Chapter 104: England's Twin Stars! I'll Sweep Through Europe with Them!
"We've prepared thoroughly for this match,"
Barcelona president Joan Laporta said to former IOC president Samaranch, seated beside him in the stands.
He tried his best to inject confidence into his smile.
"You know, we have the strongest squad in the world. Everyone says we're the best team on the planet."
Samaranch, a Barcelona club member and supporter, remained calm—even though Barça were trailing.
It was just one goal, right?
With players like Ronaldinho and Eto'o, if they found their rhythm, scoring could happen in the blink of an eye.
"Many believe we're contenders for the treble this season."
Seeing Samaranch nod, Laporta smiled even wider.
"No Spanish team has ever won the treble before. We're on the brink of making history."
"And with the Spanish Super Cup and tonight's UEFA Super Cup, we're in position for a true Grand Slam."
Samaranch could see Laporta's overwhelming ambition.
And to be fair, with last season's double-winning foundation, and summer signings like Thuram, Zambrotta, and Henry, Barça had unquestionably one of Europe's most powerful squads.
"Still, we can't underestimate others. Capello's no slouch," Samaranch warned.
Laporta chuckled coldly and shook his head. "Madrid is rotten to the core."
But noticing Samaranch's gaze fixed intently on the pitch, Laporta turned to watch as well.
And just had to get one more comment in:
"Just watch. We'll equalize soon—then we'll take over. We've got plenty of experience beating Premier League sides."
…
But right as those words left Laporta's lips, another gasp exploded from the crowd.
Barcelona had been passing continuously, finally reaching Bayswater Chinese's 30-meter zone.
Iniesta attempted a chipped pass over the backline, aiming for Eto'o to chase into the box.
José Fonte quickly positioned himself, retreated to the drop zone, and headed it away.
But the ball fell to Eto'o, who got to it first again.
Pinned toward the left by Inler's quick recovery, the Cameroonian looked to link up with Messi on the wing.
At the edge of the box, Leighton Baines and Inler double-teamed him.
Unable to turn, Eto'o was forced to play it back—toward an onrushing Belletti, who was completely unmarked.
But the pass was overhit and off-target.
Belletti tried to control it, but the ball skimmed past his foot.
And right there—Arshavin arrived.
He collected the loose ball, turned—and found Márquez already bearing down on him.
The Russian didn't hesitate. He touched it forward and burst into a sprint.
To be fair, Márquez reacted quickly too.
The Mexican defender grabbed Arshavin's right arm as he tried to recover.
Both stumbled slightly from the contact.
But Arshavin regained his balance first and kept going.
Márquez gave chase, but the Russian only pulled further away—extending his lead to two strides.
This forced Puyol, who had been covering centrally, to scramble across and try to cut him off.
As he sprinted, Arshavin glanced sideways toward the middle.
Džeko had a slow start but, once up to speed, his long legs gave him excellent stride and pace.
Reassured, Arshavin slowed as he reached the edge of the box's left corner—forcing Puyol to slam on the brakes.
But then—suddenly—Arshavin flicked the ball toward the byline, surged forward again, and whipped in a left-footed cross.
Puyol spun, lunged, and went for a full-stretch sliding block.
He completely missed. His whole body flew over the byline.
But the ball made it across.
In the center, Džeko had been battling Tiago Motta all the way—breath held, legs pumping.
He reached the penalty spot just in time, connected cleanly with the inside of his foot, and guided the ball toward the far post.
The cross from the left cut a new path—bending sharply into the bottom-right corner of the net.
"GOAL!!!"
"Džeko!"
"Džeko scores!!!"
"51st minute—Barça lose the ball in the buildup, and Bayswater Chinese capitalize instantly!"
"It's another razor-sharp counterattack, and they've breached Barça's defense again!"
"Edin Džeko with the goal!"
"2–0!!"
The entire stadium erupted in a wave of stunned gasps.
Over 10,000 fans sat frozen, jaws slack from the sudden strike.
Then came the explosion of celebration.
2–0!
Was the mighty Barcelona really about to lose?
And just moments earlier, up in the stands, Laporta had so confidently declared that Barça would turn it around…
Now he sat red-faced, wanting nothing more than to sink into the seat—or better, crawl into a hole.
That slap in the face came way too fast.
…
Five minutes after conceding the second goal, Rijkaard made his second substitution.
He brought on Gudjohnsen for Tiago Motta.
