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

August 21, 2010, Zhuque Sports Center, SX Province.

A few thousand people were scattered in the stands.

In the 18th round of the China League One, Shaanxi Chanba hosted BJ Baxy at home – a match between two mid-table teams that even local media didn't bother to send reporters to.

In the locker room, Wu Shi stared blankly at the red jersey in his hand.

26 number.

A substitute number? But making the roster is already a pleasant surprise. He can't wait to get on the field.

"Xiao Wu, are you nervous about being on the roster for the first time?" A dark-skinned face leaned over; it was Li Jianguo, a veteran player in his early thirties who had played in the China League One for over a decade.

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

He wasn't nervous at all. What kind of situation hadn't he seen in his past life?

When betting on sports, you can win or lose hundreds of thousands in one night without your hands even shaking.

He's just playing in the Chinese League One. Even if Messi is the best in the world, it has nothing to do with him right now.

Coach Wang clapped his hands as he entered: "Listen up, everyone! Baxy has been playing conservatively away from home this season, so let's press forward from the start! The forwards—"

Wu Shi pricked up his ears.

"Liu Yang is the lone spearhead, while Jian Guo provides support from behind."

Coach Wang didn't even look at Wu Shi. "Xiao Wu, you sit on the bench and get a feel for the atmosphere today."

Wu Shi nodded, but he was a little annoyed. He remembered that he had scored two goals in the U19 warm-up match last month, otherwise he wouldn't have been promoted to the first team.

Game start.

Shaanxi team did press hard at the start, but their attacking tactics were pitifully simple – long passes from the backfield to find the forwards, relying on physical strength to hold their own.

Liu Yang is a burly man standing at 1.85 meters tall. He's a master of headers, but his footwork is so rough that anyone who knows him can attest to it.

In the 23rd minute, an opportunity arose. Baxi's defender made a clearance error, and the ball rolled to a spot not far from Wushi's substitute bench.

However, Liu Yang reacted too slowly on the field, and the ball was caught directly by the opposing goalkeeper.

"Sigh!" Wu Shi slapped his thigh subconsciously.

Li Jianguo, standing nearby, laughed: "What's the rush? This is nothing."

The first half ended 0-0. In the locker room, Coach Wang looked displeased: "Liu Yang! Can't you be a little more flexible with your positioning? You always just wait for the ball to hit your head?!"

Liu Yang lowered his head and drank water without saying a word.

Coach Wang's gaze swept across the bench, lingered on Wu Shi's face for a second, and then looked away.

In the 55th minute of the second half, the score remained 0-0. Some fans had already begun leaving the stands.

Coach Wang suddenly turned around: "Xiao Wu, warm up!"

Wu Shi jumped up. My professional debut was about to begin. I quickly did a few stretches and ran to the sidelines.

"You go up, Liu Yang down." Coach Wang patted him on the shoulder. "Don't be nervous, you're fast, just keep moving."

Wu Shi nodded, countless thoughts flashing through his mind—at 16 years old, he was already 1.84 meters tall, weighed 150 kilograms, had a low body fat percentage, and clearly defined muscles. In his past life, he was a gambling addict, but in this life, this body was clearly good material for an athlete.

He refused to believe that with that kind of physical ability, he couldn't do well in the China League One.

"Shaanxi team makes a substitution! No. 26 Wu Shi replaces No. 9 Liu Yang!" The announcement was weak and listless.

Wu Shi stepped onto the field. The grass was softer than the training field, and the sunlight was blinding. He took a deep breath—

Then he froze.

Where should we run?

In his past life, he was a gambler, not a football player.

Although you understand tactics and betting odds, all those theories become worthless when you're actually on the pitch. How should you play in the China League One? How should your strikers position themselves?

"Xiao Wu! Move to the wing!" Li Jianguo shouted from the frontcourt.

Wu Shi quickly ran to the right. He was indeed fast, and in a few steps he shook off the opposing full-back.

The teammate saw it too, and sent a long diagonal teleport over—

The ball is moving a bit fast.

Wu Shi recalled how Robben handled this kind of ball in his previous life: stop with his chest, tap with the instep, and cut inside.

But he couldn't do it.

My body simply wouldn't obey my commands.

Finally, he could only head the ball forward and chase after it desperately. The ball went out of bounds.

"Sigh!" came a sigh from the stands.

Wu Shi was panting, feeling his face burning.

That ball, if it had been Messi... no, even if it had been an ordinary professional striker, they could at least have stopped it.

The game continues.

Wu Shi learned his lesson and stopped thinking about those fancy things. He just ran, ran for his life.

The opposing defender is 33 years old and a seasoned veteran. After being outpaced a few times by his speed, he started resorting to dirty tricks.

In the 68th minute, Wu Shi made another sprint, and the veteran defender tripped him.

Takeshi fell to the ground, but the referee did not call.

"Kid, you're pretty fast, aren't you?" The veteran defender helped him up, a smile on his face. "You just don't know how to play football."

Wu Shi shook off his hand.

