The training base of London, Chelsea.
Ancelotti is sitting in the office, and the TV screen in front of him is playing the scene of Zhang Kuang's dragon scoring a goal in a loop. He has watched it no less than twenty times, and every time he will pause at a certain detail, and then use a pen to record something in his notebook.
His assistant Paul·Clement pushed the door open and came in, holding a thick stack of data analysis reports in his hand.
"This is the complete data of Auxerre's game." Clement put the report on the table, "Zhang Kuang's running distance was 11 kilometers, sprinting accounted for 23%, and high-intensity running accounted for 31%. These data are top-notch among forward players."
Ancelotti didn't read the report, his eyes were still fixed on the TV screen.
"Paul, look at how he started." He pointed at Zhang Kuang on the screen, "After knocking Daisuke Matsui away, his speed almost didn't slow down. This is not something ordinary players can do. His muscle fiber type may be different from ordinary players."
Clement was stunned for a moment. "You mean... genes?"
"I mean talent." Ancelotti finally turned off the TV and turned around, "Some players are born for football.
Ronaldo, Kaká, Messi, Cristiano Ronaldo--they all have something that ordinary players don't have. It's not technology, it's instinct! Zhang Kuang also has this instinct."
"So, what's your suggestion?"
"Sign him, no matter how much it costs." When Ancelotti said this, his tone was as calm as saying that the weather is nice today, "Chelsea needs to be updated.
Drogba is thirty-one years old, Anelka is thirty-one years old, and Malouda is thirty-one years old. In the next five years, we need a new striker core, and Zhang Kuang is that person."
Clement wrote down Ancelotti's words in his notebook.
"Manchester City is also chasing him. It is said that Mancini has sent people to Paris."
"I know." Ancelotti picked up the coffee cup and took a sip, "So we have to get ahead of them."
Manchester, Carrington Training Ground.
Ferguson is sitting in his usual position - the leather swivel chair behind the desk that has been used for more than ten years.
There is a scouting report spread out on the table, with the words "Zhang Kuang" written on the cover, and a red seal marked "Urgent" underneath.
His son Darren·Ferguson stood in front of the desk, holding the remote control in his hand, and the highlights of Zhang Kuang's game were playing on the TV screen.
"Look at his movement." Old Ferguson pointed at the screen, "It's not a ghostly movement like Inzaghi, nor a speedy movement like Owen. He is using his body to create space. He has already thought about what to do next before he catches the ball. I have not seen this kind of awareness among 18-year-old players."
"Cristiano Ronaldo?" Darren said tentatively.
"Cristiano Ronaldo was still practicing dribbling at Sporting CP when he was eighteen years old." Ferguson shook his head, "Zhang Kuang is different.
His body is much stronger than when Cristiano Ronaldo was eighteen years old, and although his skills are not as gorgeous as Cristiano Ronaldo's, he is more efficient. He doesn't need to use fancy moves to pass you, he directly knocks you away and then accelerates. You can't catch up with him, and you can't hold him back."
"What about a labor certificate?"
Ferguson smiled.
"Special Genius Clause, if Football Association, a player like Zhang Kuang, does not give Genius Clause, then there is no need for the Football Association to exist."
"But you are retiring soon, so what's the use of signing it?"
Ferguson stood up, walked to the window, and looked out the window at the lawn of Carrington Training Ground. The first team was training, and Rooney caught the ball in the penalty area, turned around, and shot.
"Darren, look at Rooney."
Darren walked to the window and followed his father's gaze.
"He is England's best forward. But he is not a pure center. He prefers to drop back to get the ball and participate in organization. We have been lacking someone who can solve problems in the penalty area - a true No. 9."
He turned around and looked at Darren.
"Zhang Kuang is that No. 9. He can header the ball, shoot from long range, carry people in the penalty area, get the ball with his back, break through on the wing, and grab points in the middle. He can solve problems by himself.
There are not many players like this in Europe. If you miss it, you may never see it again. As for my retirement? It is more important for Darren and Manchester United to continue to do well than my personal honor."
Darren was silent for a few seconds.
"Got it."
On the other side of Manchester is the training base of Manchester City.
Mancini was sitting in the tactics room, with the electronic whiteboard in front of him filled with lines and arrows. His assistant handed him a glass of espresso, and he took a sip, and then continued to write and draw on the whiteboard.
"If he comes, our tactics can be adjusted like this." Mancini wrote the words "Zhang Kuang" on the whiteboard, and then drew a few circles around it, "He can play center or left wing."
If you play as a center forward, Tevez can drop back and play as the ninth and a half. If you play as a left winger, Adebayor can play as a center forward, and the two can switch positions frequently."
"Are you sure he can adapt to Premier League's confrontation?" the assistant asked.