Clearly, the Icelandic striker was being used as a tactical center-forward.
Rijkaard hoped he could help Barça win more balls in the final third.
But that change—ironically—set the stage for the next disaster.
In the 67th minute, Barcelona were once again tangled up in midfield, trying to pass their way forward against Bayswater's relentless press.
Ronaldinho dropped deep into midfield to receive the ball.
But before he could settle, Lassana Diarra came slicing in from the side—shouldering him off and stealing possession.
Ronaldinho tried to foul him with two quick kicks.
Neither landed.
Diarra, small but agile, took off with the ball.
With Deco closing in, he passed to a surging Yaya Touré on his right.
The Ivorian didn't hesitate—he smashed a long pass forward down the right channel.
Modrić sprinted to get on the end of it.
With Džeko and Arshavin following close behind, Bayswater quickly formed a 3-on-2 counterattack.
The stadium erupted again.
As Modrić charged into the right side of the box, Puyol managed to track back just in time and cut off the cross.
The ball ricocheted behind the incoming attackers.
Márquez tried to flick it clear with his heel—but the deflection sent it to the top of the box.
And that's when everyone realized—Tiago Motta was no longer on the pitch.
Barça's entire defensive line was inside the box.
Not a single player had stayed back to cover the edge of the area.
Deco? Gassed. No strength left to track back.
Yaya Touré stormed in from behind, brought the ball under control, and fired an absolute rocket into the bottom right corner.
Valdés was rooted to the spot—helpless.
3–0!
Yaya Touré threw his head back and let out a thunderous roar.
This is Barcelona!
And I just put one past them!
The entire stadium went wild.
No one had expected this.
Three goals.
Already.
When the score reached 3–0, the match was all but decided.
At the 60th minute, Yang Cheng made a double substitution:
Gareth Bale came on for Arshavin,
Ashley Young replaced Modrić.
There were two reasons.
First, Arshavin and Modrić had both expended enormous energy.
Second, after this UEFA Super Cup clash, the team had to fly back to London and head north for a Premier League makeup game against Wigan Athletic.
Matchday 3 had been delayed by three days due to the Super Cup, but the tight travel schedule—plus a physically and mentally draining showdown with Barcelona—meant the team was facing heavy fatigue.
What Yang Cheng didn't expect, however, was that Rijkaard made another substitution in the 72nd minute, bringing on Giuly for Belletti.
At that point, Barcelona had Ronaldinho, Eto'o, Gudjohnsen, Messi, and Giuly all on the pitch—five forwards.
It was absurd.
Yang Cheng, seeing this, immediately gestured for his team to drop back and shift into counter-attacking mode.
But he kept the midfield pressing aggressive and intense.
Barcelona now had the numbers in the final third, and their passing began to increase in frequency.
But the more attackers they sent forward, the more crowded it became.
And their stamina was clearly depleted.
Aside from one shot by Eto'o inside the box—easily handled by Neuer—the rest were all long-range attempts.
Ronaldinho had a free kick as well, but it sailed wildly over the bar.
Then, in the 87th minute, Barça attempted a long pass aimed at Gudjohnsen.
Yaya Touré intercepted with a strong header just outside the box.
The ball dropped back toward midfield.
Both teams scrambled for it again.
This time, Bayswater Chinese successfully shifted the play left to Gareth Bale, who had dropped deep to receive.
The Welsh teenager was unmarked on the wing, but Iniesta quickly closed him down.
Bale, however, got the ball first and pushed it forward down the left sideline.
Then—he spotted his moment—
and whipped in a diagonal ball toward Džeko.
Džeko had dropped deeper to receive.
Near the center circle in Barça's half, he controlled the ball, looked up, and saw Bale charging along the touchline.
The Bosnian striker instantly understood, using his left foot to return a diagonal ball into the left channel.
Puyol, marking Džeko, sensed the danger and turned to chase.
And he was right to worry.
Bale exploded forward like a turbocharged Ferrari, rocketing down the left flank.
In seconds, he overtook Puyol and caught up to the ball.
Barça's captain, known for his pace, tried to cut him off.
But Bale, catching the pass in stride, touched it forward and surged ahead.
Puyol leaned in with his full body weight, trying to muscle the 17-year-old off the ball.
Physically, the young Welshman shouldn't have had a chance.
But Puyol hesitated—he wasn't sure if he was the last defender.
He couldn't risk a red card.
