese responded.
Modrić surged forward, combined with Džeko for a one-two, then flicked a clever backheel toward the top of the arc.
Yaya Touré stormed in from deep and smashed a rocket shot toward goal.
Gallas tried to stick his head in the way—but couldn't reach it.
Lehmann got a hand on it—but not enough.
1–1!
Back to square one.
...
"Bloody hell!"
Wenger jumped up like he'd been shocked.
He was losing his mind.
"Why does that bastard always score against us!?" he shouted, pointing at Touré as the Ivorian celebrated wildly on the sideline.
Just six minutes after Arsenal's goal?
Six!?
He hadn't even finished enjoying the lead, and it was gone already.
Wenger muttered a curse under his breath.
He was on edge.
Coming into this round, Arsenal led Liverpool by only three points in the table.
Blame that damned Ferguson.
And now—another nightmare in Yang Cheng.
"No, we have to win this one!"
Wenger was getting desperate.
It had nothing to do with the club's looming ownership change.
This was about survival.
If they couldn't beat Bayswater Chinese here, and only got a draw, their lead over Liverpool would shrink to just one point.
If they lost?
They'd be tied.
According to Premier League rules, tied points go to goal difference, then goals scored.
As of Matchweek 34, Arsenal had a goal difference of +35; Liverpool, +34.
But Liverpool had just beaten Fulham 2–0.
If Arsenal lost, Liverpool would leapfrog them.
And Arsenal would drop to fifth.
An entire season of work—wasted.
"Absolutely not!" Wenger muttered, grinding his teeth.
...
The first half ended 1–1.
Neither side managed another goal before the break.
In the second half, Arsenal took the initiative.
They lined up in something resembling a 4-4-2, with Van Persie and Adebayor up top.
The wings featured Hleb and Aaron Lennon, while Fabregas and Gilberto Silva sat in midfield.
Van Persie often drifted wide, though.
With a center-back shortage, Wenger paired Gallas with Alex Song.
Kolo Touré played right-back, Clichy on the left.
As Arsenal ramped up the pressure, Clichy pushed forward to support Hleb.
In the 55th minute, the Gunners threatened again.
From the left, Hleb found Van Persie in the box.
He spun and shot—goal!
Or so he thought.
The linesman's flag went up.
Offside.
Wenger was furious.
The always-elegant professor was losing his cool.
The situation was that tense.
Two straight seasons without Champions League football?
Now they were this close—and it was slipping away.
Wenger made a change.
60th minute: Eboué on, Kolo Touré off—to reinforce the right wing.
Yang Cheng answered five minutes later.
Walcott on, Lass Diarra off.
Modrić dropped deeper to partner Yaya Touré, forming a hybrid 4-3-3/4-2-3-1.
...
Walcott entered with specific orders.
"The boss says: lock down the flanks."
Di María would handle the left.
Walcott would take the right.
Arshavin moved into the central role.
That put him face-to-face with Gilberto Silva and Fabregas.
Both sides had made changes, so the next few minutes passed without much action.
But then—six minutes after coming on, Walcott made his move.
From midfield, Yaya Touré lofted a long diagonal to the right wing.
Walcott collected it and charged forward.
Facing Clichy, he sprinted hard—then suddenly stopped outside the box.
He knew Clichy was fast too.
After braking, Walcott began to stutter-step—then shifted inside.
Clichy anticipated the cut and turned to block it—
Only for Walcott to fake, cut the other way with his left, and burn down the touchline.
Everyone knows how fast Walcott is.
Once he launched, Clichy had no chance.
He lunged with a slide tackle—
But Walcott had already touched the ball toward the end line.
The tackle caught the player, not the ball.
Whistle.
The referee pointed to the spot and reached for his pocket—
Yellow card for Clichy.
The Frenchman looked furious, glaring at Walcott.
The kid was small, wiry, lightning-quick—and slippery as hell.
With his blend of fake-outs and sudden bursts, he was a nightmare to defend.
The slightest hesitation and he'd be gone—when he got the jump on you, the only way to stop him was to foul.
If you waited even a second, he'd already be past you.
Too fast.
And the worst part? Whether he cut inside for a left-footed shot or beat you down the line for a cross, he was dangerous either way.
Walcott was becoming more and more of a nightmare to defend.
