0056 I, Lanna, Am Number One in the World (Seeking Monthly Votes, Seeking Bookmarks)

York.

This is the domestic town favored by more than ninety percent of British people.

The House of Trembling Madness is a pub housed within a Tudor-style building, its walls draped with animal pelts, though they never pause to ponder the ethics of wildlife conservation.

"Yeah!!!"

"Hail Deyang!!!"

"Drinks for everyone, on my tab!"

With such a declaration, the pub erupted once again into a chorus of uproarious cheers.

The Hand of God—that phrase had inflicted endless anguish upon the British people.

It was only in the context of the historical circumstances of the time that Maradona became a deity to Argentina.

To suffer such a humiliating blow immediately after the Falklands War transcended mere rivalries on the football pitch.

Seeing Maradona lose a match brought them more joy than watching the England national team win.

Manchester.

Ferguson watched a live broadcast of a Sampdoria match for the first time.

He had to admit that Italian football was considerably ahead of Britain in terms of tactics, and the individual skill levels of the players were entirely superior.

By this time, any thoughts of signing players from Sampdoria had vanished from his mind.

A mediocre league standard, wretched weather, and wages that offered no advantage—a player would have to be out of his mind to leave the world's premier league to play in the English Second Division.

Yet, Lu Deyang's performance on the flank reinforced his determination to establish a twin-wing attacking system at Manchester United; it mattered little if a player's individual ability was slightly lacking, for two players could always deliver a cumulative pressure greater than one plus one to the opponent.

……

Lanna dashed toward Lu Deyang at the very first moment.

The assist for this goal had arrived so swiftly that he found it somewhat difficult to process.

Currently, the player with the most assists in Serie A was Gianfranco Zola, with seven.

Ever since Lanna began operating behind Lu Deyang, he had already accumulated five assists.

If this continued, contending for the assist title by the end of the season was by no means an unrealistic dream.

"The Genoa Spin!"

"The Genoa Spin!"

"The Genoa Spin!"

The away supporters' stand cheered loudly, the Englishmen rejoicing even more than the Sampdoria fans.

There were also some Germans joining in the celebration regardless of which side scored, completely devoid of any partisan alignment.

Even the air itself was suffused with the scent of freedom.

Maradona gazed at Lu Deyang's retreating figure, seething with bitter reluctance.

Yet he had to concede that this goal was truly formidable.

From judging the trajectory of the ball to the subsequent control, culminating in the final shot, there was not a single flaw, nor did it afford his teammates any opportunity for an interception.

A goal of this caliber could not be blamed on the defensive players.

Possessing supreme technical mastery himself, he understood all too well that that split second was the precise divide separating a super player from an ordinary one; Baroni might have appeared to be defending with all his might, but in reality, he never stood a chance.

Damn it, this fellow was rather formidable.

However, he, Diego Armando Maradona Franco, was not one to yield so easily.

"Kick off, Diego," Careca called out.

Maradona trotted back to the center circle with his arms swinging at his sides.

Careca received the ball and immediately laid it off square, Carnevale passed it back, and Maradona, without dwelling on the ball, turned and played it to Alemão.

Compared to Careca and Maradona, Alemão cut a less conspicuous figure.

Nevertheless, as a Brazilian defensive midfielder, he possessed a commendable ability to tidy up ugly plays and could swiftly supply ammunition to Maradona and his enforcers.

Once Vialli and Salsano surged forward, Alemão and Luca Fusi engaged in a series of short, probing passes in the backfield.

Following several consecutive passes, Alemão suddenly lifted his foot and launched the ball toward the left flank, picking out De Napoli directly.

Pari sprinted over to defend, and in his panic, De Napoli executed an immediate short pass upon turning.

There were two players surrounding Maradona!

Seeing this, Careca bolted forward, trusting that Maradona would find a way to secure the ball.

Dosena stretched out a foot but failed to trap it, allowing Maradona to deftly nudge the ball past him with his left foot, gliding past Carezo with exquisite lightness.

As his speed picked up, his body weight began to shift in a continuous sway; Dosena, tracking back and looking for a chance to stick out a leg, was left behind the moment he made his challenge.

Stride frequency—Maradona's stride frequency was extraordinary.

"Step up!" Vierchowod commanded.

Pellegrini rushed forward to execute a sandwich trap.

There was only a narrow gap between him and Carezo, but Maradona swayed left and right, nimbly evading both players before poking the ball forward with his right foot. With a nutmeg-style run, he bypassed Vierchowod's sliding tackle and ultimately fired a shot right in front of Mannini, only for it to be blocked by Pagliuca.

Boskov breathed a sigh of relief.

These superstars were truly bloody unreasonable; they would receive the ball amidst a crowd of players, charge straight into the penalty area, and somehow pull it off.

Fortunately, after a long-distance run, the body required a moment of adjustment, and under intense pressure, he was unable to unleash a shot of overwhelming power; otherwise, that ball would have ended up in the back of the net.

Lu Deyang, who had tracked back into his own half, could not help but shake his head.

He remained formidable.

The name Maradona signified everything.

Despite Sampdoria deploying numerous players to mark him out of the game today, he had still managed to carve out several long-distance surges.

The defenders of this era were all bloody fond of showing their studs when tackling, and anyone who managed to endure it was far from ordinary.

The crucial point was that this fellow also possessed a mean tackle, having attempted to chop down King Lu on several occasions today.

As a number ten, Maradona's stamina was considerably more robust than that of an ordinary attacking midfielder.

Maradona's frantic spell of attacking pressure during this period compelled Lu Deyang to drop back and assist his teammates in defense.