No matter how he pulled, Bale wouldn't go down.
And somehow, he bulldozed his way into the left edge of the box.
There wasn't a single Barça defender in the area.
Only one figure in white stood alone at the penalty spot—
a Bayswater Chinese player waiting for the final pass.
All Bale had to do was get the ball across.
Puyol threw himself at Bale, trying to force him toward the byline and out of bounds.
But Bale shielded the ball near the line, feet tight on it, shoulder braced against the pressure.
Just as he neared the edge of the six-yard box, Bale gave Puyol a hard bump with his right shoulder.
The impact threw off both players.
Bale nearly lost balance—but before he hit the ground, he stabbed his left foot and sent the ball across.
Valdés froze.
He had been guarding the near post. The cross came out of nowhere—he didn't react in time.
Ashley Young, sprinting in from the top of the box, met the ball cleanly with the inside of his left foot.
A low shot, controlled and precise, slotted into the open net.
Márquez, charging back at full speed, arrived just behind Young—too late.
Barcelona's net bulged again.
4–0.
…
When referee Stefano Farina blew the final whistle, the entire Barça squad stood motionless.
Some were rooted to the spot, scanning the pitch in dazed confusion.
Others hung their heads in shame, unable to look anyone in the eye.
For the reigning Champions League holders to lose the Super Cup like this—
This was an absolute disaster.
Especially now, when they were supposedly at the peak of their powers.
Before the match, the Catalan media had laughed off Bayswater Chinese.
Mundo Deportivo even printed a "betting slip" on its front page, asking readers to guess how many goals Barça would win by.
And now?
No one could've predicted this.
Well, technically, Barça did win—minus four goals.
Time to cue the music and keep dancing.
But every Barça player on the pitch knew the truth.
They'd been utterly humiliated.
Tonight's match was unique.
Over the past few weeks, Barcelona had endured a brutal schedule.
And worse—it wasn't imposed by UEFA or La Liga.
It was self-inflicted by the club's own board.
But none of that mattered now.
Rijkaard had drawn the home team designation, so post-match protocol required him to walk over first.
He approached Yang Cheng and offered a handshake.
"Congratulations," he said reluctantly.
"You played with great aggression. We were caught off guard at the start."
"After falling behind, we tried too hard to chase the game, and lost our own rhythm."
Yang Cheng smiled faintly and didn't say much.
He knew perfectly well: Rijkaard's in-game adjustments had always been shaky.
Whether the Dutchman admitted it or not, he and his team had entered this match arrogant and complacent.
From last season until now, they had swept through all opposition.
Their recent Super Cup and Gamper Trophy wins had inflated their egos.
They really thought they were invincible.
Poor schedule management, physical exhaustion, and overconfidence—this was the true cocktail behind Barça's crushing defeat.
"I hope we get to meet again in the Champions League. We'll be looking to avenge this humiliation," Rijkaard said before leaving.
A little Gray Wolf energy there.
Yang Cheng simply smiled again.
He almost wanted to tell him: You and Mourinho really make a pair.
Both of them said nearly identical things after losing.
He might even recommend that Rijkaard ask Mourinho: Has he ever beaten me?
Two lives as a man, two careers as a manager—Yang Cheng knew exactly what kind of team he had built.
If they met again in the Champions League, who won and who lost wouldn't be so easily decided.
But yes—tonight's match was indeed special.
It was like Barcelona voluntarily cut their power level in half and challenged Bayswater Chinese to a knife fight.
If Yang Cheng hadn't won big, he would've considered it a personal failure.
"Everyone says Barcelona is the best team in the world, but tonight, I can proudly say—we beat Barcelona!"
At the post-match press conference, Yang Cheng showed no intention of holding back.
Since they had won, he wanted to use this victory to fire up his team and build a strong foundation of confidence for the rest of the season.
If they could beat the best team in the world, what else was impossible?
Yang Cheng had no reservations about praising his team's outstanding performance.
He believed Džeko's tactical role was crucial in this match, and that Arshavin—who had a goal and an assist—was the standout player of the night.
As Yang Cheng put it, Arshavin was an emotionally rich and sensitive genius who thrived on care and support.
So, he gave him glowing praise at the press conference.
"He was the key to our win over Barcelona!"
As for Gareth Bale, who impressed after coming off the bench, Yang Cheng took a more measured tone.
"Undoubtedly, his pace and performance caught everyone's attention—but I don't think he should be overly praised right now."
