Awakening the Messi template, Florentino Pérez begs me to join Real Madrid

Nine o'clock in the morning, in the national youth team's tactical meeting room.

The curtains were drawn tightly, and the projector's beam of light shone onto the screen.

Old Li leaned against the podium, holding a remote control in his hand.

The screen showed a paused clip—a moment from the match between Yi Jianlian and South Korea, with Omar lazily strolling around midfield.

"Let's watch something first." Old Li pressed the play button.

The scene then switches to an interview segment from an Arabic-language television station, accompanied by Chinese subtitles.

The reporter was a middle-aged man in a white robe. He handed the microphone to the UAE team's head coach—a Portuguese man with slicked-back hair.

"Coach, there's been some criticism regarding the final group stage match against South Korea, with some saying the team lacked fighting spirit. What's your take on that?"

The coach smiled and waved his hand:

"One match doesn't prove anything. The outcome of a cup competition isn't determined by the performance in a single match, but by how far you end up."

He paused, then looked at the camera, his tone relaxed:

"Our goal isn't the quarterfinals, or even the semifinals. It's the final, it's the championship. Strong teams aren't afraid of any opponent—but smart strong teams know to save their best for the most important game."

The reporter followed up with:

"So, the decision to conserve strength in the final group stage match was to secure a more 'suitable' opponent in the knockout stage?"

The coach's lips curled into a smile:

"All I can say is that our attacking efficiency is very high and the players are in good form. But an intercontinental cup is a long tournament, with many matches played in a short period of time. We need to conserve our energy, make choices, and prepare for the tough battles ahead."

He looked at the camera, his eyes filled with undisguised confidence:

"Some bones are tough and require a lot of effort to gnaw on. Some matches... don't need to be played too aggressively. So the last match was a tactical way for us to conserve our energy."

The scene then cuts to Omar. This young man, known as the "Gulf Messi," wearing sunglasses, leans against the railing of a hotel balcony, offering a more concise answer:

"We are ready. No matter who the opponent is."

The interview ended, and the screen went black.

The conference room was so quiet that you could hear the hum of the air conditioner vents.

Chen Liang sat next to Wu Shi, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Wu Shi stared at the darkened screen, his face expressionless, but his eyes held a cold light.

Old Li turned off the projector and turned on the lights.

A sudden burst of white light shone down, so bright it made people squint.

"I heard everything."

Old Li's voice wasn't loud, but every word landed squarely on the floor.

"The bones are tough; we'll have to gnaw on them with all our might—that's what I'm saying to Japan and Iran. As for us..."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over every face.

"In their eyes, although they say that there was no need to play too aggressively in the last game, you know that they mean more than just that there was no need to play too aggressively in the last game."

No one spoke. The atmosphere was extremely oppressive.

"Feeling aggrieved?"

Old Li asked.

Still, no one spoke up.

"Feeling stifled is just right."

He walked to the whiteboard, picked up a marker,

"But feeling frustrated won't help. On the football field, respect is earned through play, not begged for."

He quickly wrote:

"In the last AFC U-19 Championship, we dominated the quarterfinals against Uzbekistan, but were ultimately defeated by a last-minute goal. The opposing coach said, 'The Chinese team doesn't know how to play from behind.'"

Old Li put down his pen and turned around:

"These are harsh words, but they are true. We have collapsed after seventy minutes, and we have faltered in crucial matches. That's why people dare to look at us that way—not because they're arrogant, but because we've never delivered a performance that silences everyone."

He walked up to Wu Lei and said, "Wu Lei, you've been playing professionally for three years, you've heard this kind of talk a lot, haven't you?"

Wu Lei nodded: "I've heard that. When we were in the China League One, some fans of Chinese Super League teams said that we would just be giving away points."

What do you think?

"I'll respond with goals." Wu Lei's voice was calm, but sharp. "I scored two goals against Kyoto, and they stopped talking about it afterward."

Old Li then looked at Wu Shi: "And you? Sixteen years old, this is the first time you've heard something like this. How does it feel?"

Wu Shi looked up: "I don't feel anything."

"Um?"

"Saying more is pointless," Wu Shi said. "Just get on the field and win."

Old Li stared at him for two seconds, then suddenly laughed: "Alright. Now, let's see just how good this opponent, whom we think we don't need to fight too fiercely, really is."

He turned the projector back on, and the screen switched to recordings of the three group stage matches in the UAE.

"The first thing to watch is how they attack."

The video lasted for two hours.

"Look here, Omar habitually turns his head to the left before receiving the ball—it's his habit, the starting point of his feint."

"Mabkhout likes to run to the far back, but when he actually shoots, he'll probably aim for the near post."

"Their full-backs push deep into the attacking third, but they are slow to track back. That's where the weakness lies."