This time, the foul happened on the right side just outside the box—a very dangerous area.
Especially because Bayswater Chinese were deadly from set pieces.
Arsenal looked visibly nervous.
Modrić stood over the free kick.
All the big men for Bayswater Chinese pushed up into the box.
Wenger could feel the danger too.
Gallas and Song weren't exactly tall, so he called both Adebayor and Van Persie back to defend, leaving only Aaron Lennon up front.
As the whistle blew, Modrić curled the ball toward the near post.
Yaya Touré charged in like a tank, muscling past his own brother Kolo Touré, and fired off a powerful header from close range.
Bang!
It crashed off the post and bounced back into play.
Chaos erupted in the box.
Eventually, Gallas hoofed it clear.
Maicon sprinted over, caught the ball tossed by the ball boy, wiped it quickly on his shirt, then glanced at the penalty area.
This throw-in was practically in the same spot as the free kick—just a few meters wider.
He saw the moment and launched a quick throw into the box.
Džeko rose high and flicked the ball behind him.
Di María, waiting near the left side of the penalty spot, raced onto it and blasted a left-footed volley.
But it struck Gilberto Silva and took a wild deflection—almost an own goal.
Luckily, Lehmann reacted brilliantly—diving to his side and swatting it away with one hand.
Corner kick from the left.
The entire Emirates Stadium let out a collective gasp.
Free kick... throw-in... now a corner...
What's next? A penalty?
Wenger was shaking at the touchline.
Modrić jogged over again.
He took a short run-up and whipped in the corner—not to the near post this time, but toward the far side of the box.
Pepe soared at the back post, and headed the ball across the six-yard box toward the near post.
And before anyone could react—
Yaya Touré rose again and thumped it into the goal with a thunderous header.
Lehmann moved well—he was already shifting in the right direction.
But the Ivorian sent the ball toward the opposite corner.
Lehmann's outstretched arms couldn't reach it.
Goal.
"It's in!!!"
"Yaya Touré again!"
"A brace for the Ivorian midfielder!"
"My God, every time he plays against Arsenal, he turns into a monster!"
"Unbelievable. He hit the post earlier—and now he's buried it!"
"2–1! Arsenal are in trouble!"
...
After Yaya's goal, Yang Cheng immediately adjusted the tactics.
He signaled for the team to tighten the defense.
Yaya Touré was told to stop making forward runs and focus on shielding the backline.
Same for Maicon and Baines.
Yang Cheng's message was clear:
Switch to counter-attacking.
Wenger lost it and made a second change.
He sent on Bendtner for Hleb.
Now Arsenal had three towering strikers up front: Bendtner, Van Persie, and Adebayor.
But Bayswater Chinese weren't pushovers.
Yang Cheng said defend—but that didn't mean turtle up.
He made a sub of his own: Rakitić on for Džeko.
Arshavin moved into the central role.
Now it was full-on counter mode.
The midfield kept pressing.
Especially Fabregas—without Hleb, he became Arsenal's only real playmaker.
But Rakitić and Arshavin double-teamed him constantly, making life miserable.
In the 83rd minute, Rakitić stripped Fabregas and gave it to Arshavin.
He launched a quick counter and delivered a pinpoint pass.
Walcott tore through the right channel, racing into the box.
Clichy chased all the way—Walcott stopped, cut inside on his left—
Clichy overcommitted, flew past, and as he scrambled back, he felt that sinking feeling.
This one's for real.
Walcott took a small touch and then unleashed a left-footed shot, aiming for the bottom-left corner.
Lehmann flew—
It hit the post!
The ball bounced off the inside of the post and landed straight in Lehmann's arms.
The whole stadium gasped.
Even Wenger looked pale on the sidelines.
Walcott held his head in frustration and jogged back.
"Still gotta work on finishing," he muttered.
He loved shooting. He loved getting close to goal.
And in Yang Cheng's system, Walcott wasn't just a winger.
Whether on the left or right, he was expected to cut inside and score—not just run and cross.
And he already had 7 Premier League goals this season.
Not bad at all—for a 19-year-old.
And he'd been even better in the FA Cup.
As per the preseason promise, he would start in the FA Cup Final against Manchester United.
He, Bale, and all the other young lads were buzzing for that match.
...
