Golden Greenery

No one in the noisy locker room paid special attention to Zhuoyang's actions. Only Pique and Busquets followed him closely.

Zhuoyang came straight to Marcos and greeted him with a smile on his face: "Hi, Rafael, the weather is very nice today."

Although Rafael Marcos felt baffled, he did not dare to neglect at all, and quickly responded with a smile: "Hi, Zhuo..."

Suddenly, Zhuo Yang's face changed drastically, his smile disappeared, his angry eyes rolled into wild clouds, and he sternly scolded: "How dare you look down on me!" He slapped Marcos in the face with a backhand, and the crisp sound echoed in the dressing room. room.

Not to mention Marcos, everyone was confused. Various expressions of surprise were written on everyone's face, and their open mouths ranged from big to small, round to square.

"I came here to say hello to you with good intentions, but you can't even move while you're sitting there. Damn it..."

'Snapped! ’ Another shot.

Marcos couldn't come back to his senses at all, and the others also maintained their strange shock and were cast a immobilization spell.

"I made you look down on me!"

'Snapped! ’

"Let you look down on me!"

'Snapped! ’

In one breath, there were four loud mouths, and the gray face of the mixed-race Marcos was turned the color of a wood kiln, and the sky was clear after the rain.

"Zhuoyang, what are you doing?"

"Zhuoyang, you are crazy!"

Someone finally reacted. Puyol and Xavi shouted loudly, and Henry, Abidal, Keita and others stood up from their seats.

Although Marcos was whipped to the point where his eyes were spinning and his brain was dazed, he was still furious. He jumped up, raised his fist and hit Zhuo Yang. This was completely a subconscious behavior after he was attacked, without much thought.

Zhuoyang, who was well prepared, stooped to let go of the punch, and then raised his body and hit Marcos on the cheek with his iron elbow. Before he could fall down, two more lightning-fast punches hit his chest, knocking Marcos back to his seat.

This is simply a lunatic! Just because Marcos didn't stand up when talking to him,

Are you about to start a fight? Although the Barcelona dressing room is not known for its unity, such a bad thing has never happened. Is it Real Madrid?

Marcos was beaten until his blood boiled, and his cheek didn't seem to be his. At this time, Marcos had forgotten what kind of watch he was, and only had the stress reaction after being beaten for no reason.

He reached out and grabbed a square bench next to him, which was the temporary seat for the assistant coaches during chanting. When he stood up, he was about to rush over and fight Zhuoyang.

Zhuo Yang quickly took two steps back and stood in the middle of the locker room with his arms hanging down. A chilling air quickly filled the air, and Marcos suddenly felt Zhuo Yang's eyes were cold to the bone.

"Marcos! Think about it before you take action." Zhuo Yang said in a deep voice. "Once you lift the stool, you won't stop until you die."

Marcos was frozen instantly as if he was being tapped. The square stool had just been leveled, and it was frozen there like a sculpture. He understood and sobered up. Zhuo Yang came here for the watch.

In an instant, Marcos felt mixed emotions. He regretted that he could not control his hand, and regretted not giving the watch to Busquets early to settle the matter.

Seeing that he didn't dare to move rashly, Zhuo Yang turned to Puyol who was trying to pull him back, and his expression changed instantly.

"Aunt Pu, I'm miserable~~~~~"

"I'm so miserable, I can't control myself, I'm crazy, I have a mental illness~"

Puyol felt like he was going crazy, and was confused by Zhuoyang's repeated performances from lunatic to fool.

"Aunt Pu, you don't know that my disease is called... intermittent rabies... no, mania... yes, intermittent stress-induced psychological obsessive mania. I don't dare to be stimulated!"

"Intermittent... psychological... rabies... disease?"

"Yes, yes, intermittent stress-induced obsessive mania. If you are looked down upon by others, you may get sick immediately, just like this. This is what it looks like when you get sick. It's so miserable. You can't control your hands and feet at all. , I just want to hit people, I can’t control it..."

"Aunt Pu, dear teammates, you are all my relatives. You must never give up on me. Please enlighten me, save me, and help me."

Puyol was hallucinating, as if he was no longer in the Barcelona locker room. Only Pique and Busquets knew this. Pique closed his eyes in embarrassment, and Busquets turned his head and looked at him: Is this your method?

Messi, Ibrahimovic and Henry looked at each other. Zhuoyang has rabies? But I heard that this is not the case with rabies? He's too miserable, how could a very good person be like this... isn't this fucking nonsense!

Puyol was at a loss. He wanted to give Zhuoyang a warm hug and a hot hug.

"Zhuoyang, is this...real or fake?"

"It's true, it's absolutely true. There's no cure. If I want to lie to you, I'll let the Mexicans fuck you." He said it so smoothly that Pujolt couldn't even react.

"Why does this disease exist?"

Zhuo Yang's face changed from crying and distorted to a sad and solemn expression in an instant: "I don't know, anyway, if I am stimulated, look down on me, racial discrimination... racial discrimination?"

His face became ferocious and exaggerated again: "How dare you fucking racially discriminate against me?"

With a 'whoop', his backswinging leg burst out and kicked the square stool that Marcos was still holding like an idiot. The force was so great that the square stool flew through the air and Marcos still remained motionless, just like the cup that was pressed down after the banknotes were suddenly taken away.

The square stool hit the wall in front and broke with a bang.

‘Oh hit~~~~’

Zhuoyang turned around on the spot with the help of inertia, as graceful as a ballet, and performed roundhouse kicks heartily. The instep of his right foot struck at the junction of Marcos' shoulder and neck from top to bottom, and he fell to the ground like a felled tree.

"Stop!" Puyol, who was about to have a brain attack, hurriedly rushed over and hugged Zhuo Yang, fearing that he would beat him to death again. There were gasps in the locker room, like a pressure cooker going out of breath.

Messi, Xiaobai, and Coffee also rushed forward and hugged Zhuoyang. The others had various expressions, some were angry, some were excited, some were embarrassed, some were stunned, and some were confused from beginning to end. force.

Zhuo Yang's expression had returned to calmness. He allowed several people to hug him like a bundle. He stopped talking nonsense and did not resist at all. He just stared coldly at the man lying on the ground with his head half raised. His Marcos.

The two people's eyes intertwined in the noise.

Marcos felt fear in his heart! When he was a child growing up in a slum, he was once a delinquent who did many bad things, a junior gangster. A gangster like him had a mysterious admiration for his elder brother on the road. Facing ordinary people, gangsters can be arrogant and domineering and can bully them at will, but Big Brother can make them tremble with just one look, even if they have never seen Big Brother before but only heard of Big Brother's reputation.

Although he left the slums very early, his childhood psychological inertia is not so easy to eradicate. For the current Marcos, the notorious Zhuoyang is the kind of big brother on the road today.

"What happened to this mess? You...Aunt Pu, what are you doing around here?" Guardiola, who had just opened the door and walked in during the chanting time, immediately lost his face when he saw this, but was immediately struck by Marcos lying at his feet. Startled.

"Oh, fuck, you're just lying here making a fuss..."