CHAPTER 642: CHAPTER 444: FIRST TITLE OF THE SEASON! WANT TO LEARN? I CAN TEACH YOU!

When Tang Long realized he and team doctor Gracie had fallen to the ground together, it was already too late.

Almost simultaneously, the teammates rushed over like an avalanche, one after another, pressed down on top!

Tang Long, a professional player, is naturally accustomed to tough conditions on the field; not afraid of being piled on.

But Gracie’s petite frame of just over 1.6 meters could hardly withstand this kind of pressure!

He had no choice but to pity her, quickly flipping over to cover Gracie, protecting her.

Initially, when Bravo and Mkhitaryan piled on, Tang Long managed to hold up;

He assumed a push-up position over Gracie, shouting, "Stop! Someone’s below!"

Gracie lay there on the ground, wide-eyed, looking at Tang Long, their breath intermingling.

However, having defeated arch-rivals Manchester United in the first formal game of the season and won the first trophy, the teammates charged in high spirits, shouting chaotically, not realizing Gracie was underneath Tang Long, nor hearing his cries from the bottom.

Bang bang bang, one after another piled on top.

When the 185cm tall Bonazzoli screamed and piled on, Tang Long finally couldn’t hold up!

His arms went soft, wrist touching the ground instantly turned into elbows, chest pressed against Gracie’s petite frame, and even his lips joined.

Gracie felt her lips deadlocked with Tang Long’s, her face turned pale, she screamed, instinctively struggling to escape, but where could she run?

"Just bear with it," Tang Long trembled, saying, "It will be over soon!"

When she tried to shout again, Tang Long’s body further sank, pressing their lips tighter, rendering Gracie to only murmur "ooooooh".

More teammates piled on, adding weight to Tang Long’s body.

Under hundreds of kilograms on top of him, he finally had to abandon resistance.

His elbow wobbled, and he sprawled, flattening himself completely onto Gracie.

At that moment, Tang Long felt different when pressing on Gracie compared to Dilata.

Dilata had a curvy physique, making it a bumpy ride like driving over bumps;

Gracie’s surface was relatively even but softer, like driving into a marsh with wheels sinking.

Three minutes later.

Teammates clambered off, one by one.

Only then did they discover surprised that Tang Long was not the last person, but beneath him was Gracie!

Gracie tremblingly gave Tang Long a kick, pushing him off, then awkwardly crawled up, blushing as she tidied her rumpled collar, covering her face, ran away.

As she ran to the sideline, she didn’t forget to grab her medicine box before dashing into the player tunnel.

...

After the award ceremony ended.

Manchester United’s players had long disappeared.

Bony stopped Tang Long by the edge of the player tunnel, they shook hands, then hugged.

"Tang, I really can’t believe it, last season we were teammates, now we’re rivals, and you’ve beaten me." Bony appeared hesitant, face sullen.

Tang Long wasn’t sure if Bony was upset about losing the match or felt discontent about leaving Manchester City, so he comforted him, saying:

"That’s football, Bony, switching teammates and rivals happens in just one summer, we have at least two more league clashes this season, see you then."

Bony held onto Tang Long’s hand, reluctant to let go.

"At Manchester City, I competed with Agüero, coming to Manchester United, I have to compete with Icardi and Eevee, it’s difficult everywhere!"

Tang Long nodded, "True, those two are quite tricky, be careful, don’t get hoodwinked."

Bony smirked, candidly said, "I’m not afraid of being hoodwinked, remember, I grew up in a Côte d’Ivoire slum, I fear no struggle, only concerned about not being good enough to compete with them on the field."

"Just like when you dribbled past Fellaini, Valencia, and Smolin, surrounded," Bony paused, with undisguised envy in his eyes, "I wish I could do that too."

Tang Long laughed, "If you want to learn, I’ll teach you."

Bony delightfully hugged Tang Long tightly once more.

At this moment, Bony’s mind was like a movie reel, flashing many scenes.

He recalled his childhood, unable to afford clothes, playing naked soccer in the village with friends, teased as "bare-bottomed Bony";

Recalling the onlookers saying he’d likely end up as an illegal worker in Europe, dreaming about becoming a professional player? Ridiculous!

He remembered after he became famous in Swansea, villagers who mocked him rejoicing around bonfires, singing and dancing, cheering they hit the jackpot!

Remembered the greedy ways of his family exploiting his European salary, even with a million British Pounds annual salary, struggling to buy a pair of shoes during harsh times!

His thoughts drifted back to a day last year, driving his Q7, carrying Tang Long by the Manchester river, nearly impulsively veering into the water;

Returned to one day at Manchester City, post-training, everyone left, while Tang Long stayed practicing passing, teaching him the timing for the diagonal runs past central defenders;

It was his former French Language Gang mentor Toure who ran off those demanding family members, helped him cut ties with his hometown, ending the longing;

It was young Tang Long who gave numerous through passes, helping him score a poker in half-time from a fringe player to a crucial role rotating with Agüero, boosting confidence, rekindling his Swansea glory!

