Sports Medicine Master System

Inside the room, Irina stood on her tiptoes, carefully adjusting Batty’s bow tie before taking two steps back.

He was tall and stately in a well-fitted black suit. His wild blond hair was tied back simply, his beard meticulously groomed. When he broke into a smile, Irina’s heart couldn’t help but beat a little faster.

"I’m getting old," Irina said, turning to the dressing mirror. Dressed in a white, backless evening gown, she could see the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

Batty came up behind Irina, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. "In my heart, you’ll always be the most beautiful," he whispered.

Irina hummed softly, then asked, "By the way, are you sure there’s no ’special program’ after the party?"

Batty’s expression flickered, and he answered guiltily, "I don’t think so."

’That’s what I’m saying, but who knows with those guys and their wild antics.’

Irina hummed again, broke free from his embrace, and then elegantly took his arm. "Let’s go," she said with a smile.

They left the room. The night was dark, and in the distance, they could see light illuminating the night sky in the direction of the soccer field.

Soft pendant lights lit up the entire courtyard. A night breeze blew past, and Irina shivered slightly, tightening her grip on his arm. "You know, I actually quite like it here," she said. "There’s no endless work, no annoying media, and not even those two little rascals, Tiago and Lucas. Just you and me. Just the most peaceful life."

Batty looked around, silent.

This period had been the most peaceful time for him as well.

The two of them walked out and followed the path toward the soccer field behind the rehabilitation center.

Even before they arrived, they could hear music playing.

Spotlights flashed, lighting up the sky. As they drew closer, they saw many people dancing on a temporarily constructed dance floor.

Batty immediately spotted Pires in a wheelchair, pushing himself around in circles near a female nurse. It was a hilarious sight.

Just then, the music stopped.

On the stage up front, Jamie King, acting as the host, tapped the microphone to get everyone’s attention. He then pointed to the entrance and shouted, "Everyone, please give a warm welcome to tonight’s guest of honor, the eternal War God, Mr. Gabriel Batistuta!"

BANG! BANG! A few party poppers went off, showering Batty and Irina in a cloud of confetti.

"Are they throwing a wedding for us?" Irina said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

"Who cares."

Batty took a step forward, turned, and elegantly extended a hand to Irina.

Irina smiled faintly and took Batty’s hand.

"Come on, let’s get this party started!" Jamie King yelled excitedly, looking up at the sky.

Rock music blared, and the dance floor once again erupted with energy.

Chen Yu was there too, dancing with Lexi in a corner of the dance floor, moving to the music.

Many people had come today.

Not just the VIP patients from the clinic, but also the doctors and nurses, as well as the Suns players and uniformed staff—anyone who was free showed up.

It was a rare chance for everyone to relax.

Maldini shimmied his way through the crowd to Chen Yu’s side. "Chen," he whispered, "isn’t it about time? The guy’s been dancing for a few rounds already."

"Is it?"

Chen Yu glanced at his watch and gave Maldini a hand signal, motioning for him to proceed.

In the center of the dance floor, Batty held Irina, swaying to the music.

He was completely unaware that, at some point, the space around them had emptied out, leaving them alone.

The music slowly began to fade.

Batty slowed his movements, finally noticing that no one was around. Just as he was about to see what was going on, a sound came from behind him.

It was the loud, rhythmic sound of a horn.

Batty froze in place as if someone had suddenly hit the pause button.

In front of him, Irina instantly covered her mouth, staring in disbelief at what was behind Batty.

"Raise high the fluttering purple banner."

"On the field of challenge and courage."

...

Batty slowly turned around.

On the electronic screen behind the stage, match footage had appeared at some point.

"GOAL!"

Faintly, the drawn-out shout of a commentator could be heard.

On the screen, the figure in the purple No. 9 jersey was running across the field with his arms outstretched, roaring, while the stands had become a sea of purple.

Batty stared fixedly at the screen, unable to look away.

As the song swelled, the screen flickered through images, showing a shy, bashful version of himself from ’91, standing on the field of Frankie Stadium for the first time.

He also saw the failure to avoid relegation, everyone holding their heads in their hands, weeping.

Then, they gathered themselves and set off once more.

Toldo dove, saving the ball.

Then Rui Costa arrived. That year, Batty was on top of the world, lifting his first Italian Golden Boot.

After that, amidst the cheers of the Purple Lily fans in the stands, they set sail: fourth in the league, Italian Cup champions, Super Cup champions. The fervent fans even erected a statue of him in front of the stadium and clamored to elect him mayor of Florence.

But all glory must eventually fade, and even a perfect match is fraught with a thousand perils.

He had dedicated his best nine years to this city of art, but his hunger for a championship trophy made Batty pack his bags.

On May 14, 2000, when he scored his final goal for Florence, the him on the screen collapsed into the net, unwilling to get up for a long time. The Batty watching in the present couldn’t help but cover his mouth, his eyes glistening with tears.

Then, six months later, now wearing the No. 18 jersey for Rome, he scored a volley, breaching the goal of his old club.

For that goal, he didn’t celebrate. He just stood there, covering his face with his hands, letting the tears stream through his fingers.

When he saw his former teammate Toldo walk over to comfort him on the screen, Batty’s tears could no longer be contained; they burst forth like a broken dam.

"You guys..."

