Precise Arc lv3!

Precise Arc lv3!

Time moved into August, and the Premier League and Championship were about to kick off.

Arsenal's Colney Training Base, the Head Coach's office.

Wenger had a cigarette constantly in hand as he leaned by the window, exhaling clouds of smoke. His face was full of worry, with a rare gloominess to it.

Assistant coach Phillis stood behind him, looking at the scraps of paper and tactical boards scattered all over the floor, then lowered his head and sighed.

The atmosphere in the office was suffocatingly heavy.

"The ten-year plan is just gone."

In the end, Phillis still spoke with some heartache. The matter was still fermenting, and Arsenal had fallen into a disadvantage in their tug-of-war with Barcelona and Xiaofa. "Looking ahead, there's no end in sight. What should we do?"

"Continue appointing him as captain in the new season and make one last attempt."

Wenger turned around and looked at the general outline of the ten-year plan he had torn up not long ago, his heart bleeding. "If there's no way, then..."

He could not say the words that came after. After taking two steps, pain in his chest and a nauseating feeling in his stomach struck at the same time, even making him fall into dizziness for a moment.

This ten-year plan contained all his expectations for Arsenal's future, all his hopes!

It included detailed proposals on the economic side, team-building side, honors, and so on, and he had always worked toward it.

And the central figure of the plan was Fabregas.

Once he left, everything would turn into a bubble, vanishing like smoke.

"Mr. Wenger!"

Phillis went up to support him, then gritted his teeth and said, "Let's find another Fabregas!"

"Let's not talk about him."

Wenger sat down at the tea table by the window, waving the hand holding the cigarette twice. "Talk about something else."

Phillis thought for a moment, then went to Wenger's desk, plugged in his USB drive, and pulled up a set of data. "I have a monthly report on loaned players here. Sir should take a look."

He quickly clicked print, and when the printer at the side stopped moving, he organized the papers and handed them to Mr. Wenger.

But his right hand did not stop.

He quickly copied the "General Outline of the Ten-Year Plan" that was still left in the most conspicuous spot on the desktop and transferred it into his own USB drive to save it.

This actually was not some secret.

But the most detailed copy was here with Mr. Wenger. It contained many of his personal annotations and detailed thoughts.

He wanted to preserve it, to leave the club a bit of hope.

What if, just what if, the team could still use this plan in the end—even if only for one year, two years, three years?

"From Joelson: Maël and Gilbert have improved rapidly, especially the former, who has already shown a level capable of establishing himself in the Championship.

"He has won the liking of Gareth Speed, who is about to take over as Sheffield United Team's manager. Perhaps once he takes office, he will immediately get an opportunity."

After reading for a while, Wenger read aloud a section of the report that felt novel to him. Then he looked at Phillis. "These two, are you optimistic about them?"

"Mr. Wenger was the one who finalized them at the time."

Phillis gave an awkward laugh and said, ashamed, "I haven't seen them play, so I'm not familiar with them."

"There should be quite a few idle scouts in the team."

Wenger flipped through the reports behind it again, then placed it on the desk and made arrangements. "The new season is about to start. Help me find someone.

"Whenever Maël and Gilbert are selected for the match squad, have him rush to Sheffield at once to watch the game live, and hand me a detailed report."

"Doing this..."

Phillis could not help adding, "Wouldn't that be a little too special?"

Wenger looked deeply at him. Fatigue and helplessness flashed across the corners of his eyes, and in the end, he held back his anger.

Sheffield City, Cherry Street.

The days filled with hardship and joy still continued.

Maël did not stop his steps. His world was left with only the sweat of training and the comfort of relaxing, while time flowed past him like running water.

On August 8, Sheffield United Team welcomed the opening match of this season's Championship.

They were at home, facing Queens Park Rangers, who had strengthened across multiple fronts this season and were aiming for the title! At six that evening, Maël and Gilbert, who had just finished extra training, returned home, turned on the television, and switched to the Championship broadcast channel.

"I still don't get it."

Gilbert had been complaining the whole way. "Why weren't you picked for the Squad List? Coach Kevin often praises you, and his eyes are full of admiration for you, so why won't he even give you a chance on the bench? "To be honest, Maël, even an idiot can tell that if you're given a few Championship matches to develop, you'll be able to squeeze out the starting Left Winger, Mark Yates."

Maël seemed very calm and did not dwell on this issue. "Watch the match. We're very close to Bramall Lane, so maybe we can hear the cheers of the fans inside."

It was not that he did not want to be selected for the Squad List, but that today, he had something even more worth being happy about—his crossing had broken through to lv3!

Skill: Precise Arc lv3

Proficiency: (1/800)

Effect: The accumulation of extensive practice has brought your crossing to the level of a professional team's crosser. With slight adjustments on the flank, you can whip out beautiful arcs and create aerial threats!

This was his second lv3 skill, raising his overall ability another level! Letting something that could no longer be changed affect his mood and frustrate his fighting spirit to keep moving forward was truly unnecessary.

"OhYeah!!"

Before long, a faint burst of cheering suddenly drifted in from outside the room. It sounded very small, yet somehow earth-shaking.

Gilbert immediately got up and ran to the window, opened it, and listened carefully.

There was a delay on the TV broadcast, so they still did not know which team had scored.

"It's Queens Park Rangers."

Maël made the call. Bramall Lane had a capacity of thirty thousand, and the home attendance was over twenty thousand every match.

If they all roared together, the sound should have been much louder than this.

Soon, the goal appeared on the TV screen. Sheffield United made a mistake in their own half, gifting the opposing Center Forward a One-on-One chance, and he finished it cleanly.

"Oh!"

Not long after, that familiar sound came again.

This time, Gilbert could tell too. It was probably Queens Park Rangers who had scored again.

He paced anxiously around the room, a little worried that the team would suffer a massacre.

It did not feel good to watch the group you belonged to be swallowed by humiliation step by step.

No one liked seeing their team lose, especially when you were powerless to help, or when you had the strength but no way to use it.

"Yeah!!" When that tiny yet magnificent sound came again, neither of them could sit still anymore.

Everything seemed to be happening right in front of their eyes. The teammates they had already grown familiar with were fighting on the pitch, yet they were still nothing more than spectators.

Anxiety gradually spread into Maël's heart as well.

There was anxiety over the team's situation, and anxiety over his own future too.

Human desire kept breeding, especially after leaving the Arsenal Youth Team.

They had seen a wider world, arrived at a higher-level place, and earned higher wages.

No one was willing to stand still anymore, especially once you gradually felt you were capable of doing something.

"Let's go downstairs and take a walk."

Maël took out his earphones, called to Gilbert, then opened the door and walked out.

Gilbert quickly took out his earphones too and followed in his footsteps.

After the two went downstairs and walked for a while, they had just taken off their over-ear headphones to ease the heat around their ears when, by coincidence, they heard that familiar cheer again.

No need to look. The team was down four-nil! Before long, they saw quite a few fans wearing Sheffield United's Red and White striped shirts walking out onto the streets, apparently having left early.

They were either smashing hats printed with the team crest or throwing away scarves, then shouting a few curses before heading to the pub to drink away their bitterness.

Both of them felt extremely heavy. That night, Sheffield United's true strength was exposed before the general public.

Their fig leaf had been coldly torn away by Queen's Park Rangers, shattering at the first touch.