Mancini glanced at the assistant and smiled.
"Didn't you watch the game yesterday? Daisuke Matsui of Grenoble wanted to hit him, but he was bounced away. With this kind of confrontation ability, let alone Premier League, EFL Championship's defender couldn't hold him.
The only thing he needs to adapt to is the rhythm of Premier League - faster, more intense, and with fewer mistakes. But with his physical fitness and technical ability, adapting to this will not be a problem."
"A player like this must be very expensive, right?"
"Money is not an issue. Are you still worried about the price in Manchester City?" Mancini interrupted him, "The boss said that as long as he can be signed, money is not an issue. Weekly salary of 200,000, 250,000, 300,000 - all can be negotiated.
Signing fees, bonuses, image rights sharing - all can be discussed. What does Manchester City need now? A championship, influence and attention.
Zhang Kuang can bring these to Manchester City. His commercial value may be higher than his football skills."
The assistant quickly wrote down the notes in his notebook.
"One more thing." Mancini put down the coffee cup, "Tell the boss, if I can only buy one player this summer, I will buy Zhang Kuang. It's not Džeko, it's not Ibrahimović, it's not Torres. It's Zhang Kuang."
The assistant raised his head and looked into Mancini's eyes. Mancini's eyes were very serious.
"I'm serious."
-
Madrid, Valdebebas Training Ground.
Pellegrini is sitting in his office, with a laptop in front of him. On the screen is a picture of Zhang Kuang celebrating after scoring a goal - jumping up, turning around, throwing his hands back, "Siu--".
Real Madrid's technical director Miguel·Pardeza sat across from him, with several scouting reports spread out in front of him.
"This is the report sent back by our France scout." Pardeza opened the top one, "Zhang Kuang's five games against Auxerre In the game, all of them started and played the entire game - no, they did not play all of them, and he was replaced in two games early, but that was the head coach to protect him. The average rating per game was an astonishing 8.9 points, ranking first in Ligue 1."
Pellegrini said nothing.
Pardeza continued, "There is no need to repeat his information. What I want to say is - the evaluation result of the technical department is that Zhang Kuang's athletic ability is ahead of Ligue 1 by a cliff.
His sprint speed, explosive power, jumping ability, and confrontation ability are all more than two standard deviations above the average level of Ligue 1. This is also at the top level in international football."
"Zhang Kuang is very good, but we have to face the reality, how does it fit with Cristiano Ronaldo?" Pellegrini finally spoke.
Pardeza was silent for a few seconds.
"Cristiano Ronaldo is the core winger, Zhang Kuang is the center, the two of them..."
Pellegrini nodded and interrupted Pardeza.
"Who is the core of the offense? Do you think Zhang Kuang is willing to be the wingman of Cristiano Ronaldo? And if Zhang Kuang is the core, do you think Cristiano Ronaldo will be willing to become the wingman of Zhang Kuang?"
"He, they, can be like the relationship between Cristiano Ronaldo and Rooney when Manchester United."
"No, Zhang Kuang is not Rooney."
"That?"
"First let's find out if Zhang Kuang wants to come to Real Madrid and whether he is willing to be Cristiano Ronaldo's wingman. If he is not willing, then..."
Pellegrini shrugged, expressing helplessness.
--
Barcelona, Joan Gamper Sports City.
Guardiola was silent for a long time after watching Zhang Kuang's game video. His assistant Tito·Vilanova sat next to him, waiting for him to speak.
"Tito, what do you think of him?"
Vilanova thought for a while, "Very strong, very strong. I even think he is more interesting than Messi, but he is not suitable for Barcelona."
"Why?"
"Barcelona's system requires players to have extremely high tactical literacy and team awareness. Zhang Kuang is indeed very strong, but his playing style is too personal.
He can solve the problem alone, but he doesn't need teammates. At Barcelona, what we need is someone who can integrate into the system, not someone who can solve the battle alone."
Guardiola nodded.
"I think so too." He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the training ground outside, "But I'm not sure if this is right. Maybe we are too attached to the system. Maybe in this era, personal ability is the key to determining the game."
Vilanova said nothing.
"First quote a price and sign the best player you can. It's better to leave such a top player on the bench at home than to give it to your opponent." Guardiola said, "Even if you can't sign, it's better to disrupt the market."
--
The headquarters of Turin, Juventus.
Sports director Alessio Secco was sitting in the office of president Jean-Claude Blanc, reporting on matters regarding Zhang Kuang.
City of Milan, Munich, Arsenal and other wealthy clubs were secretly studying it. At this time, Zhang Kuang was finishing his morning exercises and once again paralyzed four female reporters on the bed.
Just when he was about to pack up and leave, his phone rang. It was Jonathan.