First Training Session

A red Ferrari Enzo was parked in the parking lot of the Mirasierra Hotel.

Anyone with even a passing knowledge of cars would fall head over heels for it. Only 399 had been produced worldwide, and with a price tag of up to 700,000 euros, it was a top-tier sports car—in other words, the dream car of countless men.

Ibrahimovic owned one, and he had even specially arranged for it to be shipped from his home in Sweden to Madrid.

"How is it? Cool, right?" the Swedish Striker asked smugly as he caressed the car's body, as though he were stroking his lover's skin.

He loved cars. Even during his time at Ajax, he had been obsessed with chasing after sports cars, and had gotten into plenty of embarrassing situations because of it, such as that time he went with Vermaelen to pick up Yang Yang at the school gates and show off.

"Want to take it for a spin?" Ibrahimovic asked with a grin.

Yang Yang shook his head vigorously. "Better not. My driving isn't very good. If I accidentally scratched it, you'd be heartbroken."

Vermaelen and Maxwell burst out laughing. They knew Ibrahimovic far too well.

To put it bluntly, the guy just loved showing off. He was in the terminal stage of a chronic show-off syndrome and was beyond saving.

"You're so biased. Earlier, I asked to borrow it for one trip, and you refused. Now you're offering it to Yang Yang." Vermaelen grumbled, looking as aggrieved as a wronged heroine from an old opera.

"You should think about it. I'm doing this for your own good. With your little salary, if you accidentally scratched it, could you afford the repairs?" The Swedish giant mercilessly took Vermaelen down a peg.

The Belgian center-back looked utterly aggrieved. He