All the tests were finished.
Pascal returned to the bench beside the pitch and sorted through all the information on his clipboard.
Zhang Kuang took the water a staff member handed him, gulped mouthfuls and spat them out, swallowing only a little. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pascal and Jonathan talking quietly-both wore serious expressions, their eyes occasionally sweeping his way.
About five minutes later, Jonathan and Pascal walked over.
"Zhang, come sit down." He sat opposite Zhang Kuang, his expression completely different from when he arrived-back then, it had been "business as usual," but now it held a kind of... restrained excitement.
Pascal turned the clipboard around, revealing densely packed data.
"I'll get straight to the conclusion." Pascal cleared his throat. "Your physical attributes and basic technique exceeded my expectations before coming here. Your physical attributes, especially, show the potential of a top-class striker.
"Your overall striker rating, converted to our industry standards, is 79. But your ratings as a winger and attacking midfielder aren't ideal. Your dribbling, defending, passing and receiving are still too poor. Perhaps the foundational training in your country is a little... ahem, you know, there may be a gap compared to Europe."
"What level is 79 in Ligue 1?" Zhang Kuang asked a question whose answer he already had some idea of.
Jonathan did not answer immediately. Instead, he pulled a chart from Pas'erka's folder beside him-it listed the average statistical ratings of all the strikers in Ligue 1 this season.
"The average ratings of starting strikers in Ligue 1 this season range from 71 to 78." Jonathan pointed at the chart. "A 79 means you could compete directly for a starting spot at a Ligue 1 club fighting for UEFA Champions League qualification."
He paused, then added, "And you're only eighteen."
Jonathan emphasized the word "eighteen."
In the football world, producing the same statistics at eighteen and twenty-five meant completely different things. The former represented an untapped mineral deposit, while the latter might already represent a finished product-or even a ceiling.
"The data department will produce a detailed analysis report, but my preliminary assessment is-" Pascal interjected, looking at Zhang Kuang. "Your potential rating is above 90."
"Above 90..." Jonathan repeated the number beside him, tapping the tabletop twice with his fingertips.
Pascal continued, "Football king-level ratings start at 95. Above 90 puts you among the players scouts from the major powerhouse clubs track every year-in other words, what people commonly call 'world-class.'"
Jonathan took a deep breath, opened the folder before him, pulled out a printed document, and pushed it toward Zhang Kuang.
"This is our company's standard agency agreement," Jonathan said, his tone much more formal than before.
Zhang Kuang lowered his head and skimmed it-it was not a formal contract, but an "agency representation letter of intent," with only a few core terms:
1. From the date of signing until the signing of the first professional contract, both parties would enter an exclusive trial cooperation period.
2. During this period, SportCover would be responsible for finding and providing Zhang Kuang with trial opportunities at European clubs in first- and second-tier leagues and assisting in professional contract negotiations. The company would charge no other fees during this period.
3. If a professional contract was successfully signed, SportCover would become Zhang Kuang's official exclusive agency, representing him in football-related business and contract negotiations for a term of five years.
4. Commission rates after signing the formal agency contract: 10% of the value of the player's professional contract and 15% of commercial endorsements.
After reading it, Zhang Kuang looked up at Jonathan.
"As I said, I don't have any other requirements for an agency contract. Just one: on anything concerning me, the final decision rests with me alone. The agency or agent only has the right to offer advice and conduct business negotiations."
"All right, I agree to that." He stood and waved an assistant over. "Add the clause Mr. Zhang just mentioned."
Zhang Kuang nodded in satisfaction. "Mr. Jonathan, you've shown real sincerity, so I won't stand on ceremony either. Here's to a happy partnership."
"Haha, good. Within a week," Jonathan said, "I'll find you trial opportunities with at least three teams. We'll start with Ligue 1, and I'll also work on the other leagues."
"No problem. You're the professionals. You make the arrangements."
Before long, the two signed this "letter of intent," formally establishing their partnership.
By the time they left the training ground, the sky had already darkened.
Zhang Kuang sat in the back of Jonathan's car, watching the streets of Paris recede outside the window, while his mind worked through other matters.
A striker rating of 79 was enough to put him on a Ligue 1 pitch, but only to "get him there."
To become the main character, to win the Golden Boot, MVP awards, and championships-he needed a higher rating and stronger abilities.
And all of that required one thing: Qi and Blood Points!
So next up, France Study-Abroad Squad, get ready to tremble.
Jonathan glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "Where do you live?"
"The Sixteenth Arrondissement."
"The Sixteenth Arrondissement?" Jonathan sounded a little surprised. "That area isn't cheap."
"It's free," Zhang Kuang said. "Sponsored by a friend."
Jonathan did not ask any more questions. "There's an indoor training center in the Sixteenth Arrondissement. I know the manager. I'll get you a monthly pass. Artificial turf, usable in winter too. Train on your own there for now and keep yourself in form. We'll cover the cost."
"Thanks."
Afterward, he went to the hotel where he had been staying, checked out, and picked up his large suitcase, which contained everything he owned.
He no longer had any close family back in China. He rarely had contact with his paternal or maternal uncles and the like, because his family was poor.
Even when his father passed away, those uncles had only come to pay their respects as a formality. Afterward, not one had taken the initiative to say anything to Zhang Kuang about staying in touch.
So this large suitcase represented his rootless circumstances and state of mind. He hailed a taxi and headed for the Sixteenth Arrondissement.
The car stopped beside that familiar street in the Sixteenth Arrondissement. Zhang Kuang got out, shouldered his newly bought bag, and walked into the apartment building with a view of the tower.
In the elevator, he took out his phone and checked it-Aisha had sent a message:
[Are you back yet? Lina ordered Chinese takeout and saved you a portion.]
The corners of Zhang Kuang's mouth lifted slightly, and he sent a brief reply:
[I'm here.]
The elevator doors opened, and he smelled food, along with hearing Lina calling from inside, "Come on in! Do you even know how to use chopsticks?"
Tonight.
Another 9 Qi and Blood Points were waiting for him. He had to admit, women from the Middle East really were surprising. They had Western looks, yet were tighter than Western women, with a strong exotic allure, and they had always shown Chinese people the respect they deserved.
Because for centuries upon centuries, they had known China's strength, they did not harbor thoughts of looking down on Chinese people the way Westerners who had never experienced China's strength did.
Aside from their body odor, Middle Eastern women really were incredibly satisfying.
Still, body odor was no problem for Zhang Kuang. His Cleaning Technique could keep odors away for twelve hours.
"Hey, Zhang, you're here? Come on, try it and see whether the Chinese food in France is authentic."
Seeing Zhang Kuang arrive, the enthusiastic Lina came forward to hug him, and Zhang Kuang took the opportunity to grab a handful of her springy backside.