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

On the training field,

"Wu Shi! Where the hell are you running to?!"

Coach Chen's shouts could be heard from time to time on the training field.

"Is that your seat?!"

Wu Shi stopped, panting heavily.

Sweat blurred his vision, so he wiped his face and looked down at the grass.

I went to the wrong place again.

I've lost count of how many times this has happened.

He played for twenty minutes in the training match, and he was like a headless fly.

When his teammate crossed the ball, he was at the far post; when the ball reached the far post, he rushed to the near post.

When defending, he retreats when he should be pressing, and then inexplicably pushes forward again when he should be retreating.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Old Chen blew the whistle to halt the match and walked toward Wu Shi with a livid face.

Wu Shi lowered his head, not daring to look directly at Old Chen.

"Wu Shi, I have a question for you."

Old Chen pointed at Wu Shi and said...

"What are you doing on the field? Are you sleepwalking?"

"I……"

Wu Shi opened his mouth, unsure how to explain.

Wu Shi meant that he was observing the situation and thinking about how to position himself.

But in reality? In reality, his mind was a complete mess.

In his past life, he watched football from a god-like perspective, including when playing football-related games like FIFA or Pro Evolution Soccer.

So keyboard warriors can draw up tactics on the whiteboard with great skill, but when they actually get on the field, they can't even execute the most basic "triangle support" maneuver.

"You used to play pickup soccer? You still have all those bad habits from a novice."

Old Chen stared at him.

"He dribbles with his head down, without looking at his opponents; he defends by looking around, without marking them closely; his positioning is entirely based on instinct, and he has no discipline."

Wu Shitou went even lower.

Several teammates nearby couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Wu Shi's face turned bright red.

He recalled arguing online with someone in his past life, saying that Chinese players were "brainless" and had "poor positioning".

Now it's my turn, and I'm not even as good as those "brainless" people.

"Reflect on your actions today! The next training match is tomorrow."

Old Chen patted him on the shoulder, quite forcefully.

"If you keep doing this, you'll be sitting on the bench. On the U19 bench, or you can go to a vocational school and learn a skill to make a living, understand?"

Got it. Absolutely. It means if you can't even make it into the top ranks, you might as well get out of here.

That night, Wu Shi didn't sleep.

The other three guys in the dorm were snoring away, while he stared blankly at the ceiling.

Wu Shi got out of bed and pulled out his knock-off phone. The screen had a crack, but it didn't affect its use.

My finger paused for a moment in the search bar before finally typing: Messi training video.

This time, he wasn't watching highlights, but training clips—Messi's basic drills during Barcelona training: continuous juggling, changing direction around cones, one-touch passing, and off-the-ball movement.

It's very simple. So simple that Wu Shi thinks he could do it himself.

He went downstairs alone, carrying an old soccer ball, and started juggling it under the streetlight.

The first, the second, the third... the eighth one, the ball fell.

Let's try again. This time, it drops after five attempts.

Wu Shi gritted his teeth. He remembered when he played FIFA, he could dribble past five players like it was nothing. Now, if you really asked him to juggle the ball, he couldn't even do ten.

"Damn it..." he muttered under his breath, not knowing who he was cursing.

Under the streetlights, he practiced for two hours straight. He juggled the ball, made short passes and kicked it against the wall, and dribbled the ball around water bottles placed on the ground.

At 1:30 a.m., he collapsed onto the grass, drenched in sweat. His records? Highest ball-juggling record: 37. Fastest time around cones: 12.8 seconds—I've heard professional players can get under 8 seconds.

Just as he was about to pack his things and go upstairs, that voice came to his head again.

It wasn't a system notification sound; it was more like some kind of... sensor.

[Host detected autonomously conducting basic ball control training]

[Suggestion: Try making consecutive touches with the inside of your left foot, lower your center of gravity by 15%, and keep your eyes forward]

Wu Shi was stunned.

Wasn't this system in hibernation before?

He hesitated for a few seconds, but still tried the "suggestion"—lightly touching the ball with the inside of his left foot, squatting slightly, and looking straight ahead instead of at the ball.

The ball seemed glued to my foot; I touched it more than twenty times without it falling off.

