South of England, Bournemouth.
Vitality Stadium.
Autumn rain in England always comes unexpectedly and incessantly. Tonight's downpour was astonishingly heavy, with the rain under the floodlights appearing like dense silver needles, ferociously piercing the turf.
For technical teams, this kind of weather is a nightmare. Waterlogged turf slows down passes, and the slippery ground causes players to skid when changing direction.
For a Chelsea side that had just endured long-haul flights and was suffering from the "FIFA virus," this wasn't just a nightmare—it was hell.
The scoreboard showed: Bournemouth 1-0 Chelsea.
Match Time: 82nd minute.
On the Chelsea bench, Mourinho didn't even use an umbrella. He let the cold rain soak his expensive trench coat, his face—usually full of arrogance—now clouded with gloom.
The situation on the pitch was unbearable to watch.
Because Enzo and Caicedo were on the bench due to physical exhaustion, today's starting midfield duo was Gallagher and Ugochukwu. While the former was diligent, he was like a headless fly; the latter was clearly too green, being torn to pieces by Bournemouth's impact.
In the 30th minute of the first half, Bournemouth striker Solanke took advantage of a counterattack, bullied his way into position, and scored a goal.
In the fifty minutes that followed, Chelsea were like a group of sleepwalking ghosts. Sterling lost the ball as soon as he got it, Mudryk slipped three times on the wing, and even the bedrock, Thiago Silva, showed signs of fatigue, gasping for air.
Except for one person.
Lin Yuan (No. 44).
He was the only Chelsea player on the pitch who still looked "alive."
"Damn it! Run! Don't stand there panting like a girl!"
Lin Yuan roared in the rain. His jersey was already soaked, clinging tightly to his sculpted muscles, covered in mud and grass clippings.
In these 80 minutes, he had practically done the work of three people.
He was covering for Chilwell on the left, cleaning up after Ugochukwu in the middle, and having to push up on the right to support the isolated Palmer.
[System Status Monitoring:]
Average Team Stamina Remaining: 35% (Approaching red line)
Host's Current Stamina Remaining: 92% (Savage Physique S-Rank active)
Status: Extremely Excited.
88th minute.
Chelsea earned a corner. This was the last hope for an equalizer.
Almost all of Chelsea's tall players pushed into the opponent's box, even center-back Disasi went up.
"Last chance! Push up!" Mourinho roared, waving his arms from the touchline.
The corner was taken.
The ball traced an arc in the air, but because of the slippery rain, the landing point wasn't great. Bournemouth's center-back Zabarnyi beat Disasi to it and cleared it with a big boot!
Disaster!
The ball didn't fly out of bounds; instead, it fell near the center circle. Bournemouth winger Kluivert was lurking there.
At this moment, Chelsea's backfield was empty! This was an absolute open-goal opportunity!
"It's over..." The traveling Chelsea fans in the stands held their heads in despair.
Mourinho closed his eyes in pain.
Kluivert took the ball and turned. Before him was a vast open prairie; as long as he sprinted fifty meters with the ball, he could kill the game.
Just when everyone thought Chelsea was doomed to lose.
A dark shadow tore through the curtain of rain.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The heavy sound of footsteps even drowned out the sound of the rain.
It was Lin Yuan!
He had been standing at the edge of the penalty arc during the corner to provide protection. At this moment, he was the closest person to Kluivert—but he was still a full fifteen meters behind!
"He can't catch him! The distance is too great!" shouted Sky Sports commentator Neville. "And it's the 89th minute! No one has that kind of sprinting stamina left!"
Kluivert was also sprinting, feeling like he was flying. But he soon felt something was wrong.
The sense of pressure coming from behind was getting stronger and stronger, like a Tyrannosaurus Rex closing in on a gazelle.
Ten meters.
Five meters.
Three meters!
Just a second before breaking into the Chelsea box, Kluivert looked back in horror and saw a face mixed with mud, as ferocious as a demon's.
"Stay right there!!!"
Lin Yuan gave a thunderous shout and performed a jaw-dropping move on the slippery turf—
Instead of slowing down, his whole body slid along the ground like a torpedo. Using his massive momentum, he executed a precise sliding tackle from the side-rear!
Bang!
Taking both man and ball!