"Whether it's him or Walcott, they're both just 17. What they need most is a relaxed environment to grow in."
"Too much outside noise—whether praise or criticism—won't help their development."
By contrast, Rijkaard appeared at his press conference visibly dejected.
"I'm very disappointed with the result," he admitted. "But we have to recover quickly."
"We have a league match coming up against Celta Vigo."
"We learned a lot from this match and from our opponents. I believe we'll find our rhythm again soon."
Rijkaard was candid about the reasons for the heavy loss.
"Myself included, and every player—we kept saying, 'Don't get carried away, stay focused on the pitch.'"
"But unfortunately, we didn't follow through."
"The team that beat us tonight wasn't our opponent. It was ourselves."
Rijkaard added that all reflection and criticism would take place internally, not in front of the media.
"Our task now is to prepare, mentally and physically, for the next match."
Team captain Puyol also addressed the press, apologizing to Barcelona fans on behalf of the locker room.
"When everyone kept saying how great we were, we believed it."
"That's why we lost."
Still, Puyol said the defeat might be a good thing in the long run.
Deco didn't quite agree.
The Portuguese midfielder told reporters, "All of us gave everything we had. But as you saw, the final result was what it was. This wasn't the players' fault."
Then what was the problem?
Deco didn't name names, but he did point to the schedule.
"The fixtures we've had lately… they've been inhuman."
He also revealed that the opponent had clearly taken advantage of their fatigue.
"At halftime, we all felt it. Not just Xavi—several players were at their physical limits. That's never happened to us before."
Deco acknowledged that Bayswater Chinese's high-tempo, high-intensity playing style exacerbated Barcelona's exhaustion.
"But we've faced teams like that before. It's never been this bad."
A not-so-subtle jab at Barça's management.
From the U.S. tour to the Gamper Trophy to back-to-back Super Cups—how had they let the schedule get this packed?
Was it a flaw in judgment—or a collapse of morality?
…
Despite Yang Cheng's repeated pleas for the British press to tone down the hype around young players, it was clear they weren't listening.
After Walcott's breakout performance off the bench in Matchday 2 of the Premier League, his duel with Puyol in the Super Cup—followed by Bale's thunderous impact—became instant media darlings.
At that point, Gareth Bale had yet to officially commit to the Wales national team.
So many British journalists argued that the England national team should move quickly to bring him into the fold.
If that happened, Bale and Walcott would become the new "Twin Stars" of England's future flanks.
The two had been best friends since their days at Southampton's academy.
Bayswater Chinese's 4–0 demolition of Barcelona in the Super Cup earned praise from media all across England.
Last season, Barcelona had eliminated Chelsea in the round of 16—amid controversy—and later defeated Arsenal in the final.
In the eyes of many, Barça had a personal score with the Premier League.
This time, Bayswater Chinese's 4–0 Super Cup victory felt like sweet revenge.
A quick note on the Champions League draw:
Two groups were labeled as "Groups of Death."
One included Bayswater Chinese, Real Madrid, Bayern Munich, and Sporting Lisbon.
The other included Barcelona, Chelsea, and Werder Bremen.
While Barça's group was slightly less severe, it still deserved the label.
Everyone was now watching eagerly to see if, after last season's European setbacks, Premier League clubs could bounce back and reclaim their pride.
…
As for Yang Cheng?
He didn't have time to worry about headlines.
After the match in Monaco on the 25th, the team stayed overnight at the hotel.
The next day, they departed for Nice, then flew back to London.
By the time they landed, it was already afternoon.
On the 27th, the squad held two recovery sessions in London.
On the morning of the 28th, Yang Cheng led the team north to face Wigan Athletic in the makeup match.
Kickoff was at 3 p.m. that same day.
Many players had to catch evening flights to join their national teams for the upcoming Euro 2008 qualifiers.
Of all the players, Arshavin had the toughest travel schedule—his destination was the farthest.
With all these complications—plus the physical drain from the Barça match—Bayswater Chinese struggled in the first half at Wigan.
Heskey—yes, that Heskey, often mocked as a striker who couldn't shoot or score—
scored in the 38th minute.
Could Yang Cheng tolerate that?
At halftime, he went ballistic.
In the second half, Bayswater Chinese launched an all-out assault.
At the 65th and 70th minutes, Yang Cheng made two attacking subs—switching to a dual-striker system with Džeko and Rickie Lambert.
They bombarded Wigan's penalty box.
