June 10, 2010.
Arsenal’s Korni Training Base, U17 training field.
"Beep! Beep——!"
Two long whistles sounded, marking the end of a day’s training.
Ma’el sat on the ground stretching his muscles and suddenly noticed that the front sole of his shoes was starting to co apart again.
"They should be retired."
He felt a pang of heartache. He had just glued them two days ago, and they split again, aning there’s no saving them now.
Looking at his peers’ brand-new shoes, Ma’el felt a tinge of envy.
An unfortunate family, perhaps the price for pursuing his football dream.
He wasn’t really called Ma’el, nor was he actually in 2010.
In 2024, that office worker who loved football, Li Muchen, was his original identity.
Who knew, that night of drunkenness after the national team’s 0-7 defeat to Japan beca his farewell to that world.
When he woke up, he found himself here.
"Ma’el, how long is your trial period?"
Beside him, a voice broke the silence. It belonged to the team’s French defender, Carl, his tone full of dejection, "Mine is only 6 months, almost over."
"Sa."
Ma’el raised his eyebrows in regret, sowhat helpless, "If there’s no contract renewal before July 1st, we should prepare to leave together."
"Sigh, the competition is too fierce."
Carl looked at the peers clad in Arsenal jerseys around him, shaking his head slightly, "If I go back, I don’t know which club would want ."
Go back?
Ma’el wanted to say, if he went back, even living would beco a problem, and he’d probably have to give up football and find a job to make a living.
After all, he didn’t have his parents’ support...
The original owner of this body was born into an unfortunate family in Southern France, with ancestors who were Chinese and settled there over the generations.
Tragically, his mother died during childbirth, and his father died in a drunk-driving accident when he was two.
His only relative, an uncle, took on the custody, raising him normally.
But his uncle and aunt already had three children to support, and as the original owner’s football expenses grew, the family gradually stopped supporting his football pursuits.
Fortunately, the original owner had so talent and received an invitation for a six-month trial with the Premier League giant Arsenal Youth Team six months ago.
It was definitely the last chance!
If he passed, Arsenal would offer him a salary enough to ensure a living and continue on this path.
Otherwise, he would have to return to France and find a job for sustenance.
"I’m going to practice my shooting."
Ma’el stood up, taking a few footballs and dragging his peeling shoes towards the field.
Only twenty-one days left!
If he wanted to keep playing for Arsenal, he better make the most of every minute.
"Boom! Boom! Boom——!"
The sound of back-to-back shots rang out, followed by the crisp sound of the ball hitting the net.
Ma’el ran across the field alone, dribbling, positioning himself, swinging his leg for a powerful shot, retrieving the ball, repeating the process.
His position was a winger, and the only rit worth ntioning was his solid basic skills.
Height of 1.81 ters, weight of 70 kg, with average physical power, speed burst, shooting, and passing. Overall, he was quite diocre.
With such conditions, in the talent-filled Arsenal Youth Training Camp, he had no competitive edge.
The chance of staying after the trial was slim to none.
No matter how much extra practice and effort he put in, it seed futile.
But Ma’el didn’t want to wait around to be eliminated; he always wanted to try harder, fight a bit more.
"Ma’el!"
After training for a while, a voice called from afar, "Co to my office."
Sweating heavily, Ma’el stopped, his gaze shifting to see a tall, balding middle-aged man standing in the distance, beckoning him over.
It was Hans, the head coach of the Arsenal U17 Team.
Ma’el halted his training and walked towards the coach’s office.
A ’pat-a-tat’ sound ca from under his feet, with his shoe soles coming further apart, smacking the ground before springing back.
Ma’el hesitated for a mont; he still had a little over two hundred Euros, enough to buy a pair of shoes.
But if he didn’t make the team, he’d need to ask his uncle and aunt for the airfare back to France...
Maybe it’s better to glue them again and make do for a few days?
Thinking this, he pushed open the door to the U17 coach’s office and saw Hans, with a shiny bald head, sitting at the desk.
"What size shoes do you wear?"
Hans’ gaze almost instantly focused on Ma’el’s feet, "I’ve got a few pairs that I don’t use; I could lend you a pair."
It looked like he had been observing for a while.
"I..."
Ma’el was moved, instinctively wanting to decline, but after looking at his feet, he bit his lip, "Size 8.5, roughly."
"Perfect."
Hans raised an eyebrow with a smile, turning to rummage through a shoe rack, "I saw your shoes have co apart several tis and glued nurous tis.
"So I thought I’d give you a pair of mine to get you through the trial at least.
"These shoes I’ve only worn during practice sessions, not much otherwise, they’re pretty clean. Hope you don’t mind."
Ma’el felt a mix of embarrassnt and gratitude, "Certainly not."
"Take them."
Hans quickly pulled out a bag containing the shoes, laughing heartily, "Try them on the field, see if they fit. I’ve got work to do."
"Thanks, Coach."
Ma’el took the shoes, expressed his gratitude, and headed back to the field, determined to rember this tily kindness.
Reaching the goal area again, he put on the shoes and resud practicing his shooting.
The shoes fit perfectly, giving a special warmth when playing.
Ma’el soon lost himself in the shooting practice, keenly feeling the feedback from each successful shot, learning from failed ones.
Slowly, he seed to enter a mystical state, where the world seed to consist only of the goal ahead and the soccer ball under his feet.
He forgot exhaustion, forgot ti, practicing chanically.
Ma’el desperately wanted to stay on the pitch, the sport he loved, willing to dedicate all his ti and energy.
He had dreamt countless tis of waking up on a roaring field, standing among well-known football stars, basking in the fans’ applause.
He also imagined again and again the exhilaration after scoring a decisive goal for his team, celebrating with a sliding knee.
Suddenly, a few lines of deep black text appeared before his eyes.
[Skill: Long Shot Level 1]
[Skill Level: (34/100)]
[Utility: You gradually feel the thrill of long-distance shots, starting to practice diligently, though your basic power and accuracy are still lacking. You yearn for the mont of upgrade and improvent.]
[Note: Level 1 is the lowest, Level 5 is the highest! Pushing any athletic or physical ability to Level 5 will attain the highest human standard!]
Ma’el suddenly stopped, dazed.
Fortunately, having been an internet-savvy youth in his previous life, he was pretty knowledgeable. He quickly ventured out, "System?"
There was no response, forcing him to ponder on his own.
It seed that as long as he kept practicing specific skills, his skill level would improve, and once maxed out, it would upgrade?
In other words, as long as he kept at it, he could keep improving, and effort would be rewarded?
"Let’s try it."
He ran to the goal area to retrieve the ball, this ti, with significantly stronger steps, a few bright glimrs in his expression.
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