The reserves had taken the lead, shocking everyone present. Aerial attacking ability was what their team lacked most, and none of them had expected this Chinese boy to be so fierce, leaping so high and hammering the ball so hard.
Mignot staggered a step after landing and nearly fell. He looked up at Zhang Kuang, his eyes saying, "What the fuck is this thing?"
Zhang Kuang got up off the ground, brushed the grass clippings off himself, and ran back to midfield without any expression.
On the touchline, assistant coach Stéphane Eric was already trembling with excitement. He swallowed and glanced at the head coach. After Fernandez shot him a glare, Stéphane hurriedly pretended to be composed. Fernandez's pen flew across his clipboard as he wrote down four words: "Heading ability. Absolutely stunning."
Only his grip on the pen was a little unsteady, and his fingers were trembling slightly.
Jonathan saw all of this, and a trace of satisfaction flashed through his eyes. Judging by the expressions on the head coach's and assistant coach's faces, this was in the bag.
The match continued, and the first team still failed to score. This team's attacking ability really was dogshit. Zhang Kuang did not even have the energy to roast them.
In the nineteenth minute, there was a corner from the right.
This time, Zhang Kuang faced captain Hengbart in the penalty area-the team's strongest and most experienced center-back.
Hengbart did not use brute force. Instead, he used his experience to anticipate where the ball would land and claimed the position early. He blocked Zhang Kuang with his body, spreading his arms slightly to form a cage.
Zhang Kuang did not force his way through. Instead, he waited until the instant the ball came flying over before suddenly bursting into motion.
His first step was far too explosive.
Hengbart felt only a gust sweep past his side before Zhang Kuang had already circled around in front of him. The two jumped almost simultaneously, and Hengbart reached out to tug Zhang Kuang's shirt-a little trick he often used inside the box, which usually disrupted his opponent's balance.
But his hand caught nothing.
Zhang Kuang's body did not waver at all in midair. His core strength allowed him to maintain perfect balance even without support. His head hammered into the ball again, sending it straight toward the bottom-left corner this time-goalkeeper Sorin failed to reach it.
2-0.
After landing, Hengbart watched Zhang Kuang's retreating figure in silence for two seconds.
Every voice fell silent. The quiet was frightening.
This was just too fierce. Everyone found it a little hard to believe, afraid it was not real. If this guy really joined the team, wouldn't they actually be able to win the championship?
They sucked in a breath. They hardly dared imagine it.
Hengbart turned to glance at Fernandez on the touchline and shook his head slightly.
That headshake did not mean "he's no good," but "I can't stop him."
Just a few seconds later, though, Le Roy ran over and patted Zhang Kuang on the back. "You're that strong in a physical contest? You sent Mignot flying."
"Not bad, not bad. Handling three women at once would be a breeze." Zhang Kuang smiled.
"Huh?" The young Le Roy's eyes widened.
Zhang Kuang did not continue the subject. He merely patted Le Roy on the head. "Keep going. Make your runs and wait for a chance."
In the twenty-fifth minute, the reserves got another chance to counterattack.
Oliech won the ball in midfield and passed it straight to Zhang Kuang. Zhang Kuang carried it forward, and first-team midfielder Kahlenberg rushed up to intercept him-Kahlenberg was the team's "meat grinder," a fierce defender who excelled at using his body to press opponents.
Kahlenberg did not stick out a foot. Instead, he drove his body straight into Zhang Kuang.
Thud!
The two collided solidly.
Kahlenberg felt as though he had hit a wall. His body bounced backward, his feet gouging two marks into the turf. Zhang Kuang merely swayed, but he had already passed the ball away. His ball control was poor, but he could pass before he lost possession.
Kahlenberg's eyes widened, his mouth forming an O.
Ignoring his shock, Zhang Kuang kept charging forward.
As he reached the top of the penalty arc, his teammate sent the ball over. Seeing it flying toward him, Zhang Kuang did not choose to control it before deciding what to do. Instead-he swung his foot and volleyed.
The full instep of his right foot, with no run-up and only a single planted step.
Boom!
The shot sounded like a muffled thunderclap. The ball screamed past Grichting, who did not even see its trajectory clearly.
It traveled incredibly fast, with almost no spin, flying in a straight line toward the top-right corner.
Sorin launched himself into a save, his fingertips touching the ball-but the power was too great. The ball changed direction only slightly, still smashing against the inside of the post and bouncing into the net.
Whoaaa-!
The substitutes on the touchline cried out in amazement. That was a long-range cannon!
Sorin got up off the ground and pulled off his gloves. Looking at his reddened fingertips, he swore. He was one of the most experienced goalkeepers in Ligue 1 and had saved countless worldies, but the power behind that shot reminded him of Batistuta in his prime.
"What the fuck kind of power is that..." Sorin muttered.
Grichting stood on the goal line, staring at the ball in the net, motionless for a long time. When that shot had passed him, he had even felt the pressure of the air.
On the touchline, Fernandez's fingers tightened slightly around his clipboard and began trembling uncontrollably again. Such fierce heading ability, a cannon of a shot, incredible strength in physical contests, excellent movement...
Stéphane could no longer hold back. He leaned over and said, "We need that long-range shooting."
Fernandez did not respond, but his eyes betrayed him-something had been ignited in them.
The thirty-minute practice match was nearing its end, but Zhang Kuang's performance had not weakened as his stamina declined.
His movement inside the box was extremely seasoned, every forward run accurately finding a blind spot in the opposing defense. Hengbart had to grab his shirt to stop him from accelerating-an action that would have conceded a penalty in a match.
In the twenty-eighth minute, Zhang Kuang received Le Roy's layoff at the top of the penalty arc. Grichting and Mignot both rushed forward to close him down, trapping him between them.
Without hesitation, Zhang Kuang sliced his left foot under the ball. Its speed was still astonishing as it curved past the near corner, heading straight for the unreachable corner.
This time, Sorin did not even have time to attempt a save before the ball flew past his hand-but it missed the post by less than half a meter.
Although it did not go in, the shot silenced the entire training ground for two seconds.
Then came a wave of murmurs.
"He can hit them like that with his left foot too?"
"That shooting technique..."
"Can we just not let him shoot?"
Jelen stood near the center circle, having witnessed everything. His expression had shifted from "appraising" at the start to "grave."
It was not that he had never seen talented young players, but an eighteen-year-old like Zhang Kuang-with overwhelming physical attributes, astonishing aerial dominance, and immense power in his long-range shots-was someone he had encountered only a handful of times in his entire professional career.
In the thirtieth minute, during stoppage time.
The reserves got one last attacking opportunity. Oliech passed to Le Roy as he pushed forward, and Le Roy crossed from the wing, sending the ball toward the far post.
Zhang Kuang jumped again.
This time, Grichting and Mignot both challenged him, but Zhang Kuang's leap and hang time left them able only to look up at him.
He stayed in the air for well over a second, waiting for the ball to drop to the ideal height before heading it across-he directed it toward the middle of the six-yard box, where Le Roy ran in to shoot.
The ball went in again.
The reserves led the first team 4-0. Zhang Kuang had three goals and one assist, contributing to all four goals.
Zhang Kuang landed and exchanged a light high five with Le Roy as he ran over.
Then he turned and walked toward the reserves' half, his face expressionless.
Fernandez blew his whistle to end the practice match. There was no longer any point in continuing.
He did not walk over to Zhang Kuang immediately. Instead, he called the first-team players together first.
"You weren't up to standard today."
There were no extra words, but that sentence alone was the harshest criticism.
The first-team players lowered their heads, and none argued. It was not that they were below par. They simply could not stop that Chinese player.
Grichting rubbed his chest where he had been hit, saying nothing.
Mignot crouched to tie his shoelaces-though they were not actually loose. He simply did not want to look up.
Hengbart stood in the middle of the group, looking toward Zhang Kuang, deep in thought.
"Everyone, take a ten-minute break. You, Chinese boy, head over there and continue with the next tests." With that, Fernandez turned and left, beckoning Jonathan over as he went.