August 11th.Carrington Training Base
The training base was bustling.
The coaching staff had decided on a new selection method: a full 11-v-11 trial match.
First-team and youth-team players were mixed together.
The youth players would be scored on their performance, which would be combined with their training results to determine the final promotion roster.
On the pitch, Mourinho held a tactical board, his voice deep as he read out the names.
"Red Team: De Gea, Tuanzebe, Matic, Ibrahimovic, McTominay, and Ling..."
"White Team: Pogba, Valencia, Rashford, Lukaku, Gomes..."
He looked up, his eyes sweeping over every player.
"The teams are balanced. I've explained the tactics. I expect every one of you to take this seriously."
He then fixed his gaze on the first-team players. "And this isn't just a selection for the youth. Any senior player who fails to meet my expectations... you'll find yourself on the bench when the season starts. Or even relegated to the second team."
Ling nodded.
He understood.
'The teams are balanced,' he thought, scanning the names. 'This won't be a one-sided stomp.'
"Red team! Huddle up!"
Ibrahimović's voice boomed across the pitch.
He gathered the younger players around him.
"McTominay, defensive mid. You, kid... Ling. Left flank. When we attack, you watch me. You make your runs off me."
He looked at all of them with a fierce grin on his face.
"Lads, you should be thrilled to play alongside me. We are a team now. Get your spirits up. Let's crush them."
'Truly, the Great General,' Ling thought, a small smile on his face.
The man's domineering presence was enough to get anyone's blood pumping.
Ling ran to his position.
He was glad to be on Ibra's team.
It wasn't about idol worship; it was about simplicity.
You build the attack around Zlatan, and you will get chances.
It also suited Ling's style perfectly.
He could either dribble and drive, or he could use Ibra's hold-up play to make quick runs in behind.
He knew what Mourinho was looking for.
The first team was desperate for explosive wingers.
Today, he would show them everything he had.
On the other side, Pogba looked utterly nonchalant, almost bored, while Lukaku rubbed his gleaming head, looking a bit lost.
The referee's whistle blew.
The White Team kicked off, immediately passing and moving.
Just three minutes in, Pogba received a pass in midfield.
He saw McTominay thundering in for a tackle and, with an effortless, lazy-looking pull-back, he was past him.
His talent was undeniable.
"Paul! Paul! On!" Rashford screamed, pulling wide into acres of space.
Pogba completely ignored him.
He continued his surging dribble, right into the heart of the defense.
Angel Gomes closed in from the side, trying to apply physical pressure.
Thump.
The sound of the collision echoed.
Gomes, completely outmatched in weight class, tumbled to the ground.
Pogba advanced to the edge of the box and unleashed a powerful shot. It arrowed toward the top right corner.
"No!"
De Gea launched himself, getting his fingertips to the ball to tip it just over the bar.
"Brilliant!" Ling, who was tracking back, couldn't help but shout.
On the sidelines, Mourinho's face was dark.
'Idiot,' he thought, his jaw tightening.
'What is the most crucial quality for that position? Sacrifice! And what does he do? A show. A performance.' He'd seen Rashford wide open.
'He ignores the simple pass to try a trick. In his own half! If he loses that, we're exposed. He'll never learn.'
Mourinho was already considering the reality of benching his star player.
...
"Don't let them shoot from there!" De Gea yelled, clapping his hands furiously. "Close them down! Work together!"
The match resumed with a corner.
Rashford swung it in.
Lukaku won the header but, under pressure from Tuanzebe, couldn't get it on target.
The intensity was palpable.
Spurred by Mourinho's warning, every player was fighting for their spot.
Ling could feel the sheer difference.
This was Premier League intensity. Every second was a battle.
He had to stay alert, constantly checking his surroundings.
The game settled into a stalemate.
In the 16th minute, Pogba got the ball again, looking to drive through the center.
He was still annoyed.
If not for Mourinho, he wouldn't even be here.
'Wouldn't it be better to be getting a new haircut?' he thought, frustrated.
'They're just youth team kids. I can dribble past them all.'
Frustrated, his touches became careless.
He tried to flick it past McTominay, but his touch was too heavy.
McTominay's eyes lit up. He stretched his long leg out.
Pogba, realizing his mistake, tried to hook the ball back.
But someone was quicker.
Matic.
He'd read the play, pouncing on the loose ball like a predator.
Top-class interception.
Without a second's hesitation, Matic didn't just clear it; he sprayed a perfect, driven pass out to the left flank.
Mourinho's eyes narrowed, focusing on the winger.
Ling glanced over his shoulder.
Antonio Valencia was charging at him, intent on crushing him before he could even receive the ball.
A plan formed in Ling's mind.
Valencia was rapid.
He wasn't taking the kid lightly, but he was confident. 'He won't have time to turn.'
Ling adjusted his feet, feinting a step to his left as if to take the pass inward.
Valencia bought it.
He shifted his weight, stretching his powerful leg to intercept.
At that exact moment, Ling let the ball run across his body, twisting to his right and taking it in full stride.
He glided right past Valencia.
Smooth. Effortless.
Valencia's face was a mask of pure astonishment.
'How?' he thought, scrambling to turn. 'My defensive skills weren't top-tier, but i was a senior pro. How did a youth player just do that to me?'
On the sidelines, the frost on Mourinho's face instantly melted, replaced by shock.
"Rui," he said, his voice low. "Has Ling... improved again? He's faster than he was two weeks ago."
"Boss," Faria replied, a small, knowing smile on his face.
"That kid. He trains with an incredible dedication. He's always the first to arrive and the last to leave."