"No!"
In the gym, Chen Man was met with a firm refusal from Wang Yi.
For a forward, no matter how easygoing his temperament, surrendering the right to shoot is unthinkable—it's like asking him to give up his identity.
Wang Yi, though known for his laid-back personality, was not without persistence or competitive fire.
As a center forward, relinquishing the right to shoot would mean losing the very essence of being a No. 9.
So, Wang Yi's refusal was absolute.
Chen Man, though rebuffed, wasn't sad. He was taken aback by Wang Yi's decisiveness. After all, Wang Yi had always been laid back in the past.
"The right to shoot isn't something you hand over. If you want it, you earn it. Outperform me, prove your finishing is sharper than mine—those are bargaining chips."
Wang Yi's tone was serious. "I want to win, so I won't hold you back. You can demand the right to shoot, but the condition is simple: you must be able to score."
He leaned forward. "Tell me honestly—if I gave you the right to shoot now, and I supported you, could you guarantee a goal in the critical moments?"
Chen Man thought back to his missed one-on-one against Spain and gave a sheepish grin. "This…"
"You hesitated!" Wang Yi shook his head. "That hesitation means you don't fully trust your shot. And a forward without confidence is a burden to the team. You need to recognize your role here. Your strength lies in using your pace to break down the wing and deliver the final pass—not in taking shots on your own."
Chen Man pressed his lips together. The words stung.
Wang Yi noticed and softened his tone. "Chen, I'm not trying to suppress you. If your finishing improves, I'll gladly share the responsibility. I'd welcome someone to draw defenders away from me. But right now, you're not there yet."
He stood, patted Chen Man's shoulder, and added, "Work on your shooting."
Chen Man nodded, though his spirits were clearly dampened.
Wang Yi didn't push further. Instead, he turned to Kai. "Kai, let's talk."
The two left the gym. Wang Yi bought two energy drinks from the vending machine, and they found a shaded bench outside.
Handing one to Kai, Wang Yi said, "Tomorrow's match will be tough."
Kai twisted the cap, took a sip, and nodded. "It will. Brazil is formidable."
Wang Yi paused, then said, "Mexico held them for ninety minutes with defensive counter-attacks in the group stage. We did something similar against the Netherlands. Do you think…"
Kai shook his head. "It's not the same. The Netherlands relies heavily on its attacking trident—Van Persie, Robben, Sneijder. Brazil is more balanced. Their attack is strong, but their midfield is solid too."
He sighed. "I can't cover everything alone."
Wang Yi exhaled. "You've been carrying a heavy load."
Since the group stage, much of Kai's artistry had been buried. For the team's sake, he sacrificed ball control and orchestration.
As Arsenal's midfield maestro, his vision and passing were world-class. But here, he had to shoulder the dirty work—marking, pressing, tackling, intercepting.
Sometimes Wang Yi wondered if it was fair. A top-tier midfielder reduced to a sweeper.
If only China had another midfielder to share the burden. But that was wishful thinking. Producing one Kai was already a miracle.
And his presence undeniably elevated the team. By sacrificing himself, Kai unlocked the potential of Wang Yi, Chen Man, and others. That was his true value.
After a moment, Wang Yi asked, "What do you think the coaches will decide?"
Kai replied without hesitation. "Defensive counter-attack. Park the bus. It's the only option."
Wang Yi had suspected as much, but hearing it aloud left him feeling helpless.
Kai noticed his expression and smiled. "Or we could try tiki-taka. Play like Barcelona—for one night only."
Wang Yi chuckled and waved it off. "Forget it. That's not my style."
Kai nodded. Wang Yi wasn't the type to drift out of the box. He thrived on decisive finishes—lurking like an assassin, waiting for the fatal strike.
"How far do you think we'll go in this World Cup?" Wang Yi asked.
Kai answered plainly, "This might be the end."
Wang Yi raised a brow. "I thought you'd try to comfort me."
Kai smirked. "No point sugarcoating. I don't see us beating Brazil—unless they all lose their minds and start playing like amateurs."
Wang Yi laughed. "That chance is even slimmer."
Kai shrugged. "So don't overthink it. Step by step. You're 24, I'm 21. We'll have at least one more World Cup."
Wang Yi grinned. "Only one?"
Kai held up two fingers. "Fine, two. You'll be 32, I'll be 29."
Wang Yi smiled. "Hopefully we'll still be in form—and still playing in Europe."
Kai smiled confidently.
"Relax. My form is always good."
Wang Yi shook his head with a grin. Kai's calm assurance had a way of settling nerves. After just a few words with him, Wang Yi's anxious heart began to ease. He wasn't brimming with confidence yet, but at least the tension had lifted.
"Let's go and check on Chen," Wang Yi said. "I might've been too harsh earlier."
"Let's go," Kai replied.
As they approached the training ground, the sharp thud of ball against boot echoed in the air.
They found Chen Man working tirelessly on crosses from the byline. The quality varied, but compared to his first attempts, the improvement was obvious—the ball now carried a sharper curve, threatening enough to trouble a goalkeeper.
He wasn't alone. Fernando Kairui, Gao Leiliang, and the other defenders were locked in coordinated drills, tightening their defensive shape. It was late preparation, but better than none.
After a few repetitions, Chen Man turned and shouted, "Fernando! Come defend me! Put some pressure on!"
Fernando Kairui glanced over and barked back, "Get lost! Go practice on your own, I don't have time for you!"
Chen Man frowned, muttering, "Does no one treat me like a teammate anymore?"
Just then, Kai stepped forward. He gestured at Chen Man.
"I'll defend you. Try to get past me."
Chen Man glanced toward the penalty area, where Wang Yi was already waiting, poised to receive a cross. Then he looked back at Kai with a grimace.
"Can we switch? If you're defending me, I won't even get close to crossing—I won't get past you at all!"
Kai chuckled and scolded lightly.
"Quit complaining. I won't press you, alright? Is that good enough?"
Chen Man squinted. "And no blocking?"
Kai raised an eyebrow. "What do you want, a training dummy? Stop dithering. Either come at me or I'm walking away."
"No, no!" Chen Man quickly backtracked, dribbling forward. "I'm coming!"
Moments later, his frustrated voice rang out.
"You said you wouldn't press!"
Kai snapped back, "What kind of move was that? Just go past me! Use your speed! With those clumsy changes of direction, I'll tackle you every time. Push the ball, dribble, get past me—understand?"
A few seconds later, Chen Man yelped again.
"What the hell?! Why did you kick me?"
Kai smirked. "How did you even get into Porto? Through the back door? Pull half a body length ahead, then cut inside! Stop running in a straight line. Shield me off, then cross!"
Another attempt.
"Why are you grabbing me now? What did I do?"
"Sorry," Kai admitted, half-laughing. "Professional instinct. I pulled you without thinking."
Chen Man threw his arms up. "Unbelievable! Are you going to let me practice or not? Is this training or torture?"
Kai barked, "Stop whining. Get up! Keep going!"
On the pitch, the intensity rose with every drill.
Meanwhile, from the attic above, Liu Hongbo watched with a smile. Sunlight poured across the lush turf as the young men chased the ball with relentless energy.
They were dream chasers, fearless even with a formidable opponent looming. Every minute, every second, they pushed themselves to grow stronger.
Liu Hongbo didn't know what the next match would bring. But one thing was certain—this was only the beginning.
...
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