That yellow card was like a signal; instead of making Lin Yuan hold back, it seemed to have broken some kind of seal.
At this moment, the system notification in his ear sounded like a pleasant symphony.
[notoriety points are continuously being credited... Current balance: 3,500 points]
[Would you like to exchange for a temporary status?]
Lin Yuan thought to himself, "Exchange for [Reaper's Gaze (Basic)] (Reduces the courage of opposing players) and [Stamina Potion (Small)]."
A cool current of air instantly flowed through his entire body, and the muscle soreness from the previous full-speed sprints vanished without a trace.
72nd minute of the match.
Benfica attempted to launch an attack down the right flank.
Their substitute winger was on the ball, a small player known for his speed. He originally wanted to exploit Lin Yuan's disadvantage of having a yellow card and try to break through with a change of direction.
But as soon as he looked up, he met a pair of bone-chillingly cold eyes.
In that instant, the small winger actually had an illusion—that the one standing before him wasn't a human, but a beast grinding its teeth, ready to tear his throat apart at any moment.
Hesitation.
Fatal hesitation.
In the 0.5 seconds while his feet were fumbling, Lin Yuan moved.
No wasted movements, just a brutal body check combined with precise positioning.
"Bang!"
The small winger was like hitting a steel plate, shoved off the ball and out of bounds.
"Throw-in! Boavista ball!" The linesman raised his flag.
The boos at the Estádio da Luz rose another octave.
"Foul! He's pushing!"
"Referee, are you blind?"
Lin Yuan unhurriedly straightened his sleeves and turned to run toward midfield, leaving the angry home fans with a cold view of his back.
80th minute.
This became the longest ten minutes for the entire Benfica team.
Their originally smooth passing and control play had vanished.
Because before receiving the ball, every Benfica player would subconsciously check where that madman wearing the number 16 jersey was.
The midfield engine, Thiago Silva, had completely disappeared.
Whenever the ball rolled toward him, that red nightmare would appear right on time. Even if Lin Yuan was still ten meters away, Thiago would choose the safest lateral or back pass, not daring to turn forward at all.
"Damn it! What is Thiago doing? Has he been scared witless by that Chinese guy?" In the commentary box, the Benfica commentator roared in frustration. "This is our home ground! How can we let a rookie who only knows how to foul dominate the midfield?"
88th minute.
The most shocking scene of the match occurred.
Benfica got an excellent counter-attacking opportunity, with a waist-high ball crossed toward the edge of the penalty area.
It was a 50/50 ball.
Benfica's tall center-forward, Nunez, charged toward it.
Lin Yuan also charged toward it.
Both were running at full speed, neither having any intention of slowing down.
This was bound to be a brutal collision, like Mars hitting Earth.
Three meters from contact.
Two meters.
One meter.
The entire audience held their breath; some even covered their eyes.
At the very last moment before the collision, Benfica's tough-guy center-forward, Nunez... chickened out.
Out of fear of injury, he subconsciously pulled back his foot and turned his body away.
But Lin Yuan did not slow down.
He leaped high, heading the ball away fiercely like a bomber, while his strong body, carried by momentum, slammed the retreating Nunez straight to the ground!
"Thump!"
The ball was cleared all the way to the tenth row of the stands.
Lin Yuan landed, his feet planted on the turf like nails, motionless.
Meanwhile, that Benfica striker worth twenty million euros was lying on the ground, clutching his ribs in pain.
Silence.
The Estádio da Luz, with its sixty-five thousand people, fell into a deathly silence.
Lin Yuan stood under the spotlight, looking around. This time, even the boos hesitated for a moment.
This is the most primitive law of competitive sports—the soft fear the hard, and the hard fear the reckless.
"Beep—! Beep—! Beep—!"
The final whistle finally blew.
The score was fixed at 2-0.
Boavista had lost.
But when the players from both sides shook hands, a strange scene occurred.
The Benfica players hurried through the formalities; almost no one was willing to make eye contact with Lin Yuan, let alone exchange jerseys—they just wanted to stay far away from this madman.
The large screen on the sidelines displayed Lin Yuan's stats for his 25 minutes as a substitute:
Passes: 3 (1 successful).
Tackles: 6 (6 successful).
Interceptions: 4.
Fouls: 4.
Times dribbled past: 1.
Appalling passing stats, yet paired with god-tier defensive efficiency.
Coach Pacheco was waiting at the entrance to the locker room tunnel.
He watched Lin Yuan walk over, covered in grass clippings and dirt, and a ferocious smile finally appeared on his habitually tense face. He slapped Lin Yuan heavily on the shoulder, with such force it seemed like he was hitting him:
"Well done, kid."
"Go buy a newspaper tomorrow morning; you'll like the headlines."
Lin Yuan expressionlessly unstrapped his shin guards and tossed them into his bag, his voice raspy:
"We lost the game; there's nothing to be happy about."
"Next time, I'll win it back."
Pacheco was stunned, and as he watched Lin Yuan's back as he entered the tunnel, the look of admiration in his eyes grew even stronger.
This wasn't just a vicious dog.
It was also an ambitious wolf king.