Over the past few days, aside from his regular training, meals, and trips to the bathroom, Tang Long had devoted all his energy to the Cloud Training Ground.
His chemistry with his training partner, Iniesta, had also continued to improve.
He discovered that whenever he chose a training partner to pass to, an inconspicuous number appeared above each candidate: [proficiency].
Beckham, Pirlo, Ronaldinho, and Xavi were all at 0%.
Since Tang Long had chosen Iniesta so many times, their proficiency had risen to 40%.
His training scores had also been getting higher and higher.
He'd started at 6.5, then gradually climbed to 7 and 7.5.
The immediate result was a noticeable improvement in Tang Long's short-passing stat!
From Monday to Friday, Tang Long spent more than 50 hours in Cloud Training over the course of those five days.
He completed more than 50,000 passes with Iniesta!
His short-passing stat rose from 55 to 68!
That passing stat was already on par with the average for a Serie B midfielder.
He'd reached the level of a mediocre professional player.
He still couldn't compare with Inter's starting midfielders, such as Kovacic, Hernanes, and Medel.
But during regular training, he could just about keep up with his teammates now.
He no longer made ridiculously bad passing errors.
Saturday afternoon.
The whole Inter team took the high-speed train to Rome. They would soon face the Red Wolves at the Stadio Olimpico.
During their final training session on Sunday morning, Inter's players came to the Stadio Olimpico to get a feel for the pitch.
During a practice match, Tang Long played Icardi a perfect ball, setting him up to calmly slot it into the net.
"Beautiful, Tang! That was a great ball."
Icardi turned with a smile and gave him a thumbs-up.
After training, while they were showering in the locker room,
Tang Long went out of his way to stand beside Icardi.
Italy's economy had been struggling in recent years, and Roma didn't have much money to improve the stadium's basic facilities.
The showers at the Stadio Olimpico were still the same as they'd been at the start of the century.
There were no partitions between the showers.
So Tang Long and Icardi stood there stark naked in front of each other.
Some people said that when two men stood naked in front of each other, that was when they were closest.
Being "naked in front of each other" in this situation meant more than just seeing one another physically. It also implied a certain openness and acceptance between them.
"I've got to say, your passing isn't bad," Icardi said, his head covered in suds as he rubbed shampoo into his hair. He squinted at Tang Long. "It's not as bad as Guarin said. It's good enough for someone your age!"
"Mostly, it's because you make such good runs. If it were someone else, even a perfect pass wouldn't help them score."
"Haha, I'm not trying to brag, but my striker's skills are among the best in Serie A. Look, I'm not big or tall, but I can still play center-forward. I make my living off my movement and finishing."
"I can tell. How else would you have scored nine goals in eleven league matches? I don't think you'll have any trouble winning the Serie A Golden Boot!"
Tang Long's words clearly stirred Icardi's ambition.
He hurriedly rinsed the foam from his hair, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and said excitedly to Tang Long,
"Do you know what, Tang? If I win the Serie A Golden Boot, I'll be the youngest player in Serie A's hundred-year history to do it. I'll be 22!"
"You'll definitely do it. As long as people keep feeding you chances, you won't just win the Serie A Golden Boot—you might even win the European Golden Shoe!"
"The European Golden Shoe? You're even bolder than I am! I'll start with Serie A."
Their conversation in the shower brought Tang Long and Icardi even closer.
Sunday afternoon, just before the match.
The area outside the Stadio Olimpico in Rome was packed with people, buzzing with excitement!
The atmosphere was so electric it could have set the whole city of Rome ablaze.
The gentle winter sunshine of the Mediterranean shone on the home fans' faces, reflecting the heat and anticipation in their eyes.
Roma's red jerseys flickered through the crowd like flames, standing out against the blue sky.
Nearby, a group of fans had gathered spontaneously to warm up.
They shouted the team's slogans and moved in unison, as if they were building up strength for the match ahead.
"Roma! Roma!"
"Whoever defends Roma's colors is our hero!"
"Roma! Roma!"
"Whoever defends Roma's history is our hero!"
The air was filled with the scent of hot dogs and coffee.
The vendors' stalls were piled high with all kinds of counterfeit jerseys and scarves.
Strangely enough, the counterfeit stalls were only a hundred meters from Roma's official store.
Club staff were on hand to keep order, but they seemed to turn a blind eye to the copyright infringement. Some even smoked and happily went over to chat with the vendors.
You'd never see such a laid-back scene in the Premier League.
"Uncle Gali, how's business lately? How many jerseys can you sell in a day?"
"Haha, business is good today. I've already sold twelve jerseys and eighteen scarves!"
"Inter are playing here today. It's a big match, so you must be making a fortune!"
"Mostly because my stock is cheap enough. Your official store sells an authentic jersey for 79 euros, and printing a number costs another 10. Mine are just 15 euros, and you can pick any number you want. Only an idiot would buy your authentic jerseys!"
"Exactly! Only an idiot would buy one. I wouldn't, either! With the Italian economy the way it is, anyone who can afford to spend forty or fifty euros to watch a match is rich. Only an idiot would buy an authentic jersey! By the way, where do you get these jerseys? How much do they cost?"
"Yiwu, China. Five euros each, and shipping's free if you order a hundred!"
Inter's blue bus slowly drove into the stadium.
A chorus of boos rang out!
But the boos didn't last long before turning into cheers!
Roma fans in red jerseys surged toward both sides of the VIP entrance barriers.
The home team's bus had arrived!
"Totti! Totti! Totti!"
"Totti, the Wolf King!"
The fans were chanting Totti's name partly because they adored him. After all, he was Roma's Wolf King.
But what excited them even more was that Totti was the only player on the entire Roma bus to open a window!
Totti was waving to the fans!
The handsome Italian man had a face as sharply sculpted as an ancient Greek statue, and determination shone in his eyes.
Totti pointed at the back of Inter's bus, then grinned and raised a fist as if he were going to punch them.
The gesture instantly set the fans alight!
"Beat them up!"
"Get them! Kick Inter's ass!"
"Show Milan what Roma can do!"
"Come on, Totti! Come on, Roma!!!"
Inter's bus slowly drove into the Stadio Olimpico's underground garage.
Tang Long sat in the back row of the bus, looking out the window.
The clamor of the Roma fans gradually faded into the distance.
Berni took off his headphones and couldn't help complaining to Tang Long:
"These southerners are so damn loud. Even my headphones can't block them out!"
"Every time Roma play Inter, they act like they're on fire. They've only been pipped to the title by Inter two years in a row, from 2006 to 2008. You'd think every match since then was about revenge. These southerners are a bunch of country bumpkins!"
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