The Greatest Manager of All time

Lynn stayed at the club the entire time.

It was almost midnight when Mo Yuan finally brought all twenty-eight injured supporters back from Blackpool to Swansea and arranged for them to be admitted to Swansea City Hospital for further treatment.

That evening, Lin Jiajie and Tang Yue called Lynn.

After asking after him with concern, Tang Yue specially drove from home to bring Lynn a fitted windproof coat.

The night wind in Swansea in mid-October was cold, and the temperature was low.

After waiting for Mo Yuan and the others to return, Lynn put on the fitted coat and drove to Swansea City Hospital.

The injuries of these twenty-eight supporters were slightly more serious, and they needed timely treatment and follow-up observation at the hospital.

Some had concussions, some had cracked bones, and some had even suffered fractures.

The other supporters who had only superficial wounds had naturally gone home long ago.

For most ordinary people, the terrifying scene on the streets of Blackpool had been a nightmare.

Welsh reporters had also arrived outside the hospital to report on the condition of the injured Swansea supporters.

After parking inside the hospital, Lynn walked quickly toward the building.

The reporters outside the first-floor lobby immediately crowded around him.

Expressionless, Lynn said to them in a low voice, "Don't bother me."

All the reporters froze, their faces stunned.

Without looking sideways, Lynn walked straight inside.

The reporters had only embarrassed themselves.

Even Raleigh and Carter, who had always had a good relationship with Lynn, failed to get a single word from him.

When Lynn reached the ward, he saw several supporters lying in bed.

Mo Yuan was sitting beside one of them, chatting with him — and it was someone Lynn knew.

Richard Cork, a representative of the supporters' group. He was the small restaurant owner who ran a local business in Swansea.

His arm was wrapped in bandages, fixed with a board, and suspended by a sling around his neck.

Lynn frowned and said, "I'm truly sorry something like this happened, Richard. The club failed to protect you."

Richard Cork shook his head and said with great understanding, "Lynn, you've already done brilliantly. We won again today! That's good enough. We watched a wonderful match. Swansea looked very different today from how they've looked recently. What was that about? Apart from your substitution magic, do you have some other magic you haven't revealed yet?"

Lynn smiled bitterly.

At a time like this, he really did not want to discuss the match.

He asked, "Is it serious?"

Cork shrugged. "It's fine. Just a fracture. Not a big problem. It'll heal in a month or two. Don't worry."

"Who did it?"

"Who else? Just some hooligans."

"Did you see what they looked like?"

Lynn's insistence on getting to the bottom of it left Cork confused.

Instead of answering, he asked, "Does that matter? You have to understand, this kind of thing isn't exactly rare. And it was so chaotic at the time. There was no way to catch anyone. Even if they were caught, there wouldn't be evidence. Forget it. We'll just treat it as bad luck and be more careful in the future."

Hearing Richard Cork's words, the anger in Lynn's heart burned even hotter.

But he could not say anything.

Cork was a good man.

Even putting aside his loyalty to the club, the fact that he was not shouting for revenge now was enough to show his character.

Lynn's gaze shifted to the bed beside Cork, and he was surprised to see another familiar face.

Fred Davis, another supporters' representative, who worked as a teacher at Swansea University.

At the moment, the teacher was not wearing his glasses.

He had probably lost them during the chaos. There were dried bloodstains around the outside of one ear.

Lynn walked to his bedside and asked, "Fred, were you simply beaten?"

Davis immediately smiled. "I took down two of them. What do you think?"

"Heh. Well done. Don't let people think that someone who looks refined is easy to bully. Once the glasses come off and the fight starts, even I'm afraid of myself."

"Hahaha, I'm not as impressive as you make me sound. In fact, I don't even know where my glasses got knocked off."

"Did you all go to the match together?"

"Mm. I basically go with Richard to every away match. Kevin usually has to work overtime. His job is tough. Jason drives a taxi, so whether he rests on Saturday or Sunday depends on his schedule. Matthew travels often and has a lot of business obligations, so we were unlucky today. Only Richard and I went together. If Kevin had been there, we wouldn't have come back from Blackpool."

"Hmm? Why?"

"Kevin is the real monster when he starts fighting. No one can control him."

"Heh. Good thing I've never made him angry."

After that, Lynn chatted with several other injured supporters, offering his condolences.

Halfway through, Mo Yuan received a phone call and went outside.

When Lynn was about to leave, Cork suddenly called out to him.

Lynn turned at the door and saw Cork looking at him seriously.

"Lynn, the club has done well this season. But if only a small number of supporters go to the next few away matches to support the team, don't overthink it. You have to understand. We supporters are ordinary people. We just want to live safely."

Lynn nodded seriously, then opened the door and walked out.

In England, supporters were divided into different types.

