There were no rousing speeches in the locker room, only the hurried footsteps of the team doctors and the crisp sound of ice packs being torn open.
As the second half began, the sky over Wembley seemed like it was about to collapse. The rain suddenly intensified, the droplets so dense they looked like a barrage falling from the sky, creating a roaring noise as they hammered against the roof.
This kind of weather was a graveyard for technical players and a paradise for the Meat Grinder.
In the 55th minute, Chelsea had a perfect chance for a counterattack. Sterling used his pace to overpower Konaté on the wing, but the moment he went to cross, the turf beneath him slipped due to the standing water. He couldn't get any lift on the ball, and it rolled directly out for a goal kick.
Sterling pounded the ground in frustration, splashing mud everywhere.
Lin Yuan didn't blame him. Standing in the center circle, he wiped the rainwater from his face, his vision somewhat blurred. The Vaseline on his brow had mostly been washed away by the rain, and his wound throbbed in the cold wind.
But he couldn't worry about that, because Liverpool's offensive was surging forward like a tide.
Klopp had clearly lost his temper in the locker room. The speed of every Liverpool pass had gone up a notch; they no longer sought to tangle with Lin Yuan in the middle, instead frantically attacking the flanks and creating chaos through frequent crosses.
Lin Yuan had to act like a firefighter, patching holes on the left and defending on the right.
In the 65th minute, crisis struck.
Liverpool midfielder Wataru Endō lost his balance while landing after a header, and his elbow unintentionally slammed hard into Enzo's shoulder.
A shrill cry of pain pierced through the sound of the pouring rain.
Enzo fell to the ground in agony, clutching his collarbone, his whole body curled up like a boiled shrimp.
Lin Yuan was the first to rush over. He shoved aside Wataru Endō, who was trying to explain, and knelt down to check on his teammate. Enzo's face was as pale as paper, his lips trembling violently, and tears mingled with the rainwater flowing down his face.
"It's broken... I think it's broken..." Enzo said with a sob.
The team doctor entered the pitch and, after only ten seconds of examination, made the cruel "substitution" gesture toward the sidelines and pointed for a stretcher.
Mourinho kicked a water bottle away fiercely on the touchline.
Enzo was the only metronome in Chelsea's midfield, the lubricant between him and Lin Yuan. Without him, Lin Yuan would become an island.
Gallagher came on as a substitute.
Watching Enzo being carried away on the stretcher, Lin Yuan slowly stood up. His gaze swept across Liverpool's half, a dark, murderous aura swirling in the depths of his eyes.
"Since we're out of playmakers," Lin Yuan muttered to himself, "then we'll just have to defend to the death."
The next twenty minutes were the darkest moments of Chelsea's season.
Losing Enzo's distribution, Chelsea completely lost possession. Liverpool formed a siege.
Gallagher worked hard, but he was running around like a headless chicken. Caicedo was already on a yellow card, making his movements hesitant and cautious.
All the pressure converged on Lin Yuan alone.
In the 72nd minute, Mac Allister fired a long-range shot which Lin Yuan blocked with his chest.
In the 75th minute, Van Dijk headed toward goal, and Lin Yuan cleared it off the line with a bicycle kick.
In the 78th minute, Dias cut inside, and Lin Yuan used his body to block him at the edge of the penalty area. His thigh was severely scraped by studs; his sock tore instantly, and blood seeped through.
He was like a reef by the sea, standing firm no matter how the waves crashed against him.
In the commentary booth, Neville's voice was full of respect: "This is simply incredible. Chelsea's midfield is paralyzed, and now it's all resting on that number 44. He's doing the work of three men by himself!"
However, the human body is not made of steel after all.
Even with the system's assistance and S-rank stamina, his muscle fibers were reaching their limit under the high-intensity sprints and constant collisions.
The 80th minute.
Liverpool launched a lightning-fast counterattack. Salah received the ball on the right with open space ahead.
Chelsea's left-back Chilwell had pushed up to support the attack and couldn't get back in time.
The only hope for cover was Lin Yuan, who was still near the center circle.
"Track back!!!" Mourinho roared from the sidelines.
Lin Yuan didn't hesitate for a second. He gritted his teeth, exploding with every last bit of energy remaining in his body. His legs hammered the ground like pile drivers, sending muddy water flying.
Closer.
Even closer.
Just as he was about to catch up to Salah and prepare for a tackle—
*Snap.*
A clear snapping sound came not from the outside, but from the back of his right thigh.
The sound was slight, but in Lin Yuan's mind, it was like a clap of thunder. Immediately after, a searing, burning pain traveled through his nerves and spread across his entire body, as if someone had plunged a red-hot dagger into his muscle.
Lin Yuan's body stiffened abruptly, and his previously fluid running motion instantly distorted.
But he didn't stop.
Inertia carried him forward, and using the last of his momentum, he forced himself to lunge just as his movement broke down.
A slide tackle!
But it was no longer a standard slide tackle; it was more like a desperate fall.