Wu Shi's heart skipped a beat.

He switched back to his own method, and the ball immediately became unruly.

Try the system's suggestion again—it's stable again.

"Damn..." he muttered.

Under the streetlights, the sixteen-year-old boy was locked in a battle of wits with the voice in his head.

He insisted on using his own method, but the ball always went out of control; when he reluctantly followed the system's prompts, the ball became as obedient as a pet.

In the end, he gave up.

It's not admitting defeat to the system, it's admitting defeat to reality.

Reborn into this world, he didn't want to live the aimless, gambling, keyboard warrior life he had in his previous life. He wanted to play football, to stay on the field, not sit on the bench.

"Fine, you win," he said quietly.

The system didn't respond. But when he juggled the ball again, those subtle adjustment suggestions naturally came to mind—the angle of his ankle, the position of his center of gravity, and the force of his touch.

It was as if an invisible coach was teaching him step by step.

U19 training match.

Their opponent was another team from the same city, with similar strength. Before the match, Old Chen stared at Wu Shi: "This is your last chance."

Wu Shi nodded without saying a word.

The opening whistle blows.

The first touch of the ball was in the seventh minute.

A teammate launched a long pass from the backfield, and Wu Shi received the ball on the right wing. The opposing full-back immediately closed him down.

In the past, Wu Shi would have instinctively lunged forward, relying on his speed to overpower the opponent.

But this time, a system notification flashed through his mind:

[Suggestion: Control the ball with the inside of your left foot, turn, and use the momentum to get past the defender]

The body almost automatically performed the action—a gentle nudge with the inside of the left foot caused the ball to obediently bounce half a meter up, changing direction by the time it landed.

Wu Shi took the opportunity and really managed to wipe it away!

Although the movement was a bit stiff, and although I didn't control the ball well after getting past it, the ball went out of bounds.

But it did pass.

On the sidelines, Old Chen raised an eyebrow.

The second chance came twenty minutes later. Wu Shi received the ball with his back to goal on the edge of the penalty area, with the defenders watching his back.

[Suggestion: Pull the ball with your right foot to turn, and flick the ball with your left foot to accelerate]

Wu Shi did as instructed. He pulled the ball back with his right foot, turned, and flicked the ball with his left foot—he executed the movement, but the transition between the two movements was too slow, and the defender intercepted it.

"Great idea!" Old Chen shouted from the sidelines, "Hurry up!"

Wu Shi was panting, his anger simmering inside. He felt like he was fighting against his own body—the system provided the optimal solution, but his muscle memory was disobedient, always a beat behind.

The first half ended 0-0. Wu Shi played awkwardly, with a few flashes of brilliance, but more often made mistakes.

During halftime, Lao Chen called him aside.

"Wu Shi, have you... suddenly become enlightened lately?"

Wu Shi was taken aback, then nodded.

"I can tell." Old Chen stared at him.

"Their approach to handling the ball is completely different from before. But you're like..."

He thought for a moment about how to phrase it, "It's like someone who has just learned to drive; they know how to shift gears and steer, but their hands and feet aren't coordinated."

That's incredibly accurate, Wu Shi thought to himself.

"Don't think too much in the second half," Old Chen patted him on the shoulder. "Just remember one thing: before you get the ball, think about your next move."

The second half begins.

Wu Shi tried to do as Lao Chen said. But a problem arose—the "next step" given by the system often conflicted with what he had in mind.

In the 53rd minute, a teammate played a through ball. Wu Shi felt he should move forward, and the system prompted him to move laterally to receive the ball.

His mind went blank, and he stood still.

The ball was intercepted.

"Wu Shi! Wake up!" Old Chen roared.

Wu Shi scratched his head hard. This won't do. If he keeps kicking like this, he'll be sitting on the bench.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

When I opened my eyes again, I had made a decision.

Screw it, I'll trust the system this time.

In the 60th minute, Wu Shi received the ball on the left wing. He was double-teamed by two opposing players.

This time he didn't hesitate and followed the system's instructions exactly: he pulled the ball with the sole of his right foot, feinted with his body, and flicked it with the outside of his left foot—slipping through the gap between the two players!

pass!