The camera pauses on a goal scored by the UAE against North Korea. In a simple counter-attack, Omar receives the ball in midfield, glances up, and delivers a through ball—the ball passes through three players and precisely finds the advancing Mabkhout.

"Beautiful," the teaching assistant couldn't help but say.

"That was beautiful." Old Li paused the game. "But did you notice where the North Korean midfielder was before that pass?"

The scene rewinds three seconds. The North Korean midfielder is pushing forward, leaving a huge gap behind him.

"They didn't create opportunities; they capitalized on their opponents' mistakes." Old Li circled the area with a laser pointer.

"Yi Jianlian's offense relies heavily on opponents making mistakes. Once they encounter a team with good defensive discipline, they don't have many options."

He looked at Wu Shi:

"If you were in that position and received the ball, how would you pass it?"

Wu Shi stared at the screen for a few seconds: "I don't know how to transfer it."

"Um?"

"I would take two steps to draw out the defensive midfielder, and then pass the ball to the wing," Wu Shi said. "Omar's pass was indeed good, but if the defensive midfielder hadn't been out of position, the ball would have been intercepted."

Old Li nodded:

"continue."

"And his head tilting up before passing the ball was too obvious," Wu Shi added. "Professional players anticipate what's happening; if he looks to the left, the defender will cover the left. Passing to the right at that moment is more effective."

The meeting room fell silent for a moment.

The teaching assistants exchanged glances. This was far too detailed, so detailed that it didn't seem like the observation expected of someone not yet seventeen.

Old Li smiled to himself but didn't say anything.

Old Li pressed the play button:

"Okay, remember that. Omar has great technique, but he has momentum in his play. We need to take advantage of that momentum."

The atmosphere was still dull during lunch.

The cafeteria TV was replaying the morning news, and it happened to be the segment featuring Coach Yi Jianlian's interview. Several players stood and watched the whole thing, plates in hand.

"Damn it." Chen Liang slammed his chopsticks on the table.

"I can't wait to see just how awesome they are."

Wu Shi kept his head down and ate, not responding.

Before the afternoon training session, Lao Li called Wu Shi to his office alone.

"What you said this morning, did you come up with it yourself, or was someone teaching you?"

Wu Shi was taken aback for a moment: "I saw it myself."

"It's rare to see someone of sixteen years old with the ability to participate in a reading competition."

Wu Shi remained silent.

I won't ask where you learned it.

Old Li waved his hand.

"But if you have this ability, you have to use it in the right place. I need you to do something for Yi Jianlian."

"Please speak."

"Omar likes to drop deep to receive the ball, and most of their attacks originate from him." Old Li drew a simple formation on the whiteboard. "I want you to—not man-mark him, but every time he gets the ball, you have to be the first to go up and interfere. You don't necessarily have to steal it, but make it difficult for him, so he can't organize his play comfortably."

Wu Shi nodded:

"clear."

"besides."

Old Li paused for a moment,

"If they really underestimate us, they might press very high up the pitch at the start. That will create space in the backfield. Your job is to capitalize on those spaces."

He patted Wu Shi on the shoulder: "Sixteen years old, first time playing in a knockout tournament of this level. Are you scared?"

Wu Shi shook his head: "I'm not afraid."

Why?

"Because they look down on us."

Wu Shi said,

Those who look down on others are most likely to stumble.

Old Li laughed, this time he really laughed out loud:

"Alright. Just because of what you said, you'll still be in the starting lineup for the game the day after tomorrow."

When the extra training session ended in the evening

As he retrieved the ball, he heard footsteps on the sidelines. Turning around, he saw Wu Lei.

"Aren't you going back yet?"

"Let's practice a little longer."

Wu Shi placed the balls.

"Brother Lei, do you think we can win?"

Wu Lei walked over to him and placed a ball there as well: "I don't know."

"have no idea?"

Nothing is 100% certain in football.

Wu Lei took a run-up and unleashed a curling shot—the ball also curved around the wall, but went slightly wide, grazing the post and flying out of bounds.

"But I know that if we ourselves feel we can't win, then we really can't win."

Wu Shi looked at him.

"I've heard this kind of talk far too many times in all my years of playing football."

Wu Lei bent down to pick up the ball. "Every time I hear comments like 'Chinese players have rough skills,' 'Chinese players have no brains,' and 'Chinese players can't play in crucial matches,' I think, let the game speak for itself."

He tossed the ball to Wu Shi: "The day after tomorrow is when we'll talk."

Wu Shi caught the ball; it felt a bit heavy.

"Brother Lei."

"Um?"

"If we win, what kind of expression do you think the coach will have?"

Wu Lei thought for a moment and then laughed: "It'll probably look pretty bad."

"I want to see," Wu Shi said.

"I want to too."