Chapter 53: The Spark of Ambition (Please Bookmark)
The future of football shines brilliantly, a constellation of stars gathering in splendor.
Unlike the legendary duo praised by coach Shinji Kagawa, the world’s future football landscape belongs to an era of diverse brilliance.
The Austrian star, Conrad Lehmann, glides with the grace of a waltz.
The French speedster, Huntley Danny, a supercar on the field.
Argentina’s highland eagle, Diego Ruma, soars with fierce determination.
Brazil, the five-star nation, brims with prodigies; the twin forwards known as the Double R strike fear into all who face them.
The fierce vultures—Garrincha and Ronaldo—sharpen their claws.
The samba dancer, Assity von Ronaldo, dazzles with flair.
And many more...
Together, they forge a future football world that is both glorious and fiercely competitive.
The steadfast and powerful Seven Sisters of Serie A.
The Bundesliga’s triumvirate, one league with two giants.
The tumultuous battlefield of the Premier League.
The tripartite struggle for dominance in La Liga.
Even Ligue 1, slightly less illustrious, boasts formidable clubs like Paris International and Lyon.
The Champions League—a battleground of titans!
Powerhouses fall unexpectedly; underdogs rise as dark horses!
The Dutch youth storm sweeps across the Alps and howls over the Apennine Peninsula.
A miraculous unbeaten run of a hundred games heralds the birth of a red dynasty!
That year, the luxury battlecruiser roared across Europe’s skies, silencing all.
The rise and fall of beautiful football!
Coach Fran, the architect of greatness, faces the blue specter’s lament and unwillingness to yield!
From humble beginnings yet incandescently elegant, the Dutch maestro leads the red and blue legion to a septuple crown!
Such a stirring future—how could one not yearn for it?
How could one resist the desire to carve their own legend in this mad era?
The evening breeze by the Ebro stirs the hearts of the youths, fanning the ember of ambition, flickering ever brighter in the gentle wind...
...
Crash! Crash!
A silver lightning bolt tears through the sky, webbing across rolling black clouds.
In an instant, torrential rain pours, thunder roaring, cloaking the world in a gray, misty veil.
“This lousy weather—our warm-up match’s off!” Yang Fan murmurs with displeasure, lying on the bed staring at the downpour outside.
The sting from Antonio Alonso still lingers; he had hoped to vent through a thrilling match, only for the thunderstorm to cancel it outright.
Glancing over, he sees He Chaoyue lying on the floor doing core exercises.
Wei Lai is sound asleep on the bed.
“Rare sight! Old Wei’s still sleeping at this hour!” Yang Fan finds it odd; this usually tireless guy now sleeps like a log.
“Balance work and rest!” He Chaoyue replies, lying prone, alternately drawing his legs toward his chest in high-leg raises.
A grunt escapes as he turns to work the side muscles.
“When it’s time to rest... then rest!”
With that, he flips over: “One more set!”
Yang Fan grins wryly, glancing between He Chaoyue and Wei Lai.
These two workaholics—whoever wants to push themselves, go ahead.
As for him? He just can’t keep up!
In another room, Xiang Ming sits at the edge of his bed, juggling a ball with the sole of his right foot, then switching to his left.
After a while, he stands, juggling with his shoulder, head, and the side of his foot.
Each touch steady and precise, a testament to Xiang Ming’s superior ball sense.
Nearby, Chen Shaojie lies on his bed, phone in left hand playing match footage. He pauses frame by frame, pen in right hand scribbling notes.
The room hums with the sound of juggling and the scratch of pen on paper.
After a moment, Xiang Ming breaks the silence.
“You think we’ll get pro contracts at eighteen?”
Chen Shaojie turns to him.
Xiang Ming points next door.
“The three over there are different; they’re from Willy Football Academy, with a clear path to pro ranks. Given their performance, they’ll definitely get club contracts.”
Then he gestures toward himself and Chen Shaojie.
“But we’re different. No godfather club, no signed contracts. Your Guangfa lost its first team; you’ll probably be sold abroad...”
“We’re both headed overseas. Do you think we can make it?”
Chen Shaojie ponders.
“Don’t know.”
Xiang Ming sighs, ever since hearing about Antonio Alonso, a sense of urgency has gripped him.
At fifteen, he once thought there was no need to rush.
But seeing someone else break into top-tier leagues at seventeen stirs anxiety.
Besides, they lack the luxury of a clear professional promotion channel.
“Still, we just have to work hard,” Chen Shaojie says, turning back to his phone.
“Playing hard abroad is how we show ourselves.”
“Sometimes, I think we should drop our pride, shamelessly push forward, sell ourselves. Failure’s no shame; success is huge gain!”
“This is a great stage; perform well now. If not, there’s next year’s U-20 World Cup—bigger stage, more clubs watching. As long as we deliver, the future’s bright.”
“Besides!” Chen Shaojie smiles wryly, “Do you really think those three next door are content with just the internal route?”
“As for Wei Lai and Yang Fan, I don’t know. But He Chaoyue definitely wants to go abroad. He told me as long as he can survive overseas, he’s ready to play.”
Xiang Ming shakes his head.
“That guy’s obsessed with playing abroad!”
“After all, his dad... ow!”
Chen Shaojie jumps up, clutching his backside.
“Are you crazy? Why’d you kick me there?”
Xiang Ming makes an awkward grimace toward the door.
Chen Shaojie turns to look—and freezes.
“Uh... Chaoyue?”
Chen Shaojie’s pain forgotten, words fail him.
He Chaoyue glances at them, then enters the room, plucking two bananas from the table.
“Hungry, came to find something to eat.”
Xiang Ming quickly offers, “Help yourself, it’s all yours!”
Chen Shaojie echoes, “All yours! All yours!”
He Chaoyue nods, standing before Chen Shaojie, slowly peeling the bananas, eyes fixed on him as he eats bite by bite.
Chen Shaojie feels ill at ease.
Gossiping, then caught!
How embarrassing can it get?
It takes He Chaoyue a full two minutes to finish the two bananas.
“Full!” he declares, tossing the peels into the trash, then turning to leave.
Watching him go, Chen Shaojie finally exhales.
“That scared me—do you think he heard us?”
Xiang Ming grins.
“Doubt he missed a word!”
Outside the door, He Chaoyue leans against the wall.
His gaze is vacant, memories from childhood slowly surfacing in his mind.
Yet those memories split into two stark halves.
Before him, the harsh glare of a dome light beams down; around him, tens of thousands of fans roar in jubilation.
A small figure straddles the neck of a middle-aged man, chubby cheeks flushed with excitement, arms spread wide, embracing the roaring stadium.
The distinguished man dons a white and green jersey, bearing the emblem of F.C. Doorsan.
On his back, a large number 7 and the initials H.E.F.
Soon, the lights dim, the cheers vanish, replaced by heated arguments and the clatter of breaking glass.
The small figure curls beneath the covers, tears trailing down his cheeks, clutching a black-and-white soccer ball as if it were his sole refuge.
How long He Chaoyue stands there is unknown; his feet begin to tingle slightly.
He moves them gently, takes a deep breath, and shakes his head.
The emptiness and confusion in his eyes fade, replaced by steely resolve and courage.