Although I stumbled a bit after crossing it, I had definitely made it through. And the view in front of me was wide open.

Wu Shi dribbles forward. The opposing center-back comes to cover.

[Suggestion: Cut inside with a change of direction and shoot with your right foot into the far corner]

Wu Shi did as instructed. He hooked his left foot inward, then lifted his right foot—

The ball arced through the air, heading straight for the top right corner of the goal!

The goalkeeper made a diving save, his fingertips barely touching the ball. The ball bounced off the crossbar!

"Holy crap!" Even Wu Shi himself was shocked.

That shot, in both its choice and its quality, far exceeded his usual level. No, it far exceeded his entire lifetime's worth of performance.

There was a moment of silence on the sidelines, then it erupted.

"nice shot!"

"Wu Shi is good!"

Old Chen didn't shout, but his eyes lit up.

For the next twenty minutes, Wu Shi seemed like a different person. He still made mistakes, he still hesitated, but as long as he chose to trust the system, he could make some incredible decisions—

A backheel flick to get past an opponent while backing away.

He managed to evade three defenders by changing direction twice in a row.

A lob pass from 30 meters out precisely found the teammate making a run forward (even though the teammate was offside).

The match ended 1-0. Wu Shi didn't score or assist. But everyone watching knew that the number 26 player was different in the second half.

The team members gathered around him and patted him on the head: "Wu Shi, what did you eat today?"

"That final lob pass, holy crap, what were they thinking?"

Wu Shi just smiled, feeling completely exhausted. Only he knew that his mind had been on the verge of exploding for the past twenty minutes—the system and his own thoughts were fighting each other, like his left and right hands wrestling.

Old Chen was the last to walk over.

He didn't take a picture of Wu Shi; he just stared at him for a long time.

"Tomorrow," Old Chen said, "you don't need to train with the U19 team."

Wu Shi's heart sank. Still not working?

"Come with me to the first team's training ground," Old Chen said, turning and leaving.

Wu Shi stood there, stunned.

The next afternoon, the first team's training session had just ended. Coach Wang was packing his things when his phone rang.

It was Old Chen calling.

"Old Wang, are you free right now?" Old Chen's voice was a little out of breath, as if he had just finished running.

"Just finished practicing, what's up?"

"Come to the U19 training ground." Old Chen paused, "Right away."

Coach Wang frowned: "What's the rush?"

On the other end of the phone, Old Chen took a deep breath and then said:

"I might have... discovered a Messi."

Coach Wang almost threw his phone away.

"Old Chen, are you crazy? Have you drunk too much?"

"I'm not crazy." Old Chen's voice trembled, but not from fear, but from excitement. "You'll see when you come and see. Right now."

Coach Wang hung up the phone and stood there for three seconds. Then he grabbed his coat and jogged out of the office.

Have we discovered a Messi?

In China?

In the U19 team in Chanba, Shaanxi?

What a joke!

But he knew Old Chen. Old Chen had been coaching youth teams for twenty years; he wasn't one to talk nonsense.

On the training field, Wu Shi had just finished relaxing. He didn't know who Lao Chen had called, but he knew that during the afternoon training, Lao Chen looked at him as if he were a piece of gold that had suddenly shone.

In the distance, Coach Wang's figure appeared at the edge of the training field.

Wu Shi's heart skipped a beat.

Is it coming?

He looked down at his feet. These feet, which were struggling against the system yesterday, were now being told by the coach today, thanks to the system, that they "look like Messi."

What an irony.

The person who was tainted by evil in his past life has become his lifeline in this one.

"Wu Shi," Old Chen called to him, "come here."

Wu Shi walked over. Coach Wang's gaze fell on him, looking him up and down.

"Old Wang, watch closely." Old Chen kicked the ball to Wu Shi. "Wu Shi, try a dribbling around the cones."

Wu Shi received the ball. He silently recited in his mind: Trust System.

Then he started dribbling the ball around the cones. This time, he completely relaxed, letting the cues guide his movements—

Left foot pushes, right foot pulls, changes direction, accelerates.

His movements were so fluid, unlike anything he would have imagined.

Coach Wang's eyes slowly widened.