Lisbon, Estádio da Luz.
The home of Benfica.
This is a steel beast capable of holding 65,000 people. At this moment, the stands are a sea of red, with massive waves of sound crashing against the center of the pitch like a tsunami.
The scoreboard displays a glaring score: Benfica 2: 0 Boavista.
The match has reached the 65th minute.
The visiting team, Boavista, is being completely crushed. Benfica's midfield prodigy, hailed as the "Rui Costa II," Thiago Silva, is strolling through Boavista's defense as if it were his own backyard, leaving it riddled with holes.
On the substitutes' bench.
Lin Yuan sits quietly, arms folded across his chest.
The surrounding substitutes all look dejected; some even shrink their necks in fear as debris is thrown down from the stands.
But Lin Yuan does not.
His pupils are slightly constricted, and his muscles are in a strange state of excitement.
This noise, created by tens of thousands of people and filled with hostility and pressure, actually makes him feel... excited?
"Lin!"
A sharp shout interrupts his thoughts.
Head coach Petit stands by the touchline, his shirt soaked with sweat. He turns back and points at Lin Yuan, his face grim.
"Go warm up! I'm giving you two minutes!"
Without a word, Lin Yuan pulls off his jacket, revealing the black jersey with number 16 printed on it, and rushes to the warm-up area... "Boavista requests a substitution."
"Taking off number 14, the defensive midfielder, and bringing on number 16... Lin Yuan?"
In the commentary box, the Benfica commentator looks at the list, his tone tinged with confusion and contempt.
"Has coach Petit gone mad? Bringing on a Chinese player who has never appeared in a professional League at a time like this? Does he want to give up on the match? Or is he trying to humiliate us by suggesting he doesn't even need his regular squad?"
The Benfica fans in the stands erupt in deafening boos.
These boos aren't directed at Lin Yuan personally, but at Boavista's seemingly "surrendering" substitution.
"Get off! Go back to your own country!"
"This is the Primeira Liga, not a circus!"
Coins and paper cups rain down near the track.
Petit grabs Lin Yuan as he prepares to enter the pitch, his hands gripping his shoulders tightly, his eyes as fierce as if he wanted to devour someone.
"Listen, kid. I don't expect you to score, and I don't expect you to organize the attack."
Petit points to the Benfica number 10 in the distance, who is wearing the captain's armband with a relaxed expression—Thiago Silva.
"See that pretty boy? He's having a very comfortable day, too comfortable."
"I want you to ruin him. Make him afraid, make it so he can't receive the ball, make him regret putting on his boots today! Do you understand?"
Lin Yuan looks at the prodigy in the pristine jersey with his hair perfectly in place, and his lips curl into a grin.
"Understood. I'll make him go home crying."
The fourth official holds up the board.
Lin Yuan enters the pitch.
[Ding!]
[Detected host's first appearance on a top-tier League pitch!]
[Environment check: Extremely hostile (Estádio da Luz)]
[System module update: Reputation Shop (Notoriety Version) opened!]
[Current mechanism: Every boo and insult directed at the host on-site will be converted into 'notoriety points' in real-time. notoriety points can be used to exchange for attribute points or temporary statuses!]
[Current notoriety point gains: +99...+120...+88... (continuously growing)]
Lin Yuan takes a deep breath.
The air is thick with the smell of flares and turf.
In his ears, those overwhelming boos are no longer noise, but the crisp sound of gold coins falling into his pocket.
"How pleasant..." he murmurs to himself... the match continues.
Benfica attacks.
Thiago Silva takes the ball in the center circle. He has just bypassed Boavista's attacking midfielder with a beautiful Marseille Turn, drawing cheers from the stands.
He looks up at the defensive zone in front of him.
A new face.
An Asian? His physique is decent, but this positioning... it's too amateur.
A hint of contempt appears at the corner of Thiago's mouth. He lightly flicks the ball with his toe, preparing to beat this rookie with speed and then enjoy the fans' applause.
He starts.
Fast as lightning.
At the very moment he is about to brush past Lin Yuan's side.
He doesn't see the cold light in Lin Yuan's eyes.
Lin Yuan doesn't retreat, nor does he try to steal the ball.
Utilizing the instantaneous explosive power granted by [Savage Physique], he is like a cannonball fired from its barrel, launching a lateral interception!
If you can't keep up with the ball, then take out the man!
"BAM!!!"
A sickening thud is transmitted across the world via the pitch-side microphones.
The 60,000 people at the Estádio da Luz seem to have their throats grabbed simultaneously; the cheers stop abruptly.
The elegant Benfica number 10 is seen flying two meters through the air like a leaf caught in a gale, before slamming heavily onto the turf and even sliding some distance across the ground.
Meanwhile, number 16 stands firmly in place, like a crash barrier that has just stopped a sports car.
"TWEEET!!!"
The referee's whistle blows sharply as he runs over, reaching into his pocket.
Players from both sides immediately swarm in. Benfica players, eyes red with anger, push and shove Lin Yuan, wanting to stand up for their captain.
"Are you crazy! That was murder!"
"Bastard! You're going to ruin him!"
Lin Yuan stumbles slightly from the push, but he doesn't back down. Instead, he puffs out his chest, facing the circle of three opponents with a heart-chilling indifference on his face.
"Football is a man's sport. Afraid of pain? Then go do ballet."
The referee rushes in, separates the crowd, and shows Lin Yuan a yellow card.
A yellow card.
Because it was a lateral collision and he had pulled his feet back (though it was mainly a body check), the referee showed some leniency and didn't give a red card.
Lin Yuan shrugs indifferently, not even glancing at Thiago on the ground, and turns to walk back to his defensive position.
At this moment, the fans in the stands finally react.
It is no longer contemptuous booing, but roars of pure fury!
"Kill that number 16!"
"Butcher! Dirty bastard!"
[Ding! notoriety points +1,000!]
[Ding! notoriety points +2,000!]
Listening to the numbers skyrocketing in his ears, Lin Yuan sticks out his tongue and licks his somewhat dry lips.
He looks at Thiago, who has just scrambled up with a look of terror and a hole in his sock, and silently mouths a message:
"If you take the ball again, it'll hurt even more next time."
In that moment, Benfica's prodigal number 10 felt a chill on the pitch for the first time.