Chapter One: The Slacker of Utrecht Reserves

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July 18, 2015. A preseason friendly between Utrecht Reserves and Go Ahead Eagles of the Dutch Second Division.

Twenty days remain before the new season of the Dutch Second Division begins, and both teams have two aims for this friendly match.

First, to help their players find their rhythm. Second, to determine their starting line-up for the new season.

“Tang, do you think we’ll get a chance to play today?”

Zakha, sitting on the bench, looked anxious. He had just been promoted from the U17 squad and was unfamiliar with Coach Merent’s substitution habits.

“It’s a friendly—shouldn’t we get to play?” Tang Ye replied beside him. “But it doesn’t really matter. If we don’t, we don’t.”

“Huh? Tang, you were already on the reserve team last season, right? Did you play in the league matches?”

“Sure did!” Tang Ye twisted his neck, stretching, and held up five fingers.

“Five matches?” Zakha’s eyes lit up. Tang Ye was only fifteen last season, and a fifteen-year-old getting five appearances in the Dutch Second Division seemed promising.

So maybe he’d get a fair shot too?

“Five minutes,” Tang Ye corrected him. He leaned back in his seat on the bench, hands behind his head, looking utterly relaxed, leaving Zakha amazed.

Seriously, you’re slacking off already at sixteen? What am I supposed to do at seventeen?

...

Meanwhile, on a certain Chinese streaming site.

“Good evening, brothers. Hmm? This stream isn’t very clear. Hold on, let me find a better one.”

Streamer Wang Chao fiddled with the settings backstage. About half a second later, the screen in the livestream stuttered and reloaded, now much clearer.

The match had already begun. Unhurried, Wang Chao dragged a string of numbers to the top right of the screen—his fan group chat.

“Anyone in the stream can join the fan group. We share daily picks and guaranteed bets. If you need a better betting site, feel free to DM me!”

With his classic opening done, the match had reached the fourth minute.

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“Yes, for this match I recommend betting on the score—0:2 or 0:3, both are good options.”

[0:3? You’re that optimistic about Go Ahead Eagles? I don’t think they’re much stronger than Utrecht Reserves. Even if it’s their second team, Utrecht is still a powerhouse.]

[Play it safe, just bet on Go Ahead Eagles to win. Predicting scores is way too risky. When I joined this circle, there were two other guys—now neither of them are around.]

[Go Ahead Eagles, let’s go!]

[I heard Utrecht Reserves have a Chinese player. Looking forward to seeing him!]

[You mean Tang Ye, right? He won’t play. Last season I watched all thirty-eight matches—he wore out the bench.]

[Pure hater. Tang Ye played five minutes, okay? And he got one touch!]

Though the Dutch Second Division isn’t exactly popular, today’s stream was lively—thanks to the presence of a Chinese player in Utrecht Reserves, one of the rare overseas Chinese footballers.

Tang Ye—a name many domestic fans had heard.

Not because he was stellar, but because he was notorious for slacking off.

Last summer, Tang Ye had delivered an imaginative long-range shot in a U17 international invitational, helping Taishan U17 draw with Ajax U17. That match caught the eye of Utrecht’s scouts, who brought him to the Netherlands. He now plays for Utrecht Reserves.

The scout thought he’d found a prodigy, but as it turned out, Tang Ye was more of a lazy pig.

Merent had coached the reserves for twelve years; Tang Ye was the first player he’d ever seen simply walk off midway through a training match!

Merent saw Zakha chatting with Tang Ye on the bench and called out, “Isaac, start warming up!”

He had no idea why Zakha bothered with Tang Ye.

Damn Chinese kid—he’d better not spoil my prodigy!

Zakha stood up at his name, pulled on a yellow training bib. Tang Ye gave him a thumbs up. “Good luck.”

“Thanks!” Zakha slipped on the bib, ready to play. He got along well with Tang Ye and wanted to speak up for him to Mr. Merent, but thought better of it.

If Merent found out they were friends, he’d surely explode.

The match continued. Go Ahead Eagles’ high pressing left Utrecht Reserves breathless.

The midfield couldn’t hold the ball—a persistent problem since last season.

And the answer to this problem...

Merent glanced again at Tang Ye, sitting on the bench. The scout had brought Tang Ye to the reserves precisely to fix this.

In a youth system plagued by homogeneity, Tang Ye was Utrecht Reserves’ sole possession-oriented midfielder.

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Damn!

Just thinking about Tang Ye made Merent seethe. He shook his head.

Focus on coaching!

...

On-site, the organizers knew there were many Chinese fans watching, so during a stoppage, the camera lingered on Tang Ye sitting on the bench.

Tang Ye’s eyes were half-closed, his head nodding like a chick pecking at grain.

He was nearly asleep!

[Dammit!]

The fans who’d tuned in specifically for Tang Ye started cursing in the chat.

“Tang Ye...”

Wang Chao, seeing Tang Ye dozing on screen, looked disappointed. “Tang Ye actually has talent, but he’s just too lazy.”

No sooner had Wang Chao spoken than Go Ahead Eagles seized an opportunity on the wing, the winger crossing to score the opening goal against Utrecht Reserves. The substitutes groaned in misery.

Hearing the commotion, Tang Ye opened his eyes. Even though his team was trailing, he felt nothing.

He knew full well the level of Utrecht Reserves and that playing there was a dead end.

If hard work leads nowhere, then why bother? Better to keep a calm mind.

When winning and losing no longer concern you, invincibility is not far off.

And Tang Ye was that invincible one.

Just then, a line of text appeared before Tang Ye’s eyes.

[Because of your slacker nature since childhood, you’ve wasted your innate football talent. Seven years in Europe, and only five minutes in official matches. At twenty-two, your squandered talent brought you to the domestic league, where you cashed in on your overseas player status.]

[Now, in 2036, at thirty-seven, you retire in humiliation from the second tier and become a football commentator, making money by smearing stars. Watching one prodigy after another shine in the top leagues, you feel regret—lamenting that time cannot be reversed.]

[You lower your head, look at your body, and feel you haven’t made enough money in your playing days. So you resolve to come out of retirement.]

[Make an appearance in the friendly match—reward: a random midfielder star skill.]

...