Time ticked by. Wu Shi kicked with increasing urgency.

Every time he gets the ball, he thinks about "how the other players will handle it," then his body freezes, and he either hastily passes the ball or gets it intercepted.

On one occasion, he successfully intercepted the ball in midfield, revealing a wide-open space in front of him. He dribbled forward, and the opposing midfielder pressed forward.

If it were Messi, he should have been able to get past him with a simple change of direction.

Wu Shi attempted a change of direction—he flicked the ball with his right foot and leaned his body to the left.

The ball went too far and rolled three meters away. He almost fell over.

"Hahaha!" the opposing midfielder laughed. "Dude, dancing?"

On the bench, Coach Wang's face grew increasingly dark.

In the 82nd minute, Shaanxi team had their last chance. Li Jianguo was fouled just outside the penalty area, resulting in a free kick.

"Xiao Wu, wait behind the wall for the follow-up shot!" Li Jianguo shouted.

Wu Shi stood in the designated position. He remembered that his body was pretty good at heading the ball; he had headed in a few goals during training.

Li Jianguo's free kick arced through the air, hit the crossbar, and bounced back!

The ball landed right on Wu Shi!

He jumped—too early. The ball grazed his scalp and flew towards the far post, going out of bounds.

"Damn it!" Wu Shi cursed as he landed.

The final whistle blew.

0-0. A goalless draw.

Wu Shi lowered his head and walked off the field.

Sweat soaked through his jersey, not from exhaustion, but from feeling stifled. He felt like an idiot, having run on the field for over thirty minutes, touched the ball 11 times, lost possession 8 times, had 0 shots on goal, and 0 key passes.

"It's okay, it's your first time." Li Jianguo patted his shoulder, but there was also disappointment in his eyes.

No one spoke in the locker room. Coach Wang came in, glanced at Wu Shi, and sighed, "Go wash up. We'll talk about it at training next week."

Wu Shi sat on the bench, not moving.

His phone vibrated. He took it out; it was a news notification: "Post-match rating: Shaanxi Chanba player Wu Shi – 5.8 points."

There were only a handful of comments:

"Who is this newbie? He doesn't know how to play at all."

"He runs fast, but he's brainless."

"Where did Coach Wang recruit from?"

Wu Shi stared at the screen, his fingers gripping his phone tightly.

He thought he could succeed just by relying on his physical attributes. He thought the Chinese League One was a low-level league, and he could just play casually.

But reality slapped him in the face.

While taking a shower, hot water splashed on his face. Wu Shi closed his eyes.

A picture suddenly flashed through my mind—what would Messi do if he were in that position to receive a long pass?

He tapped the ball with the instep of his left foot, turned, accelerated, and got past the recovering defender…

The image was frighteningly clear.

"Damn it..." Wu Shi slammed his fist against the wall.

As he walked out of the stadium, several fans saw Wu Shi and pointed at him.

"That number 26? What kind of rubbish were they playing..."

Wu Shi walked past quickly.

Back at the rented room—a dormitory rented by the club for the young players, four people sharing a 20-square-meter space. The other three teammates hadn't returned yet.

Wu Shi lay sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Today's game completely destroyed his pride.

What good is Ronaldo's physique or genius? It's all useless in a real match. Football isn't track and field; just being able to run isn't enough.

My phone vibrated again. This time it was a text message from Coach Wang:

"Xiao Wu, go back to U19 training next week. The intensity of the first team matches is high, and you need time to adapt."

Wu Shi stared at the text message for a long time.

Back to U19. This means there aren't even any seats left on the bench.

He sat up, turned on his knock-off phone, and searched for "Messi highlights".

The 3G network made video loading slow, but it was clear enough—the guy wearing Barcelona number 10 seemed to have the ball attached to his feet.

With a quick change of direction, he beat two players.

With a flick of the ankle, he chipped the ball into the net.

He spiked the ball three times in a row, causing the defender to fall over.

As Wu Shi watched, he suddenly felt short of breath.

He hates this person. He hated him in his past life, and he hates him even more in this life—the Messi of this world is stronger, and he reached the peak earlier, making him seem like a joke.

But on the court today, every mistake he made, every clumsy move he made, reminded him: you are worlds apart from that person.

"I just don't believe it..." Wu Shi muttered to himself.

Get up, take the ball downstairs, and go to the open space behind the dormitory building.

He put the ball on the ground, recalling the ball he should have changed direction on the field earlier that day but failed to do so.

Run-up, right foot strikes the ball, body leans to the left—

This time he deliberately slowed down his movements to feel the contact between his feet and the ball.

The ball was spiked too high and rolled far away.

Come again.

The third time, the fourth time...

On his twenty-seventh attempt, he finally managed to dunk the ball and staggered to catch up.

Sweat dripped down his chin. Wu Shi was panting, supporting himself on his knees.

That's incredibly difficult. He practiced a simple dribbling move thirty times before succeeding once. And Messi can use that move to get past world-class defenders in a match.

"Heh..." Wu Shi smiled bitterly.