Reborn in Football to Build Top Clubs from English League Two

72: Unexpected bumps in the leagueAt Edgeley Park in Stockport County, the final whistle blew sharply, like a needle piercing the illusions of all Hartlepool fans.

The numbers on the scoreboard were coldly fixed at 2-0.

The Hartlepool United players, like a group of defeated roosters soaked in rain, hung their heads and dragged their leaden legs into the away team’s changing room.

In the changing room.

The players silently took off their jerseys, soaked with sweat and rain. The jerseys stuck to their bodies, carrying the heavy weight of defeat.

No one spoke; the air was filled only with heavy breathing and the dripping sound of a faucet, mixed with the earthy smell of mud and the sour odor of sweat.

The door creaked open, and Lin Feng walked in.

He didn’t go to Old John for an update as usual, nor did he even glance at Old John. Instead, he walked directly to the center of the changing room and scanned the downcast faces.

His gaze was cold, colder than the icy rain of March outside the window, carrying a suffocating sense of oppression.

He stood there without saying a word.

The oppressive silence became even more terrifying, making every breath difficult.

”Who can tell me what you were playing in the second half?”

Lin Feng’s voice was soft, yet it was like a cold stone hitting a still surface, stirring up a chill.

No one dared to look up. No one dared to meet his icy gaze.

”Did you think that just because you’re promoted, you can stroll around on the field?” He paced in front of Vardy, who was tightly covering his face with a towel, trying to avoid that gaze.

”Jamie.”

Vardy stiffened, slowly removing the towel. His face still had the flush of the game, but now it turned pale with shame.

”How many sprints did you make in the second half? Where’s your speed? Did you leave it at the bar last night?”

Vardy’s face instantly turned crimson, his lips moved, wanting to retort, wanting to explain, but he couldn’t utter a single word. He knew Lin Feng was telling the truth; he had indeed been a bit lax.

Lin Feng didn’t look at him again and walked towards young Smalling.

”Chris, that conceded goal, the opposing striker was dancing on your head. Were you buying a ticket to be a spectator? Is your height just for decoration?”

Smalling’s head sank even lower, almost retracting into his jersey. He felt an unprecedented humiliation, but he couldn’t argue, because that header was indeed his responsibility.

”And all of you!” Lin Feng’s gaze swept over the other players. Although his voice wasn’t loud, it carried an undeniable authority, ”Jordan, where was your running coverage? Gylfi, where was your organization and long-range shots? Adam, where were your wing breakthroughs? Where did you all leave them?”

The players all hung their heads; no one dared to make a sound. Each of them could recall the mistakes that shouldn’t have happened during the game, those moments of insufficient focus.

”If you go to Wembley with this kind of form today,” Lin Feng’s tone suddenly became incredibly stern, his voice not loud but carrying a soul-piercing sense of oppression, ”I guarantee you, you will only become the perfect backdrop when Bristol Rovers lifts the trophy! By then, television viewers across the country will see how Hartlepool United, like a group of amateur players, handed over the championship!”

His words were like a sharp scalpel, precisely cutting open the players’ last bit of self-esteem, leaving them nowhere to hide.

”This defeat is the best wake-up call!” Lin Feng’s voice echoed in the small changing room, ”Either be woken up by this slap, or sink at Wembley with your ridiculous pride! Choose for yourselves!”

After Lin Feng finished speaking, he turned and left without another word.

Old John finally couldn’t help but step forward and open his mouth: ”Boss, it’s my fault...”

”Shut up!” Lin Feng interrupted him coldly without looking back, ”Of course you’re wrong, but right now, let them think it over themselves!”

The door was gently closed, and Lin Feng’s figure disappeared, but that cold sense of oppression still enveloped the entire changing room.