Die-hard supporters, ordinary supporters, and fans.

Fans had the least loyalty. They shifted from one side to another, choosing clubs to support based on various personal preferences.

Ordinary supporters might support only one club, but they were not necessarily fanatical.

Die-hard supporters were the truly loyal followers of a team.

They did not merely watch matches. They cared about the club's survival.

When the club faced hardship, they would step forward without hesitation to stand by it, support it, and help it.

One of the standards used to measure a die-hard supporter's loyalty was the frequency with which they traveled to away matches.

Most die-hard supporters were local fans. Watching matches and supporting the team near home was not difficult. As long as they had money, they could do it.

But traveling to away matches was another matter.

The time, energy, money, and overall cost were far higher than watching at home.

And clubs needed their supporters' backing even more away from home.

Hearing supporters cheering for them on the road felt completely different from hearing them at home.

At home, the atmosphere could be majestic and overwhelming.

Away from home, supporters prevented the team from feeling as though they were fighting alone.

Hearing their cheers in an away stadium could instead ignite the players' fighting spirit, their desire to defend dignity and honor.

But once traveling to away matches became a personal safety risk, even die-hard supporters had to weigh the danger.

To put it simply, they would be afraid.

Of course they would.

They were ordinary people. Why wouldn't they be afraid?

Not everyone went to matches prepared to fight someone, and in the middle of a brawl, who knew what accidents might happen?

Supporting the team at a football match should never be a matter of risking one's life.

So Lynn understood Cork's words very well.

But deep in his heart, there was only boundless fury, as if it could set the entire sky ablaze and make the cold waters of Swansea Bay boil.

As Lynn walked along the hospital corridor, he saw Mo Yuan chatting with a middle-aged man he did not recognize.

After Lynn walked over, Mo Yuan introduced him. "Lynn, this is government official Bassam. He came to understand the football hooligan incident that happened in Blackpool."

After shaking Bassam's hand, Lynn asked directly, "Sir, first let me understand what you can do. After learning the truth, how will these football hooligans be punished?"

Bassam said calmly, "The British government attaches great importance to eliminating football hooliganism. After I understand the full course of events, I will include it in my work report and submit it to the relevant departments, so that corresponding control measures can be formulated."

Lynn shook his head. "Don't give me bureaucratic talk. I just want to know about today. In Blackpool. Around Bloomfield Road. Those bastards who caused trouble — what will happen to them? Will they be detained? Prosecuted? Tried? Or something else?"

As a man with a title, Lord Bassam also shook his head. "Mr. Lynn, you must understand that in Britain, football violence has existed for more than a century. We are talking about a social problem with a very long history."

"Sorry, I'm not interested in discussing how to make British society more beautiful with you. It's all nonsense! Since you can't do anything except write your boring report, goodbye. We have nothing to discuss. Let's not waste each other's time."

After saying that, Lynn turned and left.

Perhaps Lord Bassam truly was conducting research on football violence for the government.

But so what?

Perhaps what happened in Blackpool was nothing more than one of many cases in his report, something he could use to explain the violent side of the football world to the outside.

But what about the treatment the Swansea supporters had suffered?

What about the consequences for the football hooligans?

Nothing!

No one could uphold justice for Swansea!

With a cold expression, Lynn walked out of the hospital.

The reporters wisely watched him from a distance and did not come forward.

Lynn got into his car and left the city hospital. As he drove along the broad Orchard Street, he waited at a red light, preparing to turn onto Princess Street and head south toward home.

Then he changed his mind.

He picked up his phone and called Erin.

"Are you asleep?"

"No. I'm at Princess Nightclub. Want to come over?"

"Mm, no. I'm worried the paparazzi will photograph me. Right now, it's not suitable for me to appear at a nightclub. Let's go to your room at the Grand Hotel."

"All right. See you in ten minutes. If you arrive first, wait for me in the room."

After hanging up, Lynn turned the car onto Garden Street, then drove north along Mansel Street toward the Grand Hotel.

He parked in the hotel's underground car park and took the elevator straight upstairs.

He had always had the room card for Erin's suite here.

When he opened the door, Erin had already changed into sleepwear and was sitting on the sofa waiting for him.

Her fluffy blond hair covered half her face. Erin radiated astonishing charm, but Lynn was in no mood to appreciate it.

After sitting down, he first picked up the wine glass on the table, poured half a glass of Petrus, and drank it down.

Erin frowned as she watched.

At the very least, the Petrus on the table — five thousand pounds a case — was not meant for Lynn to drink like water.

Clearly, something was weighing on his mind.

She lit a cigarette, handed it to Lynn, and asked with concern, "What happened?"

A ruthless light shone in Lynn's eyes.

In a low voice, he said, "I want a group of men."

"What kind of men?"

"Hired muscle."