Jonathan Leblanc parked the car and led Zhang Kuang into a training facility on the outskirts of Paris.
The grounds were small but fully equipped. There was a regulation eleven-a-side natural-grass pitch, with a row of low buildings beside it housing changing rooms, physiotherapy rooms, and equipment rooms-everything they needed.
Three people were already standing beside the pitch.
A balding man in his forties wore sportswear and held a stopwatch and clipboard-this was the testing coach Jonathan had arranged to meet. Beside him were two young men, one holding a video camera, the other carrying a kit bag full of training equipment.
"This is Pascal, a former Lyon youth coach. He now specializes in assessing players for us," Jonathan introduced him. "The chief scouts at several Ligue 1 clubs recognize his reports."
Zhang Kuang nodded and shook Pascal's hand.
Pascal looked him up and down, his eyebrows lifting slightly-this young Asian man really did have unusual proportions. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, powerful thighs, and long, lean calves: the classic build of someone with both explosive power and agility.
"Get changed first. We'll start in ten minutes," Pascal said. "We'll run a full set of physical and technical tests. About two hours."
Zhang Kuang went to the changing room and put on the training kit he had brought-plain white Nike, without a club crest. Coach Wu Guohua had stuffed it into his suitcase before he left.
"Brought it from China to France. No idea where it came from, but it'll do," Zhang Kuang had said at the time.
Now he stood before the mirror and glanced at himself-the body transformed by the Dragon-Tiger Pill gave this ordinary training kit an entirely different silhouette. The contours of his shoulders, the muscles in his arms, the thickness of his chest and back...
"Fuck, it'd be a waste not to play Superman with this body," he said admiringly to himself, then pushed the door open and went out.
First event: physical testing.
Pascal wasted no words and went straight to the equipment.
"Static measurements first-height, weight, body fat, wingspan."
Zhang Kuang stood on the measuring device, and the numbers appeared-
Height: 185 cm Weight: 75.3 kg Body fat: 9.2% Wingspan: 188 cm
Pascal recorded the numbers in his notebook, his expression calm. Those figures were good for a professional player, but not spectacular.
"Next, explosive power-standing broad jump and standing vertical jump."
Zhang Kuang thought for a moment. With his current physical abilities, he could definitely produce some inhuman numbers, so... he ought to keep a low profile when necessary. He only needed to show figures that were impressive without seeming absurd.
With that decided, he knew what to do.
Standing broad jump: 3.02 meters Standing vertical jump: 78 centimeters
Pascal's pen paused.
A standing broad jump over three meters and a vertical jump close to eighty centimeters-that was NBA-level jumping ability. Among footballers, it belonged in the very top tier, roughly comparable to Cristiano Ronaldo at his peak.
"Not bad." Zhang Kuang dusted off his hands after landing, his tone as casual as if he had just finished warming up.
Pascal said nothing and marked an asterisk beside the figures.
"Speed tests-thirty-meter sprint and ten-meter shuttle run."
Zhang Kuang took his place at the starting line, and Pascal raised the starting flag.
The instant the flag dropped, Zhang Kuang shot forward.
Thirty-meter sprint: 3.65 seconds Ten-meter shuttle run: 7.12 seconds
Pascal looked at the stopwatch. This time, he was no longer composed.
A thirty-meter sprint in 3.65 seconds translated to roughly 10.8 to 11.2 seconds over a hundred meters-already the credentials of a pacey forward in professional football. The 7.12-second ten-meter shuttle run was even more astonishing. It meant Zhang Kuang was exceptionally good at stopping sharply and changing direction.
Pascal raised his head and gave Zhang Kuang his first serious look.
"Did you measure these before, when you were training?"
Zhang Kuang thought for a moment. There were indeed physical testing records in the original owner's memories. "I was tested three months ago, when I joined our national U20 training camp. I think the thirty meters was three point nine something."
"Three point nine something." Pascal repeated the number, then looked again at the 3.65 in his hand. His gaze changed.
Three months, and his thirty-meter sprint had improved by 0.3 seconds.
In professional sports, improvement on that scale usually had to be measured in years. Besides, most people's physical attributes were largely set by eighteen, making another qualitative leap difficult.
But this Chinese man...
Pascal said nothing and moved on to the next event.