In the end, Bayswater Chinese came from behind to beat Arsenal 2–1, thanks to Yaya Touré's brace.
As the final whistle blew, the Emirates erupted with a storm of boos.
"They're probably booing us, right?" Yang Cheng asked with a cheeky grin as Wenger came over to shake hands.
"You tell me," Wenger grumbled.
"Could be they're booing you guys," Yang Cheng added with a smirk.
Wenger nearly let a curse slip.
But thinking about it... that could be true.
British fans were not exactly known for subtlety.
Work all season to get into the top four, only to blow it now?
"No way in hell!" Wenger muttered.
"I mean, be honest—what did Benítez promise you to help him like this?" he asked, glaring.
Yang Cheng laughed out loud.
"Come on, we're in a title race too!"
Wenger realized he'd lost the plot—so focused on the Arsenal–Liverpool top-four battle, he'd forgotten Bayswater Chinese were just one point behind United.
A mix of jealousy, admiration, and rage.
"By the way... you're not buying me a drink?" he asked, deadpan.
Wenger's face turned cold.
"Didn't prepare one," he said bluntly.
"You really are... the stingiest manager in the Premier League!"
"I…"
He almost cussed right then and there.
That last remark? It was the same thing Wenger had once said about Yang Cheng in front of Ferguson.
That old fox from Old Trafford was always stirring the pot—what a cunning bastard.
"Yang, I support you. Take down Ferguson. Snatch the title from United!"
Yang Cheng chuckled inwardly.
Your support? What's that worth?
If Grant had said it, maybe he'd pay attention—after all, Chelsea were hosting United in the next round.
But Arsenal?
Go cool off somewhere else.
"You have my number, right?"
Yang Cheng asked abruptly, without context.
Wenger looked confused but nodded. "You asked for it yourself before."
"Didn't you say," Yang Cheng continued, "if you guys got bought by a billionaire, the first thing you'd do is raid Bayswater Chinese? Since we're on good terms, just give me a heads-up before you make a move."
"Other than the non-transferables, any player—if the price is right—I'll sell him to you."
The tone, the expression, the righteous generosity—Yang Cheng could've been mistaken for a saint of football.
If Wenger didn't know this kid was full of tricks, he might've kneeled on the spot and offered a blood oath.
So... the kid had been holding a grudge all along.
Wenger nearly burst out laughing.
That old jab had just been a joke.
Now Yang Cheng was throwing it back in his face.
But as he thought about it more carefully, Wenger realized—
This offer was full of traps.
Who was "non-transferable"?
What did "right price" even mean?
All classic tricks of a sly negotiator.
"Alright then, I'll be off."
Yang Cheng didn't wait for a reply.
As he walked away, he waved cheerily to Wenger.
In his heart, he whispered:
"Baldy Wenger, this is as far as I can help you. From here on out—it's all on you."
If they still couldn't make top four…
Then they deserved to miss out.
...
Yang Cheng didn't fight Arsenal just to help Liverpool.
He was mainly chasing the league title.
But even he didn't expect Liverpool to collapse so badly without Xabi Alonso.
In Premier League Matchweek 36, Liverpool had retaken 4th—only to throw it away again.
They blew a 2–1 lead and drew 2–2 away to relegation-battling Birmingham.
Yang Cheng stared at the result in disbelief.
He had basically fed them a Champions League spot—and they spit it back out.
What more could he do?
"Nobody's ever been as generous as me."
Meanwhile, Arsenal smashed Derby County 6–2 away.
Serves Liverpool right if they don't get Champions League football.
Bayswater Chinese beat Wigan Athletic 1–0, thanks to a Lewandowski goal in the 27th minute.
Yang Cheng rotated heavily for that match, keeping an eye on the upcoming Champions League semifinal first leg.
Meanwhile, Manchester United faced Chelsea in a heavyweight clash.
Yang Cheng watched with keen interest.
United were title rivals.
Chelsea—his Champions League semifinal opponent.
Both teams rotated, but not heavily.
Chelsea benched Makelele, Anelka, Malouda, and Lampard.
But Drogba, Terry, and Carvalho started and played the full 90.
After all, this was Manchester United.
United rotated Evra, Scholes, Ronaldo, and Tevez.
In the first half, Chelsea opened the scoring.
Second half, Rooney equalized in the 56th minute.
