The Gap

"Because you were fooled by your own instincts!"

Old Bing's icy words suddenly made Yang Yang feel as if he understood many things.

"Everyone wants to control everything and anticipate any crises that might appear in the future. Defenders are no different. That's why Ronaldo didn't sprint at full speed at first. It was a way to confuse his opponent, making you unconsciously predict the point where he would enter your defensive zone and prepare your response in advance."

"But when he suddenly changed speed, he completely disrupted your plans and left you flustered. So when you saw his feint, you reacted instinctively, because you wanted to make up for your earlier misjudgment."

At that point, Old Bing delivered his verdict coldly.

"Sometimes, when people try to make up for the mistakes they made earlier, they unknowingly make even bigger mistakes."

Yang Yang understood. He also knew where the problem lay.

Put simply, it was change.

Using changes in speed to catch an opponent off guard, then guiding him into making a mistake.

Those star players with rich defensive experience could often rely on their experience and ability to minimize their own mistakes. Yet even they had no particularly effective way to deal with Ronaldo at his peak.

Other than fouling!

Thinking about it more deeply, hadn't his recent improvement in the team's keep-away games, and his high ball-winning efficiency, come from always feinting one way and going the other? Wasn't that also a kind of change?

"Surely it isn't that simple, right?" After thinking it over, Yang Yang voiced his doubts.

"No, it isn't that simple."

"Changes in speed are only one trick. The real key lies in Ronaldo's excellent footwork and adjustment ability."

The scene changed again. Yang Yang's two sets of footprints faded away, leaving only Ronaldo's, which were enlarged.

"Look closely. He can control his footwork however he wishes—the length of every stride and the landing point of every step. He has planned all of it. Against different opponents, he uses different strategies."

"The reason he accelerated earlier against you than he did against a defensive dummy was that you were mentally prepared."

"To him, half a step early or late makes no difference at all. To a defender, however, they're worlds apart."

Yang Yang understood and was thoroughly convinced. At the very least, he clearly realized how terrifying the gap was between himself and professional players, especially a player like Ronaldo.

One had to know that the Pendulum Dribble was merely one of Ronaldo's signature skills during his peak.

Yet even this seemingly simple move, which was relatively easy to learn, contained such profound intricacies beneath the surface.

And this was only a small part of Ronaldo's Rush, one of his Star Skills. It was clear how broad and profound Ronaldo's attacking technique had been at his peak. It had probably gathered the essence of his footballing wisdom over the course of his career.

"I have a question." Yang Yang now looked like an eager student. "You said Ronaldo had already planned out his landing points, step frequency, and stride length. But does he really think about all those things during a match?"

"No. Matches change in an instant. He couldn't possibly have time to think about them."

Yang Yang was confused again. "Then how does he do it?"

"Muscle memory," Old Bing replied concisely.

Yang Yang understood now.

In fact, back home, the coaches who had taught him to play football had said more than once that the gap between professional and amateur players was astonishing and existed in every aspect. But ultimately, aside from physical ability and awareness, the most important thing was muscle memory.

Take Ronaldo, for example. Every touch and every step he took had been accumulated through countless matches and training sessions over the previous twenty years. They had been tempered through relentless practice until they ultimately formed a kind of muscle memory.

So to him, playing football this way was almost an instinctive habit.

"I understand now why he is Ronaldo." Yang Yang praised him wholeheartedly.

Becoming a superstar did require extraordinary talent, but the most important thing was still hard work.

"You have limited time—only one night. So focus on practicing this Pendulum Dribble. As for how much of its power you can use, that will depend on you." Old Bing still spoke mechanically.

Yang Yang understood. In warfare, excellence mattered more than quantity. What he needed most now was one skill he could rely on.

Training in the Super Training Ground had another major advantage: it developed muscle memory much faster than training in reality. Even so, learning the Pendulum Dribble and mastering it in a single night was simply impossible.

Time was pressing, and Yang Yang had no way to set himself any specific goals. He could only seize every moment and practice as hard as he could.

On Saturday morning, the Skate Park was even quieter than usual.

Yang Yang, however, was up early as always. After telling his uncle, he dribbled the ball to the park to train.

Playing football was all about practice making perfect. One had to train through the harshest winter and the hottest summer without the slightest slackening, especially when it came to the basics.

As the saying went, one day of training meant one day of progress; one day without training meant ten days wasted.

Since it was Saturday and he didn't have classes, Yang Yang's morning training load was heavier than usual. He doubled every exercise and didn't stop until he was drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.

When he was about to walk back to the bench by the roadside to rest, he discovered that an unfamiliar Dutch Middle-aged Man had somehow taken a seat there.

He looked to be around fifty. He wore a sports cap with a golf-ball logo in the center. Beneath the brim was a rather stern middle-aged face, with both temples completely white. His body was slightly stocky, and his large belly stretched the gray sports polo shirt taut, making him look as if he were pregnant.

