Chapter Eight: Becoming Part of the Puzzle
In the evening, Wei Lai stepped out of the bathroom after a hot shower, feeling much refreshed. Yet, his body still stirred restlessly. Training could be addictive, just like now—there was always an urge to keep pushing. But if he didn’t go home, his parents would worry.
As he dried his hair, he noticed Wei Chenggong bustling about, carrying things and setting up the coffee table, which was laden with beer and snacks.
Wei Lai was momentarily taken aback and asked, “Dad, what are you doing?”
Wei Chenggong turned with a serious expression. “Son, tonight is the crucial match for the Chinese national football team’s qualification. If we can just hold Japan to a draw, we secure our place in the knockout stage!”
He began singing as he spoke:
“We stand united! Charge, charge, charge!”
“We stand united! GOGOGO!”
“Promise me! Don’t make me wait too long!”
“Push forward! The earth is beneath your feet!”
Wei Lai grimaced—such an old, worn-out chant!
...
Later that night, Wei Lai sat on his bed, peering through the crack of his door. Outside, the flickering light of the television cast shadows in the room.
The commentator’s voice was heavy with despair.
“At the 70th minute, we have conceded five goals. Chinese football is once again teetering on the edge of a cliff!”
The living room was silent except for the TV’s narration.
Wei Lai quietly approached the door, leaning against the wall.
“The match has ended. China lost 0-5 to Japan. This game... sigh…”
The commentator’s helpless sigh was followed by stifled breaths filled with suppressed sorrow.
Huff… huff… huff…
Heavy, trembling breaths—an agony held back, grief swelling in the throat but swallowed down forcefully.
Again.
Once more.
It seemed every time was the same: even the smallest hope was never fulfilled.
Each tournament worse than the last, each time more disappointing.
Every time they promised a rebound, but instead, it only got worse.
Just when fans thought it couldn’t get any worse, it always did.
...
Fans reached out with hope again and again, only to be met with heartbreak.
A lighter clicked.
Moments later, smoke curled through the living room.
“We… stand… united… GO… GO… GO…”
After a long while, Wei Chenggong quietly sang, almost whispering, almost lamenting.
His voice choked with emotion, breaking the heart.
“Promise me… don’t… make me… wait too long…”
Sigh.
With that sigh, the living room slipped into silence.
No anger, no breakdown—only numbness.
Because this story had repeated too many times.
Before the match, firm vows; during the match, careless mistakes; after the match, endless regret. Hope rises only to be extinguished by their own hands, shattered hearts passed on to the next cycle.
He knew where the way out lay, he knew when the sun would finally pierce this gloom—but they did not.
They could only struggle forward in the dark, battered but unrepentant.
Yet it was this very suppression—of anger, resentment, hope, and sorrow—that would erupt completely in 2034!
The true golden generation of Chinese football!
In the darkness, Wei Lai slowly lifted his head, his eyes flickering uncertainly.
He clenched his fists tightly.
Diligence! Effort!
These were all he could do...
...
In the ‘simulation arena,’ Coach Yakult’s cheerful voice rang out.
“Let’s enjoy our training together!”
Wei Lai stretched and turned to Coach Yakult.
“I have some questions to ask.”
“Questions?” Coach Yakult rested his chin on his hand. “Theoretically, they’re not allowed, but…”
He smiled brightly. “Go ahead.”
“Were you a professional football player?”
“Indeed!”
“Played in top leagues?”
“Of course!”
Wei Lai pursed his lips cautiously.
“Part of a big-name club?”
Coach Yakult looked at him and nodded. “Yes!”
Wei Lai's heart trembled intensely.
After a long silence, he asked, “At my current level, where do I stand in European youth training?”
Coach Yakult pondered, then said, “Do you want the truth?”
“Yes,” Wei Lai replied solemnly.
Coach Yakult said, “You would be kicked out of youth training.”
Wei Lai’s eyes dimmed.
Just as he expected.
“However, that doesn’t mean you have no future. You just need to find the right path,” Coach Yakult added.
“Path?” Wei Lai asked, puzzled.
“Exactly!” Coach Yakult nodded. “Your talent is indeed average—you lack quick feet, your ball control isn’t top-notch, your speed and explosiveness are not remarkable. But your physical fitness is rated A-level even in European youth training!”
Wei Lai forced a smile. Though he knew this, hearing it so bluntly still stung.
Coach Yakult continued, “What I want to tell you is to focus on mastering one thing.”
“Everyone wants to be the core, the brightest star, but that’s not easy. With your current abilities, you can’t reach that level. You have too many technical shortcomings. But if you can’t be the core, then strive to become a puzzle piece—perhaps the most crucial one.”
“Everyone knows football is a team sport. Each player has their role: forwards attack, midfielders organize, defenders protect. All of it comes together in a match.”
“And within that, there are many nuanced positional duties. Given your traits, you just need to excel at one thing.”
“Defense!” Coach Yakult smiled, raising his index finger. “Believe me, it’s the most beloved position. Teammates, coaches, and fans will all appreciate you.”
“An excellent defensive midfielder can liberate their attacking partners, becoming a fortress at the front of the defense!”
“Imagine: opponents launching attack after attack, only to be thwarted by you, their efforts crumbling like sand. Your crucial interceptions and tackles will electrify the stadium!”
“Your performance determines your team’s defensive toughness—and even the course of the match!”
“You are like an iron wall standing before the defensive line, a barrier that makes opponents sigh in frustration!”
Coach Yakult raised an eyebrow. “Trust me—you’ll come to love this feeling!”
“So, the purpose of this lesson is to make you a qualified defensive midfielder!”
Coach Yakult squinted. “You can also call it the ‘Beast Midfielder’!”