"Oh, you're looking at these again, aren't you? You've been holding this book whenever you have ti this month. I'm not sure whether you're reading it or thinking about the author."
Gracie's voice carried a hint of playful complaint and jealousy, her tone rising slightly at the end, sounding like a mildly suspicious cat.
She placed the orange juice heavily on the wooden tea stand next to Tang Long, the glass cup colliding with the table, producing a crisp sound. The juice splashed out, scattered across the lush green lawn.
Tang Long looked up, his gaze eting Gracie's eyes, which held a trace of lancholy. His mouth involuntarily lifted slightly, revealing a tender yet slightly helpless smile.
He thought to himself, "After all these years, her personality hasn't changed at all—still the girl who gets jealous easily and has her little temper."
Tang Long turned his head slightly, quietly watching as Gracie took small steps toward the living room, her floral dress swaying in Madrid's afternoon breeze.
Her hair fluttered gently with her steps, and her slender waist added an extra touch of allure with the breeze.
Watching her figure walk away, a surge of emotion rose in Tang Long's heart.
The wheel of ti rolled forward, taking many things away, yet leaving profound marks in the mory.
His thoughts drifted far, and in a daze, he seed to return to years ago, to the scene of their first eting.
In 2015, newly signed to Manchester City, Tang Long stepped into the team's dical room with anticipation and uncertainty for the future.
There, he t Gracie for the first ti.
Back then, Gracie was youthful and lively, her eyes reflecting the professionalism and seriousness of a dical graduate.
The slightly awkward encounter of having Tang Long in a kneeling position for a rectal exam beca their first mory together.
Until now, a full 10 years had quietly passed like fleeting horses.
Ti leaves traces on everyone, and Gracie is no exception.
The once lively and carefree girl is now over 30, married.
Yet, the frost of ti doesn't seem to have left too many marks on her figure.
Her silhouette remains cute, her posture elegant, as if ti has shown her special favor.
That figure resembled a green banana leaf swaying in the wind, making Tang Long want to step forward and gently embrace her.
But Tang Long soon restrained the impulse within him.
His gaze returned to the book in his hands. Compared to leaving Gracie on the bed, he was more eager to continue reading the words ahead in the book.
Despite having read this section repeatedly over the past month more than 20 tis, each reading allowed his heart to surge, as if possessing the ability to travel through ti, returning to the passionate sumr of the 2017 Champions League final.
...
"Tired, so tired..."
Manchester City players seed drained of all energy, slumped on the field.
So supported themselves with their arms, bodies slightly leaning forward, heads drooping powerless, and sweat droplets, like broken strings of pearls, continually slid from their foreheads and cheeks, dripping onto the grass beneath them;
Others lay directly on the ground, eyes tightly shut, gasping heavily, their chests heaving violently as if each breath consud all their energy.
The entire Manchester City team was enveloped in a mixture of exhaustion and tension, every face etched with fatigue and determination.
The first 15 minutes of the Champions League extra ti had ended, the scoreboard frozen at a suffocating mont.
Real Madrid managed to draw level in the last minute of extra ti with Benzema's ghostly positioning and precise shooting, both sides at 3:3.
Though it was halfti of extra ti, according to the rules, neither team would leave the field; instead, they would take a brief two-minute rest on the pitch.
For the players, these two minutes provided both physical respite and psychological adjustnt.
Guardiola waved his arms energetically, conveying tactical arrangents to the players.
"Listen, listen, you need to do this first, then that, not this, but that, absolutely not this or that..."
In extre fatigue, Tang Long's brain felt tangled like a ssy bundle, sowhat muddled.
Guardiola's non-standard English, laced with a Spanish Catalan accent, beca a blur of "this and that," chaotic syllables Tang Long struggled to discern despite his efforts to concentrate.
At this mont, Gracie, entirely disregarding personal image, swiftly approached Tang Long.
Aware of Tang Long's physical condition, she commanded firmly, "Lie down!" then mounted Tang Long's back, her hands beginning to press on his hips, back, and thighs.
Her hands were strong yet agile, attempting to alleviate the tension and fatigue in Tang Long's muscles through massage.
"How do you feel? Do you feel better? Your thigh muscles seem very tight. It looks like your running posture might cause a cramp."
Gracie spoke softly to Tang Long with a voice filled with anxiety and care, her eyes reflecting concern and sympathy.
Tang Long lay on the ground, silent.
He felt like a machine about to run out of fuel, with every ounce of strength precious, and speaking an extra word seed to accelerate the exhaustion of his energy.
In fact, even after Tang Long played the full 90 minutes, there remained so stamina within him.
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