I Wanted to Improve So Badly

Under everyone's gaze, the football left the ground once more and flew toward the goal at high speed.

Hopkins had originally planned to wash away his humiliation this time, but only after Maël struck the ball did he realize he still had no way to judge its path—or rather, he simply couldn't react in time.

"Swish!" The sound of the ball grazing the net rang out behind his head. He lost his balance, fell backward, and flipped onto the ground.

"What the fuck, he did it again?"

"What's with this kid today? Did he always have a cannon of a shot?"

"Shit. That quality is seriously high."

Another wave of exclamations rose, and this time, there were hardly any doubts.

Most people looked at Maël in astonishment, as if they were getting to know him all over again.

A cannon shot truly had an incredibly shocking effect when shown off.

It was already a direct way of shooting—simple, brutal, and an intuitive display of shooting ability.

Ian and the others stood rooted to the spot with ashen faces. They still wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come out.

Two consecutive powerful, high-quality shots were right there before their eyes. Anything they said would sound feeble, and they would only be treated like clowns.

"Good ball, good ball!"

On the surface, Head Coach Hans gave a couple of perfunctory praises, but his heart trembled all the same. A shot of this quality—if it could be used in a match... His eyes lit up, and he suddenly felt a trace of hope for Maël.

In his memory, this player's fundamentals were not bad. He simply had no real distinguishing traits.

Now, if a Long Shot could be unearthed, then his competitiveness would rise greatly.

It was just that what made it hard to understand was that he had never shown this level of Long Shot before.

When had he trained it up? Recently? Hans naturally knew how hard Maël worked during extra training, but he had not held much hope for the results of that extra work.

Now it seemed he really had misjudged him a little.

At the focal point of everyone's attention, Maël turned his head and smiled as he waved at those who had cried out in surprise.

He looked calm and composed, his expression comfortable.

But in truth, a drop of cold sweat had already slid down from his temple. He really had not had much confidence in that second shot. At the time, everyone's expectations had been raised, and it would have been very awkward if he had failed to score.

Fortunately, probability had stood on his side this time.

He had to raise Long Shot to lv3 as soon as possible. Otherwise, how was he supposed to show off?

"Today is June 17th. My life has been regular and fulfilling lately, so I'm preparing to write a diary. In the future, I'll remove the content related to proficiency and put the parts about hard work into my autobiography, titled How the King of Football is Made."

"Forced myself to get up at 6:30 and squeezed in an hour and a half of extra shooting practice before morning training.

"After Long Shot rose to lv2, the speed of proficiency growth seemed to have slowed a lot. Before, a few hours of training could raise it by 30 points, but now it only rises by 20. Fortunately, the goal is to level it to lv3 in 17 days. No rush.

"At night, extra strength training in the gym. Totally exhausted. This life really isn't fit for humans."

"June 18th. It feels like I can't keep training like this. Strains have already appeared in several places all over my body, and before daily training I have to warm up for a long time before I dare move.

"But the speed of improvement in shooting has already slowed down. If I don't stack up time, how am I supposed to complete the goal?

"At night, strength training. My French companion Carl suggested that I give up my original eating habits and switch to high-protein, high-carb, high-energy foods.

"Accepted."

"June 19th, weekend. No grinding, no talent; no grinding, no success. Grind after waking up, grind before meals, rest a while after eating and grind again. In short, just grind. If I don't grind for one day, my whole body feels wrong. If I don't grind for three days, it feels like my lifespan will shrink.

"Shooting proficiency reached 159/300, and strength also reached 193/300. A little faster than expected.

"Improving my food doesn't seem to help my body much for now, but I really want to improve so bad. I want to get out of the Youth Team and play in the Premier League!"

"June 20th. A new week has begun. Even the air feels fresher. There are still 10 days until the final match. I must work twice as hard.

"Training felt very comfortable today. I don't seem as tired as before, and my frame feels much tougher. Could it be because I changed my diet? "At night, after returning to the dorm, showering, and brushing my shoes, it was already past 11. I went next door to Carl's dorm and knocked. Carl was also still awake, so we chatted for a while and rested."

"June 21st. This week's morning training has all been changed into Tactics and Techniques training. I guess it's because the trial elimination match is coming soon.

"Everything as usual. Grind, damn it!"

"June 22nd. London, oh London. This city is right there not far from me. It is a true international metropolis, and also a city that belongs to football.

"How great would it be if one day I could play football in London? Live in a big villa, drive a sports car, wear new boots, and at night have passionate and uninhibited London bunny girls keeping me company.

"June 23rd. Today I chatted with the team captain, Gilbert, and asked about the salary situation at Arsenal Youth Team.

"I don't know about anything else, but they can get a weekly wage of 350 to 800 pounds, which is about 1,500 to 3,500 pounds a month. I'm so jealous. That's already close to the average salary in London.

"As for the First Team? The United Kingdom football world in this era still can't compare to later generations, and Arsenal is also in a period where they're relatively short on money. But weekly wages of tens of thousands of pounds at every turn are still something I temporarily don't dare imagine. Dou Zong powerhouses are terrifying indeed."

"June 24th. Training. Improving my meals really does help the body. My body has already grown used to the training intensity."

"June 25th. Every day of training is like a torture of the will, but the increase in proficiency feels as refreshing as guzzling immortal nectar. "I finally understand why later on someone said that playing under Guardiola felt even better than that.

"Because of improvement! I wanted to improve so bad!"

"June 26th. Improvement!"

"June 27th. Keep improving!"

On June 28th, night fell beneath a sky full of stars.

Wenger wandered through Colney Training Base with a hint of melancholy. He looked at the base he had personally overseen the construction of, and mixed feelings churned in his heart.

That had been 1999, hadn't it? Back then, Arsenal had had no real financial crisis. They fought for the title year after year, and he was locked in a struggle with Sir Ferguson that neither could break away from.

He could still faintly remember the spirit he had had then.

He had resolved to build Arsenal into a team like Manchester United, to make himself an immortal figure at this club.

But heaven always played tricks on him, as if he had been born to add a few tragic stories to this world.

"Click."

Wenger lit a cigarette. Sometimes even he himself did not understand why he was still holding on here, when he clearly had chances to go elsewhere.

Perhaps there was only one answer.

It was the embarrassingly sentimental little phrase that no man wanted to say out loud—because of love.

As he was thinking, a strange cry suddenly came from the side, seemingly from the gym.

Wenger's brow twitched. He walked over, and only when he was twenty meters away did he hear it clearly. It was laughter.

"Hahahaha. Woohoo!" The person inside seemed to be celebrating something, occasionally letting out an indescribably strange noise.

Was it that kid?

A guess formed in his mind. From what he had observed, at this hour, there should only be one person who would appear here.

Counting the days, he had kept it up for almost twenty days, hadn't he?

"Leon-Maël."

Wenger said the name, and as he felt the joy coming from inside, his sorrow seemed to fade a little too. "What are you so happy about?"