One Word Awakens the Dreamer: Yearning to Be Tang Long? You'll Never Be Him! (Two-in-One)

Late at night, inside the Kempinski Hotel in Munich, it was so quiet that only the occasional sound of the wind blowing outside the window could be heard.

Bonazzoli lay on the soft bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

He would lie on his back with his limbs outstretched, then curl up on his side, then lie face down with his face buried in the pillow, or even cover his head completely with the blanket, but no matter how he changed positions, sleepiness would never come his way.

My heart was pounding with a mixture of excitement and nervousness; even in the quiet room, I could hear my heart pounding.

"I can't sleep, I really can't sleep, what should I do?"

Bonazzoli muttered to himself in the darkness, then reached out and fumbled for his phone.

The time displayed on the glaring screen was crystal clear—2:30 AM.

Left with no other choice, he simply sat up, placed the thick, soft pillow firmly behind him, and then slightly turned the button on the bedside lamp.

With a click, the bedside lamp emitted a dim, yellowish light, casting a soft glow in the double room.

His roommate Ranocchia, was sleeping soundly in the bed next to him, his snores emanating from his side.

This marks the first time in Bonazzoli's life that he has embarked on such an important journey with the team, playing in the UEFA Champions League knockout stage.

Their opponent is the formidable Bayern Munich.

Recalling the first leg of the encounter, Bonazzoli felt a bitter taste in his mouth.

He sat on the bench for a full 90 minutes, watching his teammates fight on the field, but never got a single minute of playing time.

At that moment, he watched the back-and-forth, lightning-fast offensive and defensive transitions on the field, with both sides playing fiercely and the situation as tense as a taut bowstring.

At that moment, Bonazzoli felt a surge of relief, thinking to himself, "If I were to face such a formidable opponent at the Etihad Stadium, I would probably make a complete fool of myself and become the laughingstock of everyone."

After all, he had a clear understanding of his own abilities, and he didn't have much confidence when facing Bayern's two main center-backs, Boateng and Martinez, who were like an iron wall.

During the match, he could only stand on the sidelines, like his former Inter Milan predecessor Berni, waving his towel with all his might and cheering for his teammates.

"Tang, great shot! Great shot!"

"It's in! It's in! Yay!!!"

His passionate shouts were particularly loud on the bench, as if he wanted to release all his enthusiasm.

In his eyes, Tang Long, who scored twice in that match, was like a war god descended from the sky, controlling the rhythm of the game with every move.

Every time Tang Long scored a goal, Bonazzoli felt as if a dazzling light was shining down from the night sky, instantly illuminating the entire stadium and making it radiant.

Thinking of this, Bonazzoli's lips unconsciously curled up slightly, and in the dim light, a foolish smile appeared on his face.

But the smile didn't last long; the excitement and nervousness still churned within him, making it even harder for him to fall asleep.

He couldn't lie still any longer, and tiptoed quietly to take his diary out of the bag beside the bed.

Then, he walked to his desk, sat down slowly, and gently pressed the switch on the desk lamp.

With a "snap," the desk lamp turned on, its soft light illuminating his slightly youthful face.

Bonazzoli has always kept a diary, which is like his most loyal companion. Wherever he goes with the team, it travels with his luggage, recording every little detail of his life, his joys and sorrows.

[Mom, it's past 2 a. m., but I just can't fall asleep.]

[I remember you telling me that when Father was still alive, he took you to Munich for your honeymoon. I wasn't born yet, and you were young and healthy then.]

[That was more than twenty years ago, wasn't it? I'm curious, how has Munich changed compared to the city I see here today?]

[Right now, I'm in Munich, but not on my honeymoon. My dearest mother, if you were here with me, I would hold you tight and tell you how nervous I am!]

Bonazzoli was immersed in memories and outpourings, his handwriting flowing smoothly across the pages.

Suddenly, his finger trembled violently, and the pen tip, pressed too hard, tore through the thin paper with a crisp "snap" sound.

Almost simultaneously, Ranocchia rolled over, mumbling a few incoherent words in his sleep.

Bonazzoli held his breath instantly, turning to stare at Ranocchia, afraid that his actions would wake his sleeping roommate.

Only after confirming that Ranocchia had not woken up did Bonazzoli breathe a slight sigh of relief and continue writing in his diary.

[In the first leg at home, I didn't even get a single minute of playing time.]

However, just two days ago, Coach Guardiola approached me, telling me to be fully prepared and revealing that I would be coming on as a substitute in this match!