Fortunately, the tip of his boot just barely touched the ball. The ball changed direction, Salah kicked air, and was subsequently tripped by Lin Yuan.
The referee blew the whistle. Foul. Yellow card.
Since he wasn't the last defender (the center-backs were still there), there was no red card.
Salah scrambled up, wanting to take a quick free kick, only to find that the big guy who had just tackled him hadn't gotten up.
Lin Yuan lay prone on the cold, wet turf, his face buried in the crook of his arm, his entire body twitching violently.
It was a muscle tear. And not a minor strain, but the kind of tear that would cause a normal person to go into shock on the spot.
[Warning! Warning!]
The red system pop-up flashed frantically before his eyes.
[Detected: Grade 2 Hamstring Tear in Host's right leg!]
[Current Status: Mobility decreased by 80%, severe pain.]
[System Recommendation: Leave the field for immediate treatment. If you force yourself to continue the match, the injury will worsen to a Grade 3 tear (rupture), and 5 points will be deducted from your physical attributes (permanent).]
Lin Yuan gasped for air. With every breath, his lungs felt like they were on fire, and the pain in the back of his thigh made his vision go dark.
The team doctor rushed up again.
"A tear?" The experienced doctor only had to touch the muscle, which was as stiff as iron, for his expression to change. "No way, you have to come off. This muscle is as hard as a rock; if you run any more, it'll snap completely!"
On the touchline, Mourinho had already turned to the bench, preparing to call up Chalobah.
Lin Yuan looked up, his face covered in mud and cold sweat.
He glanced at the big screen.
82nd minute. 0-0.
Eight minutes left. There might even be 30 minutes of extra time.
If he went off now and the young Chalobah came on, Chelsea's defensive line wouldn't last five minutes against a bloodthirsty Liverpool.
This trophy was the first step for Mourinho to return to the top.
It was also the first step for Lin Yuan to go from a "villain" to a "king."
"No."
Lin Yuan's voice was hoarse but exceptionally firm.
The doctor was stunned. "What did you say? Lin, this is a muscle tear! You'll ruin your career!"
Lin Yuan grabbed the doctor's wrist with terrifying strength. His eyes held a near-manic obsession.
"Give me a pain-killing injection. Or something else. Painkillers, anything."
"It's not a matter of pain! Your muscle can't take it!"
"I said, I'm not coming off!" Lin Yuan roared.
He pushed the doctor away and tried to stand up.
The moment he put weight on his right leg, the intense pain almost made him kneel again.
[System.] Lin Yuan called out in his mind.
[Since you can block pain, then turn it up to the maximum. As for the attribute deduction... I don't give a damn.]
[Do you wish to consume 5,000 notoriety points to activate 'Complete Pain Suppression Mode'? Warning: Physical damage in this mode is irreversible, and the pain will rebound doubly after the match.]
[Activate!]
The next second, an icy current swept through his body.
The searing pain miraculously vanished. In its place was a strange numbness. Lin Yuan felt as if his right leg was no longer made of flesh, but was a wooden post with no sensation.
Though it was a bit stiff to control, he could stand.
He stood up straight and pushed away his teammates who were trying to support him.
Mourinho's hand, holding the substitution board, froze in mid-air. He looked at Lin Yuan.
Lin Yuan shook his head at Mourinho and then pounded his chest twice with his fist.
The meaning was: I'm not dead yet.
Mourinho's eyes reddened. He slowly lowered the substitution board.
"Madman," Mourinho cursed softly, his voice a bit choked. "He's a real madman."
Lin Yuan turned around and limped back toward the penalty area.
Van Dijk watched his opponent stand back up, his eyes filled with complex emotions. As a professional player, he could tell how serious that tear was. A normal person should be in an ambulance by now.
"Is it worth it for just a League Cup?" Van Dijk asked in a low voice as he passed Lin Yuan.
Lin Yuan turned his head, a ferocious smile appearing on his face, which was covered in blood and mud.
"You don't understand."
"This is war."
The next ten minutes, plus stoppage time, were a brutal experiment of human willpower.
Lin Yuan could no longer run.
But he still stood in the most critical position at the edge of the box. He used his experience to anticipate every pass and used that 'ruined' leg to block shots.
In the 89th minute, Gakpo had a shot from close range.
Lin Yuan didn't dodge; he took it directly with his body.
*Thump!*
The ball slammed into his ribs.
In a normal state, this would have been very painful. But now he felt nothing, his body only swaying from the impact.
The referee finally blew the whistle for the end of regulation time.
0-0.
The two sides would go into 30 minutes of extra time.
The Chelsea players collapsed onto the grass. Only Lin Yuan remained standing. He didn't dare sit down, because he knew that once he did, he might never be able to stand up on that leg again.
The rain continued to fall.
Lin Yuan stood in the downpour like a battered statue of a god of war. His physical attributes were draining away point by point in the countdown, but the fire in his eyes was more intense than ever.
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