Every Liverpool fan in the stadium plunged into delirious celebration, ripping off their shirts and waving them wildly in the air.
Up in the stands, Barnett was ecstatic. The better Leo Lin played, the happier he became.
As an agent, Barnett had long seen Leo Lin's immense potential. But the more time he spent with him, the more his hopes went far beyond mere professional cooperation.
Now, as a friend—no, as a close friend—he genuinely wanted Leo Lin to succeed.
The Tuttosport awards ceremony would take place in December. It was already mid-November, which meant he had just over half a month left. In that remaining time, he needed to completely lock down Leo Lin's Golden Boy award and eliminate any possibility for the others.
With that thought in mind, Barnett made a phone call.
"McCarty, my dear darling."
"Huh? Why do you start insulting me the moment you call?"
"My darling, my precious, my fault. I'll fly to Turin tomorrow night. Whatever you want to eat, whatever you want to buy—I'm paying."
After he hung up, the young assistant beside him cautiously spoke up.
"Boss… this McCarty—you mean the McCarty who's in charge at Tuttosport?"
Barnett neither confirmed nor denied it. He simply turned his head and smiled at the assistant.
"Once I secure this final layer of connections, let's see who still dares lay a finger on Lin's Golden Boy award."
The match continued.
Leo Lin dropped to his knees and slid across the turf in celebration, utterly carefree. Behind him, a whole wave of teammates followed suit, sliding one after another!
Liverpool had turned into a sea of joy. Everyone was clapping frantically, celebrating at the top of their lungs.
On the touchline, Klopp was even more fired up, throwing out his trademark "farmer punches." Every punch he threw was answered by a thunderous roar from the Liverpool supporters!
The clock had ticked into the 91st minute. With barely more than a minute remaining, Chelsea's hopes of equalizing were slimmer than slim.
Conte crouched silently by the sideline, saying nothing. Deep down, he could sense that his own tactical adjustments had once again pushed the team into a worse situation—one of the main reasons so many Chelsea fans had grown dissatisfied with him.
"Since the start of the season, Chelsea's results have consistently failed to satisfy their supporters."
"A match like this, where they led by two goals only to be overturned and killed off by Liverpool, will likely accelerate Conte's dismissal."
"There are reports that Chelsea are already showing strong interest in managers such as Tuchel."
Both teams reset in their own halves. As play resumed, the clock rolled into the 92nd minute.
Leo Lin dropped back fully, committing himself to defense. Chelsea tried to steady the tempo, playing cautiously and methodically.
Once the match reached the 93rd minute, the referee still decided to give Chelsea one last attacking chance.
Azpilicueta sent in a diagonal long ball. Morata failed to connect with his header. Mignolet launched himself forward and smothered the ball—and at last, the referee blew the final whistle!
"The match is over!" Jon Champion shouted, utterly exhilarated.
"Congratulations to Liverpool for grinding out another victory in a heavyweight clash and continuing to lead the Premier League!"
"And congratulations to Leo Lin for completing a league hat-trick! A truly career-defining performance—this match will undoubtedly become a milestone in his journey!"
With the match over, the broadcast camera stayed locked on Leo Lin. There was no doubt about it—he was the Man of the Match.
In front of the cameras, Klopp wrapped an arm around Leo Lin, holding him as if he were his own beloved.
After the game, Klopp even made a point of asking the referee for the official match ball.
Back in the locker room, Leo Lin invited all his teammates to sign it. This would become a priceless keepsake.
At the post-match press conference, the reporters' focus once again zeroed in on Leo Lin.
"Lin, data predictions show you as the top favorite for the Golden Boy award. Does that mean the trophy is already yours?"
"Lin, the Paris Saint-Germain president has said the competition isn't over and that he'll do everything he can to help his players win the Ballon d'Or. Do you feel any pressure from that?"
"Lin, if you do win the European Golden Boy award, will you celebrate properly?"
Faced with this barrage of questions, Lin once again demonstrated his mastery of saying a lot without really saying anything.
"Being ranked first in the Golden Boy predictions doesn't mean much. It's just a website. Maybe I'm only number one because I'm good-looking."
"Nasser wants to do everything he can to help Mbappe? That's great. He's just doing what he should be doing. It has nothing to do with me."
"And honestly, the one who should feel pressured is Barnett. If he doesn't go all out to help me, I'll go complain to his wife."
"If I win the European Golden Boy, I'll probably treat myself to a bowl of authentic Chinese beef noodle soup. Maybe I'll add a serving of Shaxian duck leg rice to celebrate."
Leo Lin understood the principle all too well: the hotter you are, the easier you fall. All he wanted was to cool down the hype surrounding himself a little.
That very night, Barnett flew straight to Tuttosport's headquarters. He had already received word that Paris had also sent people there.
The final battle had begun!
After defeating Chelsea, Leo Lin's total points climbed back to 300, allowing him to draw his next skill.
Before drawing, Leo Lin bowed to heaven, bowed to earth, and bowed to himself. Then he silently recited in his heart:
"I'm willing to trade it all—let that unlucky dog get slapped by my dad once a day forever—just give me a practical skill!"
He closed his eyes, and the familiar expanse of ocean appeared once again in his mind.
Although the other sea, the one representing god-tier skills, was far more tempting, his accumulated points were still far from 3000. He wasn't qualified to draw from it yet.
Once he was ready, Leo Lin gave the command. The ocean began to ripple.
Light slowly rose from the depths—first black and white, then red and blue, and finally a blinding pure white!
It was the first time Leo Lin had ever seen such a dazzling array of colors.
As the light faded, a brand-new skill quietly surfaced above the sea.
"Congratulations, Host. You have successfully drawn: Extraordinary Vision Master Laudrup!"
Leo Lin froze in shock.
Michael Laudrup?
He debuted at Juventus, then went on to shine at Barcelona, winning multiple titles. Later, in a move that stunned the football world, he transferred to Real Madrid and helped them edge past Barcelona to win La Liga.
That alone spoke volumes about Laudrup's sheer ability. On the pitch, he possessed terrifying vision, capable of threading passes that defenders could never anticipate.
Laudrup's Extraordinary Vision Skill:
"Increases the Host's on-field vision by 20%! Increases the prediction success rate for through balls, short passes, and long passes by 20%!"