"Endurance-the Yo-Yo intermittent recovery test." Pascal pointed at the cones set out on the pitch. "Keep going until you can't run anymore."
The Yo-Yo test was the most commonly used endurance assessment in professional football. It simulated the intermittent high-intensity running of a match better than simple shuttle runs.
Zhang Kuang took a deep breath and began.
Twenty-meter shuttle runs, following the beeps from the recorder, with the pace increasing level by level.
Level ten: easy.
Level fifteen: still keeping up.
Level eighteen: his breathing began to quicken.
Level twenty: Pascal's eyes had already gone wide.
Zhang Kuang stole a glance at Pascal. Seeing his expression, he knew it was time to "run out of energy."
Final level: 20.5
Pascal lowered his head and wrote a number in his notebook, then looked up at Zhang Kuang as though he were a monster.
"Do you know what level 20.5 means?"
Zhang Kuang panted, his hands braced on his knees. "It means my endurance is pretty decent?"
"It means your maximum oxygen uptake is close to that of a professional endurance athlete," Pascal said. "For an ordinary professional footballer, reaching level eighteen is already excellent. Above twenty, I've only seen it in players who cover more than twelve thousand meters every match."
Zhang Kuang straightened, wiped away some sweat, and said nothing.
What I've shown is enough. I need to remember not to perform any better from now on.
Next came the technical tests.
Pascal had his assistants set out various pieces of training equipment on the pitch-slalom poles, a defensive wall, passing targets, and a shot-speed radar.
"Ball control, dribbling, passing, and shooting. Four sections," Pascal said. "Each has its own scoring criteria, out of ten."
Zhang Kuang nodded and walked to the first station.
His ball control, dribbling, and passing were all rather poor, which surprised Pascal considerably. He had top-class physical attributes, but his technique was somewhat lacking, far below that of European footballers his age.
Shooting, though-that was decent.
Pascal had Zhang Kuang stand at various positions, including the top of the penalty arc, either side of the penalty area, and the penalty spot, to attempt different kinds of shots-driven shots, side-footed finishes, curled shots, and headers.
Zhang Kuang took a deep breath and began.
First shot: from the top of the penalty arc, a right-footed instep drive at 122 km/h, skimming the underside of the crossbar into the net.
Second shot: from the left corner of the penalty area, a left-footed side-footed finish toward the far corner, right into the postage stamp.
Third shot: from the right corner of the penalty area, a right-footed curler that bent around the wall and flew into the top-right corner.
Fourth shot: from the penalty spot, a calm side-footed finish into the bottom-right corner.
The fifth shot... the sixth... the seventh...
Ten shots, eight on target, seven goals.
The shot-speed radar opposite Pascal displayed the highest speed-122 km/h. That shooting power was already close to the level of a cannon-footed striker, while Zhang Kuang's footwork continued to demonstrate different shooting techniques.
"Headers," Pascal said, signaling for an assistant to send a cross into the penalty area.
Zhang Kuang's original base heading stat had been just 54, the weakest of his weak points. After allocating points, however, his ability was 79.5, though his strengths lay in contesting headers and aerial duels, rather than heading accuracy.
But the [Cristiano Ronaldo Heading Skill Card] awarded by the system now began to take effect. The card did not directly improve his heading ability. Instead, it gave him the "awareness" behind Cristiano Ronaldo-style headers-how to judge where the ball would land, how to establish position, and how to use his core strength to hammer the ball toward goal while hanging in the air.
The cross came flying in. Zhang Kuang judged its landing point, adjusted his position with short steps, and jumped-
His jumping ability was fully displayed at that moment, the height he reached making Pascal's mouth fall slightly open.
His forehead struck the center of the ball. As he applied force, his core twisted sharply, smashing the ball into the ground. It bounced and flew into the bottom-left corner.
"Beautiful!" the young assistant beside them could not help shouting.
But his heading accuracy was a little low, nowhere near the efficiency of his shooting. All that could be said was that he had great potential, but there were still technical flaws at present.
Pascal wrote 79 in the shooting column and added a note beside it: "Well-rounded shooting technique, balanced with both feet, average heading, but enormous potential."
They then moved on to other tests, including dribbling, free kicks, and defending, covering essentially everything that needed testing for the various attacking positions.