Twelve black Land Rovers crushed the final peace of the Starfires when the morning mist filled the smell of diesel into the training ground.
Lin Xia was modifying the headball trainer with scaffolding steel pipes when Su Qing suddenly tore off the acetylene welding gun in his hand. The flame birthmark between the necks of the female team doctors was extinguished in the fog: "The vulture of the city hall is here, with checks and nooses."
When Zhao Mingyuan's crocodile shoes stepped into the quagmire, the whole team was eating a pot of lean meat porridge mixed with pain relief powder. There was a gold-plated badge on the lapel of his suit - the sponsor logo that Lin Xia was forced to wear in the national team seven years ago.
"I'm very touched." Zhao Mingyuan's clapping rhythm is like a stopwatch counting the dead. "The real sportsmanship should be..." He kicked the rusty trophy box, "This kind of post-industrial installation art."
The contract presented by the chief financial officer stretched in the morning dew, and the terms meandered into a poisonous snake on the copperplate paper:
**Article 4.3: Party B needs to ensure that the last position of the C League at the end of the season**
**Article 7.8: The ownership of the youth training base shall be transferred to Xingyao Sports after successful capital injection**
The old goalkeeper Zhou Tieshan's dentures fell into the porridge pot. The man who once saved Messi's penalty can't hold an A4 paper at this moment. His ulcerated fingertips were bleeding on the word "downgrade": "This is to suck our last bone to make soup!"
Chen Mo suddenly got up and knocked over the bench. The legguard of the young genius slipped down, revealing the corner trajectory map calculated by calculus formula. When Zhao Mingyuan picked up the drawing, the lens reflected the cold light of the carnivores: "What a pity, such a brain should have solved the partial differential equation in Ivy."
"We refuse." Lin Xia's voice shocked the crows perched in the stands.
Zhao Mingyuan opened the sandalwood fan with a smile, and twenty Premier League club badges lined up on the fan bones. Coach Lin, gamblers should best understand the reason for leaving the field at the right time. The fan tip swept over Zhang Ye's empty wine bottle, Zhou Tieshan's pus-flowing knee joint, and Chen Mo's white-washed pirated sneakers. "After all, you were seven years ago..."
Su Qing's acupuncture bag brushed Zhao Mingyuan's earlobe and flew over, and thirteen silver needles pinned a perfect question mark array on the contract. The female team doctor tore off the turtleneck sportswear, and the flame birthmark was like a furious morning glow: "Go back and tell the master that we don't have to wait for the rain to burn the bridge."
The negotiation ended in the siren of the ambulance - Chen Mo disappeared.
When Lin Xia found the teenager in the locker room, he was curled up in Zhang Ye's wardrobe. The nails covered with cement powder are pinching the mobile phone screen, on which is a surveillance screenshot of the Blue Waves goalkeeper receiving gambling money. They want me to play a fake ball." Chen Mo put his forehead on Lin Xia's metal knee, "I said that as long as I lose three balls, I will pay my mother's dialysis fee."
Zhang Ye suddenly kicked the door in. The always drunk striker's eyes were quenched at this moment. He tore off his jersey to reveal the ferocious scar on his abdomen: "They looked for me like this last year." He pressed Chen Mo's hand on the bulging digital code of the scar. "Look clearly, this is the mark they put on disobedient animals."
When the sun was setting, Lin Xia burned the contract by the incinerator. The anti-counterfeiting watermark emerging in the ashes is made into an eye pattern, which is the same as the logo on the audience of the strange World Cup qualifier seven years ago.