Batty looked around. The spotlight was focused on him, and everyone else was hidden in the darkness, their faces obscured.

At this moment, the screen dimmed for a second, then began flashing new images.

It was still him, his long hair flowing, running like the wind.

The feared Trident became renowned throughout the Apennine Peninsula. The image froze on the final round of last year’s league season: Rome versus Parma. At the 78th minute, when he scored the final goal of the season, the Rome fans, who had waited 18 long years for this championship, could no longer hold back and flooded onto the field in a massive wave.

Through his tears, Batty began to laugh.

On screen, Totti’s shorts were pulled off as he fled in disarray under police protection. Antonioni had it worse, stripped down to his underwear. Even Parma’s goalkeeper, Buffon, had his jersey and shorts ripped off by the frenzied Rome fans. He had found a Rome jersey from somewhere and draped it over himself, a look of pure bewilderment on his face.

And there was Capello, furious, screaming at the fans, his face red with anger, afraid their pitch invasion would force a replay of the match.

After finally managing to drive the fans off, the match resumed, but no one could find a proper jersey.

Totti found Candela’s shorts and proudly showed them off to him.

Finally, even the footage of Sabrina’s shocking striptease at the Colosseum appeared.

Batty laughed and laughed, and his eyes filled with tears once more.

How he wished he had still been wearing the purple No. 9 jersey of the Purple Lily when he won the championship.

And he also knew that right after he won the title for Rome, angry Florence fans had torn down the statue they had erected for him.

As if taking a final bow, the lights suddenly dimmed.

The entire dance floor and soccer field were plunged into darkness. Nothing was visible.

In the darkness, Batty stood lost, his emotions in turmoil.

Just then, a single spotlight flared to life, illuminating Batty.

He looked up. A figure appeared in the light.

It was Chen Yu.

"For you."

Chen Yu came over to Batty, holding a folded bundle, and handed it to him.

"What is this..."

Batty took it, bewildered, and unfolded it.

It was a purple No. 9 jersey and a Purple Lily team flag.

Both the jersey and the flag were densely covered with writing.

The screen lit up again.

"He’s our hero, our eternal War God."

On the street, a young man carrying a briefcase was stopped. He spoke to the camera, then gladly took a pen and wrote a message of blessing for Batty on the flag.

"Although I was furious when he left, I felt like he had betrayed us. But when I saw him lift the trophy and cheer with excitement, I was still happy for him."

"When the team was relegated, during our darkest hour, he didn’t leave us. So I don’t blame him. I know how much he longed for that championship trophy."

"I’ll never forget when he scored twice to help us beat AC Milan and win the Super Cup. He’s our forever Batman."

On the screen, the camera changed constantly, showing fan after fan being interviewed on the street. They would then gladly take a pen and write their blessings for Batty.

Batty stared blankly at the jersey and flag in his hands. He now understood where all these messages came from.

He buried his face deep in the jersey and began to sob uncontrollably.

In the darkness, some people also began to silently wipe away tears.

"Did we go too far? Look how hard he’s crying," Maldini whispered guiltily to Chen Yu.

Chen Yu shrugged. "It was your idea."

Maldini raised an eyebrow. "You inspired me."

Chen Yu grimaced. As the lights came up, he saw Batty still had his face buried in the jersey, unwilling to look up. Chen Yu started to feel guilty too. "He should be fine, right?"

Irina went forward and helped Batty up.

Everyone present watched this unfold, completely bewildered. Finally, all eyes turned in unison to Chen Yu.

It was as if they were all asking what to do now.

"Ahem." Chen Yu cleared his throat and said, "Shouldn’t we be cutting the cake now?"

As he spoke, he quickly waved his hand, signaling for the cake to be brought out.

It was a huge, nine-tiered cake.

And it was purple.

’If I’d known Batty would have such a strong reaction, I wouldn’t have made it purple,’ Chen Yu cringed.

The crowd gathered around. Batty finally lifted his head, his eyes red and wet.

"Thank you."

Batty looked around, murmuring "thank you," his gaze finally landing on Chen Yu. He walked over and pulled Chen Yu into a hug.

"Chen, thank you for all of this."

Batty clung to Chen Yu, crying like a child.

Chen Yu was stunned for a moment before he reached out and patted Batty on the back.

To be fair, pulling all this off hadn’t been easy. A lot of people had contributed.

He had reached out to Trapattoni, who had coached Florence for two years.

He had also found Berlusconi, a close friend of Old Chechi Gao Li. It was Berlusconi who had convinced Little Chechi Gao Li to provide a lot of the precious archival footage.

And the interviews—Maldini had asked a friend in the media to help produce them.

Finally, everything was shipped all the way to the United States to complete this special event.

"Alright, let’s cut the cake," Chen Yu said.

Batty let go of Chen Yu and nodded. He carefully folded the jersey and the flag, then looked at Maldini, Inzaghi, and the others gathered in a circle. He clutched the two items to his chest. "This is the best gift I’ve ever received. Thank you, all of you."

With that, he picked up the cake knife and handed it to Chen Yu, indicating that they should cut it together.

"Safe travels," Chen Yu said with a smile, offering his blessing as he and Batty cut the cake together. At the same time, he waved to someone in the distance.

The next moment, with a resounding BOOM, brilliant fireworks shot into the sky, lighting up the night.