Chapter 89: The Calm Before the Storm
London, St. Mary's Hospital, ICU.
The air here was colder than that night at the Bernabéu. The heart monitor's monotonous beep—beep—sounded like a countdown, or a verdict.
Lin Yuan lay on the bed, tubes snaking into every part of him.
That earth-shattering fall at the Bernabéu had cost him dearly. The after-effects of the system-forced bio-current surge erupted after the match; the muscles in both legs were dissolving, and his kidneys were screaming from the overload of myoglobin.
But none of that mattered most.
What mattered most was: he had opened his eyes.
When those black irises slowly lifted, Mourinho, who'd been keeping vigil, shot up so fast his coffee splattered across the floor.
'Don't move.' Mourinho pressed down on Lin Yuan's attempt to raise a hand. 'You've been out a full day. The doctors said you looked like you'd just crawled out of a Meat Grinder.'
Lin Yuan blinked, adjusting to the harsh light. His throat was sandpaper; no voice came, only a questioning gaze.
Mourinho read it.
'We went through.' The old coach's voice cracked. He pulled out his phone and held a photo in front of Lin Yuan. 'Look.'
It was the post-match locker room: the entire Chelsea squad holding up Lin Yuan's No. 44 shirt in wild celebration. In the corner, the scoreboard blazed 3-4 (aggregate).
The corner of Lin Yuan's mouth twitched—barely.
Worth it…
Two days later he was moved to a private high-care ward.
His physique—S-rank Savage Physique—left the doctors stunned again. A rhabdomyolysis that would keep a normal athlete on dialysis for a week had its markers normalised within 48 hours. His legs still throbbed, but he could already sit up against the headboard and swear.
'Turn the TV on,' he told Anna, who was peeling an apple.
The screen lit up.
Sky Sports News was rolling the result of the other Champions League semi-final.
Arsenal vs Bayern Munich.
Though Bayern had the edge in the first leg, at the Emirates Stadium the return saw Arsenal overturn the tie with goals from Saka and Martinelli and a midfield masterclass from Rice.
Final line-up set:
Chelsea vs Arsenal.
Venue: Istanbul, Atatürk Olympic Stadium.
A fated London derby, staged at the arena of miracles and tears.
The feed cut to post-match interviews.
Declan Rice, Arsenal's midfield engine, sweat-soaked, eyes fierce, spoke to camera:
'We've heard about Lin. Some say he's badly hurt, might miss the final.'
Rice leaned closer to the mic, voice edged with vengeance:
'But I hope he shows. I don't want an unfair fight. Last time at the Emirates he silenced us. In Istanbul I'll rip that damned mute-button off his mouth myself.'
Lin Yuan watched Rice's war-painted face and gave a cold laugh.
'Want to shut me up?'
He took the apple from Anna, bit hard. 'Then let's see if your teeth are sharp enough.'
Just then the ward door swung open.
'Knew you'd be watching.'
A familiar voice.
Enzo Fernández hobbled in on crutches, right leg still in plaster but looking far better than before.
'What are you doing here?' Lin Yuan frowned. 'Shouldn't you be home healing?'
Enzo eased into a chair, excitement flickering in his eyes.
'Captain, secret.'
He dropped his voice, checked the corridor, then: 'Went for another scan yesterday. Doctors say… they might've misjudged.'
'Misjudged?' Lin Yuan raised an eyebrow.
'Not totally. Ligament's torn, but not snapped. And my recovery's running triple speed… specialists say if these weeks go well, I could be back before the end of May.'
Lin Yuan froze.
End of May—Champions League final.
If true, the broken Blues would regain their brain in Istanbul.
'Don't celebrate yet,' Lin Yuan muttered, relief hidden behind barbs. 'Even if you can walk, you won't start. I don't need a limping liability.'
'Relax.' Enzo clenched a fist, fire of revenge in his eyes. 'If I'm not 100%, I won't set foot on the pitch. I want that trophy too, Lin. I've never won the Champions League.'
Their gazes locked—
The unspoken pact of men who've survived a war together…
After Enzo left the room fell silent.
Lin Yuan closed his eyes and slipped into the system space.
That desperate night at the Bernabéu had ravaged his body—but the rewards were colossal.
[System settlement:]
[Epic battle: Judgement at the Bernabéu – completed.]
[Rating: S. With one good leg you delivered the killer assist in football's most feared fortress.]
[Rewards gained:]
• +30,000 notoriety points (Real Madrid fans' hatred and fear)
• Special item: [Ticket to Istanbul – Body Reset Elixir]
Lin Yuan's stare locked onto the item.
[Item: Body Reset Elixir (one-time use)]
[Effect: Regardless of current damage, repairs all muscle & bone injuries within 48 h, restoring host to 90% match fitness.]
[Side-effect: Drains the future. After use, host enters a three-month off-season weakness with zero training capacity.]
'Three-month weakness…'
He read, a wild grin forming.
Off-season? Who cares about the off-season?
All he cared about was the war ahead.
Beyond the Champions League final, a more urgent mission loomed.
Two Premier League match-days remained.
Chelsea led Manchester City by a single point. Next up—three days away—Chelsea host City at Stamford Bridge.
A true title-decider: win and the League is virtually theirs; lose and the campaign collapses.
Mourinho and the squad assumed Lin Yuan's season was over. Pundits were already asking whether Chelsea could cling to first without him.
'Use it.'
He gave the mental command.
[Item consumed. Body restoration initiated… Estimated completion: 48 h.]
A warm, spring-water current spread through him, wrapping torn fibres and cracked ribs. The tingling almost made him moan.
He opened his eyes to London's overcast sky beyond the window.
A storm was coming.
And he would be its epicentre.
'Wait for me, Guardiola.'
Staring at the ceiling, his gaze turned blade-sharp.
'Thought you'd finish me while I'm down? Too bad—hell won't have me.'
'Three days, Stamford Bridge. I've got a big surprise waiting for you.'
----------
Check Out P atreon For More Chapters:
P atreon.com/AnonymousWriter6