Finally, in the 87th minute, a set-piece opportunity led to Skrtel heading home the equalizer.
The match ended in a 1–1 draw.
It was Bayswater Chinese's first draw of the season.
…
Since other teams had already completed their Matchday 3 fixtures on the 26th, the standings were clear.
Only Manchester United had a perfect record—three wins in three games.
Ferguson's side had just defeated Watford 2–1 away.
With new arrivals Carrick and Hargreaves, plus Vidic and Evra added during the previous winter window, United's defense and midfield had strengthened significantly.
Ferguson was clearly pleased with his team's flawless start.
Liverpool, meanwhile, had come from behind to beat West Ham 2–1 at Anfield.
Interestingly, Benítez had used three different starting lineups in three matches.
The most surprising results of the round?
Everton beat Spurs 2–0 at White Hart Lane—despite being down to 10 men in the first half.
And Arsenal lost 0–1 away to Manchester City.
After three rounds, Manchester United sat atop the Premier League with 9 points.
But four teams had collected 7 points so far, and the biggest surprise among them was Redknapp's Pompey.
Portsmouth had kept three consecutive clean sheets and scored six goals—making them the only Premier League team yet to concede a single goal. Their performance had been outstanding.
As a result, Pompey sat second in the standings.
Bayswater Chinese, with a goal difference of +5, were in third.
Following them were arch-rivals Liverpool and Everton in fourth and fifth, respectively.
Chelsea, with two wins and a loss, were in sixth.
…
With Matchday 3 of the Premier League completed, players dispersed to join their national teams.
Meanwhile, the transfer market—despite nearing its deadline—only grew more chaotic.
First, Middlesbrough strengthened their defense by loaning Jonathan Woodgate from Real Madrid.
Then came reports that Manchester United were targeting French striker David Trezeguet from relegated Juventus.
Spurs, after a shocking home loss, were suddenly interested in bringing back Mido.
But the biggest stunner came from Argentina—Carlos Tévez and Javier Mascherano.
Everyone had been watching them.
Rumors had circulated for weeks: Ferguson liked Tévez, and The Sun claimed Arsenal wanted to sign both Argentinians as a package deal.
And yet, in a jaw-dropping turn at the final hour of the window, both players signed for West Ham United.
Not on loan—permanent transfers.
This shocking deal thrust the MSI group into the spotlight.
Their agent, Kia Joorabchian, became a household name overnight.
The Premier League's march toward full-blown capital investment was becoming undeniable.
…
As Bayswater Chinese continued to rise, more of their players were called up for international duty.
Every international break left the training ground unusually quiet.
For first-team players without national team duties, the club typically granted several days of rest.
For foreign players, the club covered round-trip airfare several times per season, allowing them to visit home—or bring family to London.
Yang Cheng prided himself on running a player-first environment.
Still, not everyone rushed off when given time off.
Take Pepe from Brazil, Matić from Serbia, Lewandowski from Poland, and Di María from Argentina.
None had national team duties yet, but they had something else on their schedule—English lessons.
Bayswater Chinese provided language training for all new foreign signings.
With matches and regular training, it was hard to schedule sessions.
So international breaks were the perfect time.
These players stayed behind to study.
The young ones? Carefree.
Even though they dreamed of more Premier League minutes and worried about breaking into the first team...
They were still in the least stressful stage of their careers.
A bit of English class, then back out to the pitch for light training.
Sometimes, Yang Cheng couldn't help but admire Brazilian players.
Their energy and optimism were infectious.
Last season, Maicon had been the only South American on the team—not enough to notice a shift in vibe.
But this season, with Di María, Pepe, and Marcelo joining in, there were now four.
And the South American flair had arrived.
They took over the lower level of Bayswater Stadium's unfinished building, marked off a section, pulled some rebar and ropes to create two makeshift goals—and started organizing indoor mini-games.
Didn't matter if it was 3v3 or 5v5—they just wanted to play.
Amazingly, they'd managed to form consistent squads and kept things running like a proper league.
Seth Forsyth and Oliver Bartlett both approached Yang Cheng multiple times, saying he should step in.
Indoor footy still burned energy—and these games were daily.
But how do you stop a bunch of 18 to 20-year-olds?
No matter how worn out they were, they'd sleep it off and bounce back like nothing happened.
As Yang Cheng saw it, better they stayed inside and played futsal than got caught up in London's nightlife.
So he had the staff purchase proper equipment and set up a functional indoor training pitch—basic, but effective.
They already had ping pong, pool, and gaming setups in place.
…
Now, Yang Cheng stood on the sideline of that very indoor field, watching his players go at it.
Some had just come out of English class and been pulled into teams.
"Matić really has great footwork," Brian Kidd said admiringly.
Yang Cheng nodded. "But he's not built for futsal."
Too tall. Too slow with his feet in tight spaces.
Same issue as Džeko.
"Funny though," Brian continued. "Red Star and Partizan are both powerhouse academies. How'd they let a guy like Matić slip under the radar?"
Yang Cheng shook his head.
It's always complicated.
Anyone who saw Matić's footwork would say he had real potential.
In Yang Cheng's past life, even after Matić became a full-fledged holding midfielder, his technical skills were among the best in that role.
Right now, he was even better. He hadn't bulked up yet, and they hadn't started retraining him as a true defensive midfielder.
Genius isn't born. It's forged—day after day of work.
Yang Cheng was confident: in a team like Bayswater Chinese—where passing and technical play were prioritized—
even if Matić was converted into a defensive midfielder, his footwork would stay elite.
Better than in his previous life.
That's the power of environment and atmosphere.
As for why he hadn't been valued in Serbia's two biggest clubs?
Who knows.
Maybe his trial at Partizan didn't go well.
Maybe a coach at Red Star didn't like him.
Maybe he just didn't bribe the right person.
Could've been anything.
"He still needs to improve his right foot," Yang Cheng said thoughtfully.
He had a soft spot for two-footed players.
Take the Barça match.
Džeko's ability to use both feet meant he could turn and pass no matter which way he was facing—making him extremely hard to defend.
"Also, schedule some defensive training for him."
Brian Kidd nodded.
Bayswater Chinese were big believers in targeted training.
They hired specialists to work on specific skills—tailoring sessions to improve individual player weaknesses.
The first-team coaching staff now had over ten members.
One of the largest setups in the Premier League.
Even Ferguson didn't have a staff this size.
Gianni Vio's data analysis team alone had grown to seven.
In terms of coaching salaries, Bayswater Chinese were spending almost as much as they did on players.
Still, the core coaching team remained relatively small.
It was a tiered structure.
If Yang Cheng needed something, he went straight to the relevant expert.
Fitness?
He'd go to Oliver Bartlett.
Technical work?
Danny McGlynn.
Sports performance?
Seth Forsyth.
Goalkeepers?
Pedro Jaro.
But more often than not, Yang Cheng delegated to Brian Kidd—who would then coordinate and execute.
It freed up Yang Cheng's time.
Otherwise, his life would be one endless meeting after another.
"How's Lewandowski doing in the reserves?" he asked.
"Decent. Still adjusting."
Which was to say—not great.
But Yang Cheng wasn't surprised.
When He Met Lewandowski, He Gave Him a Choice—Stay in England, or Go Back to Poland on Loan.
Lewandowski chose to stay.
Yang Cheng had high hopes for the Polish striker.
He wasn't worried in the slightest about whether Lewy could adapt—it was only a matter of time.
In his previous life, Lewandowski transferred from Legia Warsaw's reserve team to Znicz Pruszków in 2006.
Both clubs played in Poland's third division at the time.
During the 2006/07 season, he scored 16 goals and provided 5 assists in 27 matches, helping Znicz win promotion to the second division.
In 2007/08, Lewandowski played 32 games in Poland's second tier, scoring 21 goals and providing 3 assists—once again leading his team to promotion, this time to the top flight.
He won the Golden Boot in both leagues.
In 2008, he transferred to Lech Poznań.
His first season in Poland's top division saw him score 14 goals and record 7 assists in 30 appearances. He didn't win the Golden Boot that year, but was named Best Newcomer.
Then, in 2009/10: 28 matches, 18 goals, 8 assists, Golden Boot winner once again—just missing out on Polish Footballer of the Year.
He was 22 years old.
From Lewandowski's career trajectory, it was clear—his development was meteoric.
From third division to top flight in four years, three Golden Boots, and a transfer in between.
It showed not only his adaptability, but also his completeness and individual quality.
Jumping straight from Poland's third division to the Premier League—even just playing for the reserves—was a huge leap.
But for a player like Lewandowski, that kind of challenge was exactly the sort of fuel that would accelerate his growth.
