football king

When Mordred skinned, he was real skin, but when he really wanted to comfort people, he also touched people's hearts very much. Anyway, these two lives were not in vain.

Mordred directly stretched out his hand to hold him in his arms, patting him on the back like coaxing a child, regardless of the fact that the shirt with Caixiang on his body was wet with tears, and comforted him in a light voice: "Life, It’s not easy. We are also exhausted as players, with boring training every day, living a three-point and one-line life, without any privacy at all, and we will be picked out at any time.”

"We are human beings, and we get tired. But life is our choice. If you really don't want to do this job, you don't have to. Bow your head."

He didn't talk about those fake chicken soup for the soul, but a very simple truth.

The reporter who was crying in his arms slowly raised his head and looked at Mordred with a blushing face. He, an adult, was crying like that in front of a newly grown child, and he was crying in other people's arms, which really made this The reporter felt a little embarrassed.

But Mordred didn't urge him, but watched him silently with a smile on his lips, as if he could stay here for as long as he wanted, making the reporter think that he was like someone in a fairy tale.

However, after venting the pain in his heart, the reporter returned to his usual calmness. He lowered his head and said to Mordred with a wry smile, "I'm sorry, I let you listen to so much nagging at this late hour. You are actually a good person."

Mordred, who received a good person card inexplicably, looked confused, "Huh? Is this a good person?"

The reporter replied with a serious face: "Of course, if you are not a good person, you will not let me in, and even poured me a cup of milk tea, but you should raise your awareness of prevention, and don't have too much sympathy for tabloid reporters. Acting, they can even go into battle in order to have something to report, telling various stories to extract information from you."

Are you calling me scolding myself?Mordred didn't know what expression to make, but he was really kind, "I will pay attention, thank you, you are actually a good person, if you didn't expose my ascetic monk incident, maybe we can still Be friends."

Mordred shrugged his shoulders, and the tenderness in his eyes just now disappeared, replaced by a kind of liveliness unique to a teenager.

The reporter who returned to normal made Xizi hold his heart, "I thought we were friends after the conversation just now. I almost told you what color my underwear is wearing just now."

Mordred raised his eyebrows, "Well, how about we are friends from today on?" The reporter was stunned by that kind of understatement, and he looked at Mordred without blinking, and found that he There was no contempt in those blue eyes, he had thought about it seriously.

The reporter couldn't believe it, "Are you serious? I'm a tabloid reporter. If you say anything to me, I will expose it to you at any time."

Mordred: "Hahaha, of course I'm serious. Thinking about it carefully, I really don't have any newspaper friends yet, so how about you being the first one?"

This is the gentleness that only belongs to Mordred. You can clearly feel that the heart full of cracks has been spliced ​​by his few words. The reporter thought to himself, the other party is like this, how can I live up to the other party's heart? "Hello my friend, let's get to know each other again. My name is Lucien Burns, and I'm an independent reporter who does nothing."

Looking at the hand extended by the other party, Mordred reached out and touched his chin, "Is it so formal? It really scared me." Having said that, Mordred held it without hesitation.

"My name is Melis Mordred, a central midfielder who is...still figuring it out."

"In the future, if you have any dissatisfaction with Real Madrid, or if you want to increase the price of a transfer or raise your salary, you can tell me. I am a man who can blow the light of rice grains into the brightness of a bright moon." Lucien patted his chest and packed the package. ticket.

Mordred laughed twice, "I hope this will never happen."

No matter how the descendants guessed, they didn't expect that the boss of the largest self-media company in the future would meet and get along with his best friend for the first time, and it turned out to be like this.

Later, Lucien also published a book, which specifically talked about the interesting things when they met, but it was all a funeral.

After seeing off his friend, Mordred looked at the mess on the table, and finally decided to let the hourly worker clean up everything. Back in the bedroom, Mordred collapsed directly on the bed, slowly drowsiness enveloped him.

"Meris Mordred! Merris Mordred!" With the shouts of the fans, Mordred kicked the goal, and the ball slid a beautiful arc in the sky. Mordred He ran over to the fans with open arms, with a big smile on his face, even if he was compared with the sun, he didn't lose the wind in the slightest.

But slowly Mordred discovered something was wrong. The jerseys worn by the fans should not be black and white, but pure white. Why?Why do you think so?Isn't black and white the belief he strives for?No...it should be pure white.