Though Napoli was very much Maradona's team, his comrades were no slouches either; his supporting cast boasted the caliber of national team regulars, with De Napoli serving as one of Napoli's rare Italian starters, and Massimo Crippa being a man capable of contending with Dino Baggio and Demetrio Albertini.

It was simply that they appeared somewhat disheveled when confronted with King Lu.

As Maradona unleashed a venting, long-range effort that sailed into the stands, the referee blew the halftime whistle.

"Deyang, shall we call the team doctor?"

Boskov hurried over at once, squatting down by Lu Deyang's feet to discover that his socks were faintly seeping blood.

Socks being white served the same purpose as medical gauze being white—it made detecting bleeding effortless.

"I'm quite alright, Coach," Lu Deyang said with a smile.

He had managed to evade most of the vicious tackles, suffering only a couple of grazes from studs.

"That's good then. Head down to the locker room later for a proper check. Winning or losing a single match is of little consequence; the important thing is to avoid injury," Boskov said, wrapping an arm around Lu Deyang's shoulder.

Lu Deyang nodded.

With the skills he had pilfered from that curly-haired fellow, sustaining an injury was genuinely no easy feat.

That fellow Cristiano Ronaldo was built like a tank.

Up in the stands, Bobby Charlton was applauding. The miracle-surviving Red Devils captain was thoroughly satisfied with the match; the scoreline revealed little on its own, but the contest between the two sides, ranging from tactics to the individual brilliance of the superstars, was exceptionally thrilling.

"I need to take a piss, Dad," George Best said, rising to his feet.

"Don't go buying booze at the stadium shop," Charlton cautioned.

"Understood, Dad!"

Best waved his hand dismissively, yet he deeply appreciated the old captain's concern.

He had bedded countless women, including four Miss Worlds, but those superficial females were all drawn to his flesh, fame, and fortune—not a single one genuinely cared about him.

A genius, too, could experience loneliness.

That woman Eva had even slapped him with a lawsuit after he called off their wedding.

Witnessing the clash on the pitch today stirred something within Best.

If he had exercised a shred more discipline, he surely would have left behind even more magnificent goals, wouldn't he?

A wave of regret stirred a craving for a drink, and Best subconsciously drifted toward the stadium's beverage stall.

……

"Pari, excellent; Lanna, splendid!"

Inside the away locker room, Boskov tapped the tactical board and declared, "You have successfully mastered the essence of the game, which is simply getting the ball to our best player. Do not feel that there is any shame in this; every era produces geniuses who surpass all others, and playing supporting roles for a genius is an honor.

To see oneself clearly is also a virtue. The atomic bomb manufactured by the Americans changed the world considerably, didn't it? Yet the person who invented the atomic bomb also required someone to cook his meals, and cooking meals required someone to provide the ingredients. Regardless of society or a football team, there exists a division of labor."

"Roberto would die of jealousy if he heard that," Vialli muttered under his breath.

He conceded that Lu Deyang was absurdly formidable, but Mancini's temperament meant he would undoubtedly fret and sulk.

"Vialli, you need to make more off-the-ball runs to create space and cover for Deyang," Boskov said the moment he caught the remark.

"Understood, Boss!" Vialli replied with a comical grimace.

Boskov could not help but chuckle; the lad Gianluca was always so endearing.

"Very well, rest yourselves for a moment. The second half will not be easy."

The atmosphere within the dressing room was relatively relaxed.

Before the match, the media had whipped up a frenzy over the importance of this fixture, but after forty-five minutes, the state of play was quite encouraging; it would not prove overly difficult for the team to secure victory.

Not long after the second half got underway, the ball boy by the touchline stubbornly held onto the ball and refused to hand it over.

The referee smiled wryly as he walked over to persuade him, and only then did the little fellow toss the ball to Dosena.

Dosena immediately hurled it back to the defensive third.

Maradona charged forward once again to press the opposition.

The brief halftime respite had failed to restore much of his stamina, yet he continued to fight tooth and nail, driven purely by an aversion to defeat.

Mannini's attention was entirely focused on Maradona, causing him to overlook Careca lurking on his flank, allowing the opponent to successfully hook the ball away.

Careca received the ball and immediately played it square; Carnevale received it with his back to goal and attempted a direct return pass to find Maradona, but the delivery was too telegraphed, and Vierchowod stretched out a leg to block it.

Carnevale sought to contest the rebound, but Vierchowod used his body to skillfully shield him off, calmly surveying the field before launching the ball out to the flank.

"Brilliant!!!"

Napoli's defensive line had pushed up far too high.

Marco Lanna chased after the ball with all his might.

His pace was brisk, and the Napoli players tracking back could only manage to keep up with him at best, finding no opportunity to challenge for the ball.

Shortly after crossing the halfway line, Crippa could no longer keep stride.

Baroni rushed forward at the first opportunity.

As for Lu Deyang, who was nearby? Let whoever fancied marking him do so; he certainly couldn't stop him anyway. Better to nip Sampdoria's attack in the bud at its source; without possession of the ball, Lu Deyang could accomplish nothing.

Drifting wide?

Realizing Lanna was unable to cut inside, Lu Deyang sprinted directly into the penalty area.

Seeing this, Vialli vacated his central position and drifted out to the right wing.

Reaching the byline, Lanna clipped the ball with his left foot, delivering an inviting cross.

The height of the delivery wasn't quite ideal, and the moment he crossed it, Lanna felt certain it was wasted.

Yet in the very next second, he watched as Lu Deyang surged forward, suspended himself mid-air, and met the ball with a pristine left-footed volley, steering it straight into the back of the net.

Six assists now!

The summit of the assist chart was within touching distance!

Lanna suddenly realized that he might just be considerably better than he had previously imagined.