Bettinelli blushed and did not dare to be too rash, but just shouted incoherently: "Want me, dare you hit me, whoever hits me, stand up for me."

He may not have seen clearly that Derbich had hit it.

"Hey, hey, I'm here." Zhuo Yang asked him to focus. "It's all man, who hasn't had a bump? I'll compensate you, brother, be generous."

"Then I've been in vain for these few strokes?"

"Or why?"

"I'm shameless?"

"What do you think you should do?"

"Losing money." Bettinelli suddenly became a rich fan: "One slap is 100,000, a total of 300,000."

Zhuo Yang smiled: "Damn it, is your face made of gold, or is your face hair made of gold?"

Bettinelli: "Look at me, I'm so hot now, so I don't have the face. You think it's expensive, I think it's expensive."

Zhuo Yang: "Okay, you can choose one, but will you keep your face familiar?"

"What?"

"Oh, sorry, I'm over." Zhuo Yang slapped his forehead. "Well, you punch me, this matter will be over."

"I'm so embarrassed."

"It's okay if you don't fight."

"Okay, I'll fight."

Manchester City people shouted angrily: "You dare!"

Xuerle, Mitrovic quickly dissuaded: "Don't dare!"

Bettinelli: “…”
Chapter completed!