In the 65th minute, Ferguson brought on Cristiano Ronaldo for Rooney.
Still resting players.
Three minutes later, Ronaldo scored a stunning free kick to put United ahead.
A knuckleball rocket. Pure brilliance.
Chelsea responded with an all-out assault.
Anelka, Malouda, and others returned to the pitch.
In the 86th minute, Chelsea earned a penalty for Carrick's handball.
Ballack converted.
2–2.
With Bayswater Chinese winning their game, United would lose top spot if they dropped points.
Only two rounds remained.
Lose the lead now? They might not get it back.
United attacked desperately.
Especially Ronaldo.
Since joining United, he had never won the league—let alone the Champions League.
Last season's collapse had crushed him.
Now, once again, he stood at a crossroads.
This time, he wouldn't back down.
Forward.
Forward.
Forward!
With just minutes left, Ronaldo was like a man possessed.
From 30 meters, he uncorked a shot that whistled just wide.
In the 89th minute, Ashley Young crossed from the left—
Ronaldo at the far post—bullet header—
Somehow, Čech saved it.
Ronaldo punched the ground, screaming in frustration.
Time was ticking.
For fans in the stands, for those watching at home—each second felt like an hour.
But for Ronaldo, time was flying.
And just like that, it was the final minute of stoppage time.
He had no more time.
Seeing his teammates getting stifled, Ronaldo called for the ball.
He sprinted left, signaled for a pass.
Ashley Young delivered.
Ronaldo exploded forward, shook off Mikel, and charged toward the box.
Before he could enter, Carvalho lunged in—
Fouled him.
No doubt about it.
Free kick on the left side, just outside the box.
Not ideal—angle was tight.
Ronaldo spoke to Giggs briefly—then jogged into the box.
This would be it—the final attack.
The moment that could decide the Premier League title.
Giggs exhaled and curled in a cross with his left foot.
It soared over Ferdinand, over Vidic—
And landed at the far post.
Ronaldo rose like a rocket.
Like a god descending.
Chelsea defenders jumped with him—but Ronaldo towered over them all.
The ball met his forehead—
BOOM.
A perfect header—blasted into the far corner.
Čech couldn't reach it.
GOAL.
As he landed, Ronaldo clenched both fists and let out a roar.
He spun and sprinted toward the corner flag, screaming with all his might.
He reached the cameras, leapt into the air, landed with his iconic stance—
"Siiiii!!!"
In that moment, he truly looked divine.
Unstoppable.
United won 3–2, thanks to Ronaldo's last-gasp heroics.
...
Because of TV scheduling, Bayswater Chinese's match at Wigan had been played at 12:00 noon.
After Bayswater Chinese's match at Wigan wrapped up, Manchester United's clash with Chelsea kicked off at 2 p.m.
On the team bus heading south, every single player and staff member was glued to the live updates from Stamford Bridge.
When Cristiano Ronaldo came on as a substitute and scored a free-kick, the entire bus fell into a collective gloom.
But when Ballack equalized from the spot minutes later, spirits soared again.
Then came the gut punch—Ronaldo's injury-time winner.
A long, weary sigh filled the bus.
Especially from Yang Cheng.
"How many times has Ronaldo saved United now?" he muttered, shaking his head.
No one could answer.
Because it had been too many.
This season, Cristiano Ronaldo had been utterly monstrous.
He hadn't even fully transitioned into a pure goal-scorer yet.
At this stage of his career, he could dribble, sprint, shoot—he just didn't assist much.
But he was already one of the most complete attacking players in world football.
Take that last goal—he earned the free-kick entirely by himself, beating defenders with sheer speed and willpower.
Was Carvalho's foul avoidable?
It's hard to say.
But let Ronaldo into the box, and who knows what might happen?
Truthfully, it wasn't that Bayswater Chinese were trailing Manchester United.
They were trailing Cristiano Ronaldo.
Without his repeated last-minute heroics, United might've already crumbled.
"He's getting more ridiculous by the week," sighed Brian Kidd. "He's on track to become the best player in the world."
And honestly, what more could you say?
With that last-minute header, Ronaldo may have just won United the Premier League.
With only two matches remaining—home to West Ham, away to Wigan—it was hard to imagine Ferguson letting it slip.
Mathematically, Bayswater Chinese still had a chance.