The Dutch Middle-aged Man sat on the bench with a bottle of water in each hand, looking rather imposing.

Only when Yang Yang approached did he hold out the bottle in his left hand, without saying a word.

"No need, thanks." Yang Yang didn't know him, so naturally he didn't accept it.

But the Dutch Middle-aged Man didn't budge. Not only did he fail to withdraw the bottle, he extended it a little closer. "Let's talk."

From the man's expression, Yang Yang understood. This was a stubborn fellow, and refusing him wouldn't be easy.

"Thanks." Yang Yang took the water but didn't open it. Instead, he set it aside and took a towel from his backpack to wipe the sweat from his body.

"I've been watching you for several days." Beneath the brim of his cap, the Dutch Middle-aged Man narrowed his eyes at the graffiti-covered wall in front of him.

"Hm?" Yang Yang hadn't been listening carefully.

The Dutch Middle-aged Man didn't repeat himself. Instead, he asked, "Are you from Baken Academy?"

"Yeah." Yang Yang nodded. Baken Academy was just north of the park, so it wasn't strange that the man had guessed correctly.

"Do you play for Almere Club's youth team?" the Dutch Middle-aged Man asked again.

"Yeah." Yang Yang nodded once more.

"John Rep and Dick Van Pool have good judgment. How did you get in?"

Yang Yang silently glanced at the Dutch Middle-aged Man but didn't answer. From the man's tone, he sensed that he was very familiar with John Rep and Dick Van Pool.

"You know Mr. Reip?" Yang Yang asked in return.

"Of course. We were teammates on the youth team." The Dutch Middle-aged Man replied calmly.

"Ajax?" Yang Yang was somewhat surprised.

John Rep had come from Ajax, and everyone at Almere knew that.

The Dutch Middle-aged Man nodded faintly. "He was a product of their youth system, but I wasn't. I was merely fortunate enough to spend two years as his teammate on the youth team. Later, he moved up to the First Team, while I..."

Although he stopped at just the right point, Yang Yang could vaguely tell that the man's development at Ajax had probably not gone well.

"Your fundamentals are poor." The Dutch Middle-aged Man changed the subject.

Yang Yang felt rather awkward. The man was a football veteran, but wasn't he being a little too direct?

Still, he nodded and murmured in acknowledgment, admitting the fact.

"You should be sixteen or seventeen, right?"

"Sixteen."

"John Rep brought Ajax's entire youth-training system to Almere. At your age, I'm afraid it will be difficult for you to pass the assessment, won't it?" The Dutch Middle-aged Man looked at Yang Yang calmly.

From just a few scattered remarks, he had deduced all that. Clearly, he understood Ajax's youth system very well.

"Didn't John Rep and Dick Van Pool explain the situation to you?"

Yang Yang hesitated, then nodded. "They did."

"Then why do you still come here every day to train extra? Don't you know you're wasting your effort?"

"Why do you think it's a waste of effort?" Yang Yang asked again.

"Isn't it?"

"Of course not. No matter what happens in the future, as long as you're willing to put in the effort, you'll gain something."

"But in the end, you still won't be able to pass the assessment. Isn't that a waste of effort?"

Yang Yang nodded. "Until the final moment, who can know what the result will be?"

After a pause, Yang Yang looked straight at the Dutch Middle-aged Man. "Sir, you appear to work in football too. You should know that this is like a football match. It lasts ninety minutes, and I've only played eighty-five. I may still be behind, but who dares say I have no chance to turn it around?"

Before the Dutch Middle-aged Man could speak, Yang Yang continued in one breath.

"How many times did Ferguson's Red Devils Manchester United come back in the final moments in 1999? They even overturned Bayern Munich in the final to win the title and create the great miracle of the treble. Isn't that exactly the charm of football? If Ferguson and his players had only thought about giving up when they were behind Bayern Munich, would there have been that final comeback miracle?"

The Dutch Middle-aged Man was slightly moved as he looked at the boy standing before him. Yang Yang's words had touched him, allowing a faint ray of sunlight to pierce the gloomy oppression that had weighed on him for nearly half a year.

He had never denied that he was stubborn and headstrong. But the successive blows he had suffered over the past few years had taught him painful lessons and left him somewhat defeated. Yet he was also not someone who listened to others' advice. No matter how his relatives and friends urged him, he remained unmoved.

But now, Yang Yang's words made him feel close to the boy, and even stirred a faint sense of resonance.

As long as the match wasn't over, there was still a chance.

They had little to say to each other. Yang Yang wasn't eager to continue talking with him. After thanking him for the bottle of water, he picked up his backpack and left.

Behind him, the Dutch Middle-aged Man silently watched Yang Yang's departing figure. Suddenly, the corner of his mouth lifted, and he actually smiled.

"What an interesting kid."

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