After the signing ceremony ended, Hans and others went to the team's photography room and put on new jerseys for the new season styling photoshoot.
It was a moment full of laughter. Some posed with their hands on their hips, looking serious, while others raised a fist high, mimicking a fierce roar; sometimes they even had to mimic dribbling past a player or shooting.
"Hahaha..." Even though the photographer reminded them several times, laughter still echoed throughout the room from time to time.
It was like the brothers who usually spend all day together were called up by a teacher to answer a question. They might feign seriousness at first, but as soon as they made eye contact, they couldn't hold it in.
After all this, it was already one in the afternoon.
Under Jorson's leadership, they headed to the team's cafeteria for the first free meal.
Then, they went home to get ready, waiting for the afternoon's intra-team training match.
......
Three o'clock in the afternoon, Sheffield's first-team training ground.
People gradually arrived in jerseys, some laughing with three or five friends, some alone, looking for camaraderie among similarly solitary individuals nearby.
The tense atmosphere began to spread at this moment; everyone knew what this training match meant for the new season.
Hans and Gilbert arrived together, seeing the training hadn't started yet, they took a soccer ball to do basic passing exercises around, warming up their feet.
They hadn't waited long when a tall, slightly overweight, white-haired older man arrived at the field carrying a tactics board.
Behind him followed several assistant coaches, one of whom was Garrispeed dressed in full attire.
Hans knew this must be the head coach, Mr. Kevin.
"Whistle!"
Kevin blew the whistle, signaling everyone to gather near him, then started fiddling with the tactics board in his hand.
Once everyone was close, he set down the tactics board, raised his head, and said, "There are many new faces in the team, introduce yourselves, I am Kevin Blackwell, the head coach of the team.
"Perhaps you are not familiar with me yet, but we have many days together, plenty of time to get to know each other."
As he said this, Hans intentionally observed Garrispeed's expression, finding it very calm, just like when they first met recently.
"Alright, I have researched you all."
Kevin picked up the tactics board again, "You all know what's happening today, here's the team arrangement."
He acted decisively with very little idle talk: "Formation 3-4-3, red bib team lineup, Goalkeeper Aksalu, Defender Andy Taylor, Luton... Midfield Gilbert, Quinn..."
The red team was quickly assigned. Hans didn't hear his name, thinking he must be in the yellow team.
"Good luck."
As they parted, Gilbert smiled at him, clenching his fist: "Don't do any more bicycle kicks against me."
Hans smiled knowingly, "Soon enough I'll cleanly bicycle kick past you."
Thinking of his improvement speed, Gilbert raised his brows and nodded, "I believe it, but not now."
"Yellow bib team lineup."
Kevin's voice continued, hoarse yet high-pitched, "Goalkeeper Robert, Defender Carl Wei, Chris Morgan... Midfield Janu, Montgomery... Forward Hans, Evans, Ward!"
After reading out the names, two people were left out, sitting on the bench awaiting their turn.
Kevin put away the tactics board, waved his hand, "Each team organize your warm-up, start in fifteen minutes."
Hans donned the yellow bib and came to the half of the field where the yellow team was located, doing simple jogging, stretching, passing, and shooting with his teammates.
Throughout the process, there was only communication on the field, no private conversations.
Due to many unfamiliar faces, it seemed more like a trial match rather than a professional team's pre-season training match.
Hans kept observing his new team's teammates, finding them fitting his stereotype of the Championship League.
Most were strong and robust, with few nimble players.
Presumably, their playing style was a relatively straightforward long pass and high ball, not needing much backfield ball control.
He took a deep breath, adjusting his state during warm-up, hoping he'd get a good opportunity.
"Whistle whistle...!"
Until Kevin's two whistle signals rang, everyone ended their warm-up, jogging to their positions, waiting for the match to start.
Hans got the left-wing forward position today, his best position, probably arranged by Jorson through communication with the club.
He continued adjusting his breathing, hoping to leave a good first impression on the coaching staff and teammates.
"Whistle...!"
Finally, Kevin blew the whistle signaling the start of the match.
The red team's center forward kicked off from the center, Gibert receiving the ball in the middle, turned, and kicked it to the side midfielder.
Both teams' formations quickly moved up, defenders closing in from scattered positions towards the ball-holding area, compressing space, limiting opponent passing.
The attacking side tried to widen as much as possible, creating receiving space.
The struggle between both sides happened at any moment, a slight negligence by either side could lead to being seized for a fatal strike!
The higher the match level, the higher the cost of mistakes.
"Bang!"
Hans had just taken a few steps forward when he saw the opposing side midfielder make a long pass, sending the ball behind him.
Quickly shifting his focus towards his nearby teammate side midfielder, he soon saw the opponent intercept the ball with a header, directing it towards his position.
Hans burst forth, wanting to control the soccer in front of the opposing player behind him.
"Rip!" Yet he wasn't expecting the opponent to slide tackle from behind, sending the ball out of bounds, toppling him over.
Since the player did touch the ball during the tackle, the main referee Kevin didn't blow the whistle, deeming such confrontation normal in the Championship League.
"Are you alright, young man?"
A clear voice reached Hans, as he looked up to see the opponent midfielder who just tackled him, reaching out a hand: "Get up."
There was no other meaning in the opponent's eyes, not feeling anything about it.
Hans took his hand, standing up and running back to his position.
Is this the confrontation rhythm of Championship teams?
He swallowed a bit, his adrenaline rushing, power surging through his body, an instinctual desire for battle.
"Bang!"
After his team's throw-in, the ball soon transferred from the left to the right, then another long pass was sent towards his side.
As expected, Hans didn't win this ball, as it flew straight out of bounds.
He signaled apologies to his teammates, then turned around, looking fiercely at the opposing side midfielder preparing to make the throw-in, his attitude towards the match excited.
The opposing side midfielder also noticed this, choosing to throw the ball away from Hans's position.
"Mine!"
This resulted in the yellow team's center forward Evans suddenly charging out, intercepting the ball ahead of the red team midfield, controlling it on the wing.
Hans reacted quickly; seeing Evans intercept, he fully sprinted towards the mid-position Evans just left.
There, due to Evans's movement, lay an open area.
"Here!"
As soon as he reached the spot and shouted out, he saw Evans's accurate pass come to his feet.
Taking a glance at the goal, he knocked the ball towards the right.
Now's the time!
"Bang!!"
All the tension and excitement transformed into power infusing the soccer in front of him.
Hans gritted his teeth and swung his leg wide, unleashing a vicious instep shot, sending the ball whistling towards the near corner of the goal.
"Don't..." Red team midfielder Gilbert wanted to remind his teammates not to give Hans an unpressured shot environment, but as soon as he spoke, Hans's shot was already off.
The angle wasn't exceptionally tricky, but the force was overwhelming, and the goalkeeper was caught off guard not yet into form.
"Swish!" The ball hit the net, making a crisp, pleasant sound.
One to zero!
Yellow team leads!
"Oh...!" Most yellow team players reacted quickly, spreading their arms in awe, rushing towards Hans as soon as the ball hit the net.