Mordred didn't celebrate as usual, but glanced around blankly. His teammates wearing black and white jerseys were talking excitedly around him, but he couldn't hear anything.

"Ring, ring, ring—" the sharp alarm sound made Mordred sit up in fright, his chest heaving continuously.

He hasn't dreamed about his previous club for a long time. It seems that he has never missed the past since he joined Real Madrid. Now the sudden dream makes Mordred a little sleepy. He slept too late yesterday and now he doesn't have any wake.

I got up and washed up casually, got some simple food to eat, and just put down the bowl when I heard the car horn outside the door.

Subconsciously raised a smile on his face, smoothed the wrinkles on his body and pushed open the door. Chris, who rolled down the window, was looking at him in a shirt. He was driving the Ferrari 559xx that was sent to him last time. The race was relatively tight during this period. Chris, who came to the tan, looked really handsome in the car.

Open the door and sit in, the car flies out like an arrow from the string.

As soon as the car music started, Mordred wanted to cover his ears. It stands to reason that Chris's car sat a lot, and he should have gotten used to the way the other party would speak from time to time. However, Chris's voice is not something ordinary people can appreciate.

In Mordred's own words, it is simply the sound of death, specially for the goddess of death. Even so, there are still some brainless fans like Doyle who say that Chris sings very well.

"All along it was safe ever, Acoldsweathot-headedbeliever." Chris gave Mordred a vivid music lesson with a singing method like howling ghosts and howling wolves.

Every time Mordred heard this kind of singing voice, he really wanted to learn to drive, so as not to hear the internal bleeding one day, but every time he got out of the car, he didn't have a long memory.

Mordred really wanted to ask Chris if he did it on purpose, God knows his voice is very subwoofer, and his words are also magnetic, why would he kill someone by singing?It really complied with that sentence, others sing for money, but he sings for his life.

Suffering to the locker room, Mordred changed out of his casual clothes and put on his jersey. Then he glanced at his training list, which was much more than others, and couldn't help but shed tears of sadness.

Even if he is dedicated, he is not a robot!The training content is too compact.

Although Mordred complained in his heart, he ran to the field with the football and started the first training session.

Mourinho looked at the people on the field and said to the assistant coach, "How is his muscle gain recently? Last time I watched him play halftime, it was a bit difficult."

"Sir, I know you want him to be on his own, but Fatty didn't grow up in a day. He has improved very fast now. In the United States, his coach has not played a role at all, and he is not even as fast as he can contact himself. "

Mourinho froze, but still said: "What question did I ask you just now?"

The assistant coach sighed, and opened the notebook in his hand, "It is reasonable for him to play the entire half of the court now, and the muscle-building effect can be said to be rapid. This also shows that he has been listening to you and kept eating without stealing."

Mourinho's perennially frozen face thawed slightly, and even the corners of his mouth turned up. "His biggest advantage is probably that he is obedient and not afraid of hardship."

The assistant coach also turned his attention to the field, looked at the blond boy who kept practicing, and couldn't help sighing: "His talent is worthy of what he has given. I thought there would never be another Cristiano Ronaldo in this life." , I didn’t expect to see another one so soon.”

Mourinho also agreed with the assistant coach's point of view, "This kid has balanced left and right feet, fast dribbling speed, high shooting accuracy, and a big heart. If he can meet him earlier and give him rationalized training, he might be better than Ke Reese is even more terrifying, but there are no ifs in this world."

"Sir, I have always been curious. What is your position on Meris? He has played three games in a row, and his position is so unstable. He can play as a center forward, a winger, and a central defender. You seem to have never put him in a position." Fix it." The teaching assistant asked doubts in his heart.

Hearing this question, Mourinho raised his brows subconsciously, "I'm also testing which position he is suitable for, or which position is better, but after trying it out, the free man in the midfield is the most suitable for him. There is no need for low shooting accuracy to watch and pass the ball, but now we have no shortage of midfielders, so let's put him in the frontcourt for now."

On the court, Mordred didn't feel the headache of his head coach at all. Looking at Ozil who was practicing dribbling, he directly hooked Ozil's ball with his feet. It was so clean that it could be called a textbook. Like steals.

The steal this time is similar to the one that broke Messi last time.

But after being treated like this, Ozil stared at those big eyes, "How did you survive to such an age?"

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