[I was incredibly excited. During the last training session, he specifically called me aside and explained the tactics to me in detail, for a full 10 minutes.]

[To be honest, there were parts I didn't understand at all. After training, I rushed to ask Chivu for help. Chivu patiently explained it to me, but I was still completely confused, and my mind was a mess.]

[At that moment, I was filled with frustration and even lost my appetite for lunch. Mom, it's such a shame your son isn't a gifted genius. In soccer, I always seem to be a step behind everyone else, clumsy and slow.]

Sometimes, I even fantasize in my dreams about how wonderful it would be if I could switch souls with my teammate Tang.

I also aspire to be like him, to become the undisputed protagonist on the field, to win the thunderous cheers of fans and the heartfelt love of my teammates with countless brilliant goals.

[But why can't I do it? I'm a year older than Tang, but the mature playing style he shows on the court makes him seem ten years more experienced than me!]

[I even fantasized that one day I could turn the tables and coach him. "Tang, you're making the wrong run, you should be running in the opposite direction!" "Your timing for the shot was terrible!" "Didn't you see your teammates' runs? You should have passed the ball earlier!"]

[Haha, just thinking about it makes me realize how far-fetched and ridiculous my ideas are. How could these scenarios possibly come true?]

[What a pity, Mom, your son will probably never become a player like Tang...]

As Bonazzoli wrote, those imagined scenes floated into his mind, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

He was laughing so hard that he didn't notice that Ranocchia had quietly appeared behind him at some point.

"Oh, so this is a primary school student writing in their diary?" Ranocchia suddenly remarked.

The sudden sound startled him, and he reflexively slammed the diary shut. Then, with a look of horror, he turned to look at Ranocchia behind him.

"Captain, you... you're not asleep?" Bonazzoli Baba, his voice still trembling with shock.

During training and matches, Ranocchia always uses a headband to neatly secure her long, flowing hair.

But at this moment, he was wearing loose pajamas, his long hair, which had been tied up, was now disheveled and draped over his shoulders. In the dim light of the lamp, he looked so frightening to Bonazzoli that he seemed like a female ghost drifting out of the darkness.

"I was sleeping soundly," Ranocchia said, yawning. "I was half asleep when I vaguely heard someone chuckling here, and that woke me up. Hey, your writing is quite interesting, let me take a look."

As he spoke, Ranocchia reached out and pressed the button on the desk that controlled all the lights in the room.

In an instant, the room was suddenly brightly lit, and the glaring light made Bonazzoli instinctively squint.

Ranocchia grinned and reached out to snatch the diary from Bonazzoli's hand.

This diary is filled with Bonazzoli's little secrets over the years, and he was unwilling to let anyone see it. He quickly and tightly protected the diary in his arms, refusing to let go no matter what.

But Ranocchia was a full 1.95 meters tall, a full 10 centimeters taller than Bonazzoli.

He finally snatched the diary from Bonazzoli's hand, then held it high and looked at it under the light.

He stood on tiptoe, and even though Bonazzoli desperately reached out, he could only scratch in vain, unable to touch the diary at all.

"Tsk tsk tsk, you've got some ideas," Ranocchia teased, glancing at his diary. "I'm going to tell Tang first thing tomorrow morning that you're actually thinking of coaching him on shooting, positioning, and passing."

Bonazzoli, his face flushed, sat awkwardly in his chair, scratching his head sheepishly. He quickly explained, "Captain, I was just writing this for fun. How could I possibly give Tang real guidance? I only have immense admiration for him."

"Captain, please stop teasing me. I dream of becoming a player as good as him, but alas, it's just a distant dream." Bonazzoli's voice carried a hint of disappointment.

Upon hearing this, Ranocchia paused slightly, his smile gradually fading, and nodded thoughtfully.

He then gently returned the diary to Bonazzoli, patted him on the shoulder, and sat down at the desk.

"Rico, you're wrong to think that way," Ranocchia said earnestly. "You are you, and you can never become Don."

"I know, Captain," Bonazzoli said, lowering his head sadly, his voice filled with self-doubt. "I wish I had half his talent. He's too good, and me? Whether at Inter Milan or Manchester City, I've always struggled to secure a place in the starting lineup."

Ranocchia shook his head, looking at Bonazzoli with gentle eyes.

"No, Frederick, you didn't understand what I meant."

"I mean, in the world of football, every player is unique."

"Ronaldo once said that Domenico was his successor, but there will only ever be one Ronaldo. Similarly, you may aspire to be like Domenico, but there's only one Bonazzoli in the world."

"I'm nine years older than you. When I was young and had just switched from midfield to defense, my idol was Nesta."

Ranocchia fell into memories, and his tone slowed down.

"I dream of becoming a great Italy defender like him, day and night."

"Later, when I first joined Inter Milan, I longed to be like Samuel and Cordoba, building an impenetrable defense on the pitch and becoming a legend of the team."

"But as time went on, I gradually realized that I could never become Nesta. His ability to anticipate timing and the opponent's intentions while defending is an innate talent that I can't learn."

"I can't become Samuel either. His nickname is 'The Rock.' I can't match the incredible physical strength he displays when he's positioning himself."

"And then there's Cordoba. You probably haven't seen him play, but that guy is a speed monster. His speed is terrifying; I can't even dream of matching it."

At this point, Ranocchia paused, slowly stood up, and walked to the window of the room.

He gently drew back the curtains and looked down from the 25th floor.

The sky was clear and bright, and the bright moonlight poured down on Munich, an ancient yet vibrant city, draping every building and street in a silvery veil.

The beautiful night view seems to foreshadow that the players will head to the stadium tomorrow under clear skies for a fierce battle.

"Ah, time flies so fast, six years have passed in the blink of an eye," Ranocchia murmured.

Six years ago, in the 2010-2011 season, Ranocchia started as Inter Milan's center-back in the second leg of the UEFA Champions League knockout stage.

Our opponent is Bayern!

Ranocchia was only 22 years old at the time, a green player, but he fought bravely and united with his teammates, ultimately winning 2-3 away from home.

With the aggregate score tied 3-3, Inter Milan advanced to the quarterfinals by defeating Bayern on away goals.

But who could have imagined that this would be Inter Milan's swan song in the UEFA Champions League knockout stage for so many years? They then fell into a long slump, even failing to qualify for the UEFA Europa League at one point, until Mancini arrived and they got back on track.

Standing atop the hotel, overlooking the city, under the moonlight, I could even vaguely see the arched roof of the Allianz Arena. Ranocchia felt a sense of disorientation; six years seemed to have flown by in the blink of an eye...

He turned around and continued speaking to Bonazzoli:

"But I am who I am. Even if I don't have Nesta's precise defensive anticipation, I have long legs. Even if the opponent occasionally breaks through, I can still intercept the ball with a stretch of my leg."

"I'm not as strong as Samuel, but I'm tall, so when it comes to aerial balls, I can head some balls that he can't reach."

"Of course I don't have Cordoba's terrifying speed, but I'm a ball-playing center-back with more refined footwork, which is why Coach Guardiola converted me from a center-back to a defensive midfielder."

Bonazzoli listened intently, his eyes fixed on Ranocchia, nodding involuntarily.

"That's right, Captain."

Even after leaving Inter Milan, Bonazzoli still habitually refers to Ranocchia as captain in private.

"Compared to Nesta, Samuel, and Cordoba, you each have your own strengths. They are certainly strong, but you are in no way inferior, and you have irreplaceable value on the field!"

Ranocchia's lips curled up slightly, revealing a relieved smile.

He gently closed the curtains, then slipped back into bed and said to Bonazzoli:

"Yes, you and Tang each have your strengths. Why do you insist on becoming him? Every player is unique. Calm down and think about it carefully; you definitely have qualities that Tang has that you excel at."

"Go to sleep, turn off the lights now. You'll likely be coming on as a substitute tomorrow, so make sure you play to your strengths."

Ranocchia reached out and pressed a button, and the room instantly returned to complete darkness.

Bonazzoli sat alone in the darkness, Ranocchia's words echoing in his mind:

"Where are you better than Tang? What are your strengths?"

He pondered the sentence repeatedly, his thoughts drifting away.

"Shooting, positioning, passing... it doesn't seem to be any of those..."

He didn't know how much time had passed, but drowsiness slowly washed over him like a tide. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and he lay down on the bed and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, gently dappling the floor of the room.

Bonazzoli was sound asleep when suddenly he felt the blankets being yanked off, a chill running through him, and he woke up instantly.

"Wake up! Hurry up and brush your teeth and eat breakfast," Ranocchia urged, rubbing his face vigorously with a towel. "We're going to the Allianz Arena for a practice session soon!"