It was a textbook violent tackle-and-hold!
Kluivert was sent flying directly past the goal line, rolling twice in the puddles.
And Lin Yuan, using the momentum of the slide, propped himself up with one hand. With an explosion of core strength, he actually bounced back to his feet instantly after the tackle!
The ball was still at his feet!
"My god! He's won it! And he hasn't stopped!" The commentator's voice turned shrill. "The game isn't over! Lin Yuan is still running!!"
At this time, the Bournemouth players were still in the front half and hadn't returned, or they were just watching, thinking the game was won.
And Chelsea's attacking players were still in the opponent's box and hadn't come back.
A strange vacuum appeared on the pitch.
Lin Yuan sprinted with the ball.
Only two Bournemouth defenders remained at the back.
[Skill Triggered: Bull Charge]
[Current Strategy: Brainless Overpowering!]
Lin Yuan didn't use any feints at all. Facing the defender Senesi who came to block him, he just knocked the ball forward hard (knocking it a full ten meters), and then used pure speed and physique to overpower him!
Senesi tried to grab him, but the moment his fingers touched Lin Yuan's jersey, they were flicked away. That wasn't a human body at all; it was a piece of moving steel!
Past the halfway line!
Into the final third!
At this point, the other defender was retreating while trying to hold his ground.
And on the far side, Nicolas Jackson, who had also come on as a sub and had plenty of energy, finally realized the opportunity and sprinted into position.
Lin Yuan's eyes were bloodshot, but his not-so-top-tier vision (C-Rank) was lit up at this moment by the system's auxiliary cursor.
He saw Jackson's position.
Facing the charging goalkeeper Neto.
Lin Yuan feinted a shot, tricking Neto into diving for the block.
The next second, he gave it a gentle push with his instep.
A square pass!
Facing an open goal, if Jackson could still miss this, he really should retire.
Bang!
Jackson easily slotted it into the net.
1-1! A last-minute equalizer?
No!
As Jackson was about to rush off to celebrate, Lin Yuan grabbed him by the collar, hauled him back like a chick, and roared while pointing at the center circle:
"Celebrate my ass! There are still two minutes left! Get the ball back! We're going to win!!"
This roar woke up all the Chelsea players.
That kind of grit triggered by a desperate situation was finally ignited at this moment.
Stoppage time, 94th minute.
The final attack.
Gallagher, infected by Lin Yuan's "mad dog spirit," pressed frantically in the front half, causing the Bournemouth defender to make a panicked passing error.
Sterling got the ball. By now, Bournemouth's defense had mentally collapsed due to the scare just moments ago.
Sterling broke through and sent a cut-back pass.
On the edge of the box.
It was that mud-covered number 44 again.
Lin Yuan didn't stop the ball. Meeting the pass, he used the last ounce of strength in his body to swing his right leg—not a thunderbolt, but a low, driven shot.
The ball passed through the dense crowd like a scalpel and drilled into the bottom corner!
2-1!!
Beep, beep, beep—!
The referee blew the final whistle.
After the goal, Lin Yuan didn't celebrate. He just stood there, hands on his knees, gasping for air, letting the rain wash the mud off his face.
The next second, he was tackled to the ground by his teammates rushing over frantically.
Even Mourinho ignored his image and rushed onto the pitch, joining the human pyramid.
In the locker room after the match.
Everyone was exhausted, only Lin Yuan sat in front of his locker. Aside from being a bit dirty, his breathing had already leveled out.
Mourinho walked in, looked around at the players who were like dead dogs, and finally his gaze landed on Lin Yuan.
He pointed at Lin Yuan and said one sentence to everyone:
"There is only one MVP today. It's not the one who scored, nor the one who assisted. It's this madman who could still sprint sixty meters to recover in the 90th minute."
"From today on, whoever complains about being tired in training, I'll have them watch the recording of this match."
Enzo Fernández sat in the corner, looking at Lin Yuan who was calmly drinking water, a hint of awe flashing in his eyes.
Even as a World Cup-winning midfielder, he was shocked by that scene just now.
That was pure willpower.
That was the iron-blooded team soul that Chelsea had lost for a long time.
This night, the rain in Bournemouth washed away the weakness from Chelsea and revealed a true leader.
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