But realistically? Ronaldo's brace just sealed the title.
"It's only the beginning," Yang Cheng said calmly.
"What?" Brian Kidd blinked, confused.
"He was born in '85. He's only 23," Yang Cheng replied.
In that moment, Yang Cheng truly felt the helplessness of going up against once-in-a-generation talent like Ronaldo and Messi.
If it were Bayswater Chinese playing against United, Yang Cheng could draw up a dozen ways to limit Ronaldo.
But this was Chelsea.
What could he do? Call Grant and give him tactical advice?
And in the next match?
Yang Cheng could control his team. He could beat United head-on.
But he couldn't control anyone else.
And now, at 23, Ronaldo was already this terrifying.
By natural athletic peaks, he'd hit his prime around 25.
That's when he'd be unstoppable.
Same for Messi.
These were players no mortal manager could truly stop.
"So… what now?" Brian Kidd asked, glancing around at the gloomy team bus.
The mood had turned sour.
Everyone understood—United had just won at Chelsea.
With two matches left, they weren't dropping points now.
Even if Bayswater Chinese won out, it wouldn't matter.
The blow was devastating.
But Yang Cheng knew—it couldn't end like this.
In three days, they were hosting Chelsea in the Champions League semifinal first leg.
If they carried this low morale into that match, they'd be walking into disaster.
Chelsea may have just lost at home to United, but they were long out of the title race.
That loss didn't hurt them.
It didn't change their standing.
But for Bayswater Chinese?
It was a gut punch.
Yang Cheng stood up, steadied himself against a seat, and walked to the center of the aisle.
The bus cruised along the southbound highway.
The driver glanced up into the mirror, saw movement in the cabin, and instinctively slowed down.
"I'm sure by now you've all seen it," Yang Cheng began.
"United beat Chelsea 3–2 at Stamford Bridge."
Everyone nodded.
Some had seen the push notification.
Some read it in texts.
Others had checked online.
"It's a tough result. No doubt about that. But we have to accept it."
Yang Cheng didn't mention probabilities.
Didn't speculate on the title race.
None of that mattered anymore.
"What I want you to take away from this is one simple truth—
Never count on your opponents to make mistakes.
Because that is the most unreliable thing in the world."
Everyone nodded.
It was true.
Once you fell behind, you gave up control.
All you could do was hope the leader slipped up.
And Ferguson?
He wasn't slipping.
"But we're not done," Yang Cheng continued.
"We still have two Premier League games. Two Champions League semifinals."
"If we beat Chelsea, we're going to Russia."
"And don't forget—we've got the FA Cup Final too."
"Until the very last whistle, you never know what could happen."
"Right?"
The players nodded again.
"This Champions League semifinal is everything."
"I believe that not a single one of you wants to lose to Chelsea."
"And I also believe—for every one of you, this is the moment you've dreamed of since childhood."
"Apart from the World Cup Final, this is it—
The match you've always wanted.
The Champions League Final."
"And now, we're one step away."
"The key is in our hands—and the only one standing in our way is Chelsea."
"Our West London rivals."
"A club we haven't lost to in years."
"I believe in our strength. Just like United won tonight—we can win too."
"We will beat Chelsea. We will take that key, go to Russia, and lift the Champions League trophy."
"That's our dream. All of us."
"Isn't it?"
Yang Cheng didn't shout.
His tone was calm, steady—but powerful.
This was a pep talk not just for the next match, but for the season.
Most of the players on the bus were set to start in three days.
As soon as he finished, José Fonte spoke up—adding his voice to the rally cry.
As club captain and unofficial team counselor, he fired up the locker room like always.
Then came Marcelo—the team clown, the vibe master.
Once Fonte was done, Marcelo jumped in to lighten the mood.
The Brazilian was always coming up with something silly or outrageous to make everyone laugh.
After Ribéry left, that role had fallen squarely to Marcelo.
He was a goofball, sure.
But he was their goofball.
And he had played a huge role in popularizing indoor football culture within the squad.
Yang Cheng sat back with a smile, watching the scene unfold.
Inwardly, he gave both José Fonte and Marcelo a thumbs-up.
Thankfully, they still had three days.
Time enough to lift spirits, steady minds, and recover.
Losing the league?
Fine.
But he was not losing the Champions League.
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