The two exchanged jerseys.

Bony watching Tang Long’s departing silhouette, secretly vowed:

"I must train hard, score more goals, defeat Eevee and Icardi, secure a starting position at Manchester United! Manchester City is unreachable, if there comes a day Tang Long joins another club, I’ll ensure we become teammates again!"

...

...

"Penalty kills! Manchester City beats Manchester United, secures first title of the season!"

"You can always trust Tang, he always becomes the decisive King Arthur!"

"Icardi substituted at halftime, does he deserve the number 9 for Manchester United?"

"Community Shield Cup can’t hide the flaw, Guardiola Style Manchester City defense needs improvement!"

"Eevee’s royal return, Manchester United with and without him are two different teams!"

"A stroke of genius from Guardiola - Left winger, Tang!"

"Stars gathering, new Premier League season’s Golden Boot competition is fierce!"

"Hey, youngster, look here, they are practically singing your praises! I think you’re definitely the Premier League Golden Boot, you’re absolutely secure."

Next day, Dilata was at Tang Long’s house, reading out the headlines from various newspapers in front of him, then paused and smiled at him, anticipating his response.

Since the start of the new season, Dilata seems to particularly enjoy coming to Tang Long’s house.

A very important reason is that she is the only journalist authorized for exclusive interviews with Tang Long, so she always wants to dig out some big news from Tang Long to boost Sky Sports’ page.

Although she complains about being tired, Dilata works harder than anyone;

People at the station say that within two years, she will certainly replace the elderly Manchester branch director and become the head of Sky Sports in this city.

Tang Long nestled on the sofa, put down the sports magazine, glanced at Dilata, and pointed at her chest—inside there, hidden in the cleavage, was a recording pen, which Tang Long saw the moment Dilata walked in.

Dilata furrowed her brows slightly, pulled the pen out from her chest, pressed the pause button, and then laughed:

"I’m not trying to trick you into talking, I really believe you have that ability, why won’t you speak up about it, you’re not that far behind Agüero, Kane, Icardi, and Eevee."

Of course, half of the sentence remains unsaid, if you don’t say it, what can we write?

Tang Long said irritatedly, "Dilata, the other day during our team’s welcome ceremony for seven new reinforcements, what kind of nonsense question did you ask? What do you mean by saying I requested Bonazzoli to come, are you trying to screw me over?"

Upon hearing Tang Long’s tone was somewhat aggressive, and recalling the incident where she was overwhelmed and distracted when Guardiola suddenly visited, Dilata replied irritably:

"Well, you responded quite cleverly, our front-page article ranked first in British sports news in terms of click rate, thanks to you! Fine, I won’t ask again, then I will write about you and that blonde team doctor’s incident, were you two comfortable lying on the floor kissing last night? Do you want me to write a full in-depth report? But rest assured, I’m not with The Sun, I still have some basic writing ethics."

Tang Long instantly shivered, got up, and again pinned Dilata face down on the kitchen island from behind.

Dilata said speechlessly, "Same posture again, you’d better check whether Guardiola is coming later."

As soon as she finished speaking, a cup of cola placed on the island was knocked over by her arm and flowed down.

The chilled cola with ice trickled down her slender waist and then slipped into her skirt, streaming into the gap.

"Ah..." she screamed.

The icy sensation reached the flower’s heart, causing the brown-haired Italian beauty to shiver fiercely.

Pa!

Tang Long slapped her round butt.

Like an electric shock, Dilata’s body shivered again, looking back at Tang Long with surprise.

"Whoa, you can play this way?"

Papapa!

Tang Long, towering above, looked down at her, his right hand flickering with remnants, expressionless yet slapped three more times.

Dilata’s bouncy butt wobbled thrice, instantly turning red, and the cola on it splashed around.

"Are you still writing? Hurry up and admit your mistake!"

Tang Long said coldly, his tone serious, not joking at all, and then slapped heavily again.

This hit was indeed not light; through Dilata’s black pantyhose, a faint handprint could be seen on her butt.

Dilata yelled out in pain, realizing Tang Long wasn’t playing around, her face turned harsh, glaring at him.

"What’s wrong with you, let me go!"

Papa!

Another two slaps.

The burning pain mixed with cold cola, that feeling... Dilata was both angry and anxious, a wave of humiliation surged in her heart.

"I will write, what can you do, the pen is in my hands, I write what I want!"

Papapa!

Tang Long’s iron palm slapped down mercilessly, another three heavy strikes.

Beneath the black pantyhose, it was already red, like a red sun bursting out through dark clouds, so eager to shine forth.

"..." Dilata bit her lip.

"Have you realized your mistake? Are you still writing!" Tang Long seized Dilata with one hand, refusing to give up, slapped again.

"I will write, you’re crazy!" Dilata’s tears swirled in her eyes, both hands tightly clutching the island.

In the living room, the white vertical blinds near the floor-to-ceiling windows rustled in the afternoon breeze.

Inside the blinds, shadows moved, Tang Long continued slapping forcefully...