Chapter 8 — Sorry, This Time I Will Win
Thomas Vermaelen led the team in warm-ups on the training pitch.
Fifteen minutes later Arsène Wenger, Pat Rice and another coach, John, arrived at the touchline.
Wenger gave a "back-to-school" speech, outlining the new season's goals and ladling out a pot of inspirational chicken soup.
Xia Qi looked around and found he was the only rookie whose blood was actually boiling; the teammates only pretended to be fired up. Even 19-year-old Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain was an old hand at show.
Seems he was still too young!
After all, Arsenal sells its captains every year — how much of a title-chasing atmosphere is left?
If the Professor had said: "Top-four looks unlikely; we must rise and fight…"
maybe things would feel different.
But as a Premier League giant, "fighting for top four" is a thought you feel, not a season-opening goal you announce.
…
"Those whose names are called step forward; the rest split into two groups for recovery training led by Vermaelen and Mikel Arteta."
"Xia Qi, Andrei Arshavin, Giroud, Carl Jenkinson."
Arsenal's luck seemed gone.
Of 28 first-team players, only four were cleared to train normally after medicals; the others had varying degrees of fatigue.
This is why big clubs hate World Cups and Euros — they drain players.
"Xia Qi and Andrey Arshavin, go with Pat. You two follow Coach John's session."
Xia Qi and Arshavin were led by Pat Rice to the indoor training room.
This room was specially designed to train forwards' ball skills.
The indoor area was over 600 square meters — about one and a half standard basketball courts — with eight upright columns placed at different positions, each column having a lamp.
The lamp colors had three meanings:
Red — do not touch,
Yellow — sprint,
Green — shoot.
Distances between columns varied — 5 m, 10 m, 15 m, 20 m… up to 30 m… the farthest diagonal columns were maybe seventy or eighty meters apart.
There were cameras in the four corners of the roof and at the center for training footage so coaches could read data; a speed gun sat off to the side.
"Xia, played this before?"
"Yes, coach. After the oil tycoon bought City, they built three at once."
"Then I don't need to explain the rules. Arshavin, go first and show the youngster."
"Okay."
Andrey Arshavin was once Arsenal's record signing.
But now he was at the tail end of his career. Last season he was loaned to Zenit for the Euros and only returned this season.
Though his form had dipped, Pat Rice thought he was still more than fit to give Xia Qi a demo.
Pat counted down: "Three, two, one, go."
He hit the start. One column flashed yellow while the others were red.
Arshavin dashed toward the yellow column like a cheetah.
Before he reached it the yellow turned red and simultaneously another column ten meters to his left flashed yellow.
Arshavin immediately changed direction and sprinted left.
He got to that yellow column, but the moment he arrived the lamp changed color and a column behind him lit yellow.
He sprinted back.
After several repeats, the column suddenly in front flashed green.
Simultaneously the ball feeder sent a ball to Arshavin.
He controlled and shot; the ball struck the green column.
Xia Qi stood outside and applauded loudly.
Your Tsar is endlessly proud!
Those who can be called monarchs are never simple.
Pat Rice glared at Xia Qi: "What are you cheering for? What was good about that?"
Xia Qi blