Ling knew his old dribbling style wouldn't cut it.
In the academy, being flashy got you noticed.
It was all about showing off, hoping to gain recognition.
But he'd seen the future of football.
The ga was getting faster, simpler, more efficient.
Players who held the ball too long, no matter how skillful, were being phased out.
Simplicity was speed. Efficiency was king. He had to break his old, bad habits.
On the pitch, Rui Faria watched with a complex expression.
That pendulum dribble... for a second, he wasn't in rainy Manchester.
He was back in Barcelona, watching a young phenonon tear up the training pitch.
But he shook the mory off.
He was a professional coach.
The dribble was the flash.
The decision-making was the substance.
Ling hadn't held the ball. He'd supported the counter. His final pass was a perfect, simple cutback.
That was the sign of a real player.
It seed they had truly unearthed a gem.
...
The match restarted.
Ling didn't let the assist get to his head.
He imdiately slotted back into his defensive shape, diligently carrying out Faria's instructions.
One good move was nothing.
The real goal was the first team. This was just the first step.
West Ham, having traveled all the way from London, were furious.
They intensified their attacks, and their full-back, Luis, had a look of pure resentnt.
He'd been careless, he told himself.
He hadn't been physical.
Next ti, he wouldn't give the "Chinese kid" an inch.
The Hamrs' attacks began to funnel down their right flank, trying to exploit the space Ling had to cover.
Ling simply glanced at his teammates and dropped deeper, maintaining the team's compact shape.
United's formation solidified
They sank deeper, forming two tight defensive lines.
It was the classic Mourinho 1-0. Frustrate.
Deny space.
Protect the lead at all costs.
So called it the key to championships. Others called it the death of football.
West Ham soon dominated possession, but it was all sterile.
They passed the ball in front of United's defensive block, launching wave after wave, but they couldn't find a way through.
Faria even made a tactical adjustnt, signaling for Ling to drift inside, partnering with Gos to double-team Declan Rice, effectively neutralizing West Ham's only creative spark.
In the Huya live stream, the chat began to grumble.
[This is boring as hell.]
[Welco to Mourinho-ball lol. We're 1-0 up, this is the ga now.]
[Ling's defensive skills are just average, but his work rate is insane. He's everywhere.]
[Faria is literally using him and Gos to double-team Rice. Smart. Rice can't even get a touch.]
The comntator of the ga just sighed.
"With the Chinese national team's recent struggles, it's no wonder so many fans are tuning in to watch a youth team match. They're pinning all their hopes on the next generation... and right now, Ling is the brightest hope they have."
...
As ti ticked away, West Ham grew more desperate.
With Rice suffocated, they resorted to hopeful long-range shots and speculative crosses, praying for a mistake.
In the 43rd minute, their winger finally got a step on Detri Mitchell and whipped a cross in from the byline.
But he was off-balance.
The cross was weak and hung in the air, an easy clearance for Tuanzebe.
A perfect counter-attacking opportunity.
McTominay muscled his man off the ball to win the second header, cushioning it perfectly wide to Mitchell.
The red tide surged forward.
Mitchell, fast as ever, sprinted past the halfway line.
He looked up, assessing his options.
The striker, Josh Bohui, was marked.
The right-winger, Tahith Chong, was covered.
'Pass it back?' he thought.
The safe play. If he lost it here, Faria would have his head.
'No. Not this ti.'
Suddenly, he saw a flash of white and black sprinting down the opposite flank.
Ling.
His old rival.
The image of Ling's assist—the move that had left his man for dead—flashed in his mind.
Without hesitation, Mitchell struck the ball with the full instep of his left foot.
Thump!
It was a magnificent cross-field pass, a fifty-yard diagonal that traced a beautiful arc through the air.
Bohui, the striker, leaped high, drawing the attention of the last two defenders.
But the ball was never for him.
It sailed just over his head, dropping perfectly into the space just outside the penalty area.
Ling, who had been sprinting full-out for sixty yards, seized the opportunity.
"One-on-one!" the strear scread. "But the pass! It's a bit too strong! The keeper's coming out!"
The pass was a fraction too strong.
Ling saw he wouldn't win the race.
The West Ham keeper charged out, his eyes wide, ready to smother the ball.
"Who will get there first?!"
Under the gaze of 800 fans, Ling adjusted his posture.
He slowed down. Just a fraction.
The Westham Keeper, seeing Ling hesitate, was overjoyed.
He dove, launching his body horizontally to claim the ball at Ling's feet.
At that exact critical mont, Ling lifted his right foot.
He didn't just chip it.
He scooped it.
With an audacious, delicate touch, he popped the ball up and over the diving keeper, and in the sa motion, he leaped, tucking his legs to avoid the collision.
Ederson's pupils contracted.
He was on the ground, montum carrying him forward, and he could only watch helplessly as Ling flew over him.
'Is he really... a youth team player?' he thought in a daze.
What followed was simple.
Ling landed on his feet, regained his balance, and calmly slotted the ball into the empty net.
2-0, Manchester United.
The stadium erupted.
The fans were exhilarated, witnessing their hogrown youngster's brilliant performance.
Ling's face was flushed with adrenaline as he pumped his fist.
It was just a goal in the Premier League B, but to him, it ant everything.
His teammates piled on top of him.
As he got up, he pointed back across the pitch to his rival.
"Mitchell! What a ball!" he yelled.
Mitchell, already walking back to his position, just snorted.
But Ling was sure he saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
...
In the live stream, the chat exploded.
[AM I SEEING THINGS?!]
[HE CHIPPED HIM! HE JUMPED OVER THE KEEPER!!]
[THAT WAS ABSOLUTELY FILTHY! 2-0!]
User Comments
0 comments from readers