What Bayswater Chinese needed to do was simple: give him trust, support, and encouragement.
Let him grow freely, without pressure.
"Brian, keep an eye on him for me," Yang Cheng said with a smile.
After all, this was the man who helped develop United's famed Class of '92.
"These kids—Bale, Walcott—they're our own Class of '92!"
"Give them a little more time, and I'll lead them to sweep through all of Europe, building something even more legendary than that generation!"
Brian Kidd froze.
If anyone else had said it, it might've sounded arrogant.
But he believed Yang Cheng completely.
Since they'd met three years ago, every word Yang Cheng had spoken—he'd delivered on.
…
"Senior, why do you suddenly want to eat Hakka food?"
That evening, Yang Cheng and Xia Qing walked side by side along Queensway, heading toward the Jinzhong Road Tube station.
"Didn't you say yesterday you'd treat me to dinner, to celebrate?" Xia Qing turned and gave him a sweet smile.
Yang Cheng chuckled.
He had said that yesterday.
He just didn't expect she'd make him follow through so soon.
"Well, think of it as an early birthday celebration."
"Huh?"
Yang Cheng looked at her in surprise—only to see her gaze casually drifting elsewhere.
"Oh right... I forgot. My birthday's coming up," he muttered with a self-deprecating smile.
Growing up, birthdays were never a big deal in his family.
Back in China, he was always busy with school—and most of the time, he lived on campus.
His parents were always caught up in work.
Birthdays had no real ceremony.
Sometimes, even he forgot his own birthday.
Not to mention his parents'—he honestly couldn't even remember the dates.
It was shameful, really.
"Cab?" he offered, once they reached the intersection.
He was, after all, the head coach of a Premier League club. If someone recognized him on the Tube, how awkward would that be?
"Let's walk. It's not far."
Yang Cheng had no objections.
His birthday happened to fall on the same day as Bayswater Chinese's Champions League group stage opener—home against Sporting Lisbon.
The celebration he'd mentioned yesterday wasn't for his birthday, but rather for season ticket sales.
Getting drawn into a "Group of Death" turned out to be a blessing in disguise—it sparked a wave of ticket purchases.
According to Adam Crozier's stats, total season ticket sales had surpassed 35,000.
The draw had triggered a new spike. The number might even reach 40,000.
Tickets for the matches against Real Madrid and Bayern Munich were already flying off the shelves. Attendance projections were reaching record highs.
After all, the draw of two global giants was massive.
Even for the opening match against Sporting, the attendance was expected to be close to 50,000.
That's the power of the Champions League.
And even better, Bayswater Chinese's home fixtures didn't clash with Chelsea's.
Meaning that for several weeks, they were the only team in Greater London hosting Champions League nights.
The two of them strolled into beautiful Hyde Park.
The weather was perfect.
Under the golden evening sky, the grass shimmered with a poetic glow.
It was the kind of scene that encouraged open hearts.
"You know, I'm really, really jealous of you."
Yang Cheng wasn't sure if it was the scenery, or if something had been weighing on her heart, but Xia Qing suddenly spoke.
"Jealous of me?" he asked.
"At least you've always known what you love to do." She turned her head, eyes locked on his.
"You mean you don't?"
Xia Qing shook her head and sighed.
"My dad used to be a promising civil servant. My mom worked as a teacher. I have an older brother. Then... they accidentally had me."
She smiled, a little bitterly.
"They ignored everyone's advice and kept me. But my dad's career stalled—he had to switch departments. His political future took a major hit."
Yang Cheng played the role of silent listener.
"They don't know that I found out about it very young. They love me deeply. But I didn't want to be a burden anymore. So I refused to attend the school where my mom teaches, and I rejected the job they arranged for me…"
"I didn't want to drag them down any further."
"But... I really don't know what I want to do."
She looked a bit lost.
"They're asking you to go back to China again, aren't they?" Yang Cheng guessed.
Xia Qing smiled and shrugged. "I turned them down again."
Yang Cheng laughed—then winced. "Senior, if I remember correctly, aren't you three years older than me? That makes you... thirty?"
"Hey! I'm only 29!" she snapped, clearly annoyed.
Pointing at him, she said, "Yang Cheng, you really suck at conversation. I was about to open up to you and you go straight for the most awkward topic?"
"You made it so awkward!"
She shot him a glare and stormed ahead.
Yang Cheng chuckled and quickly caught up.
What? I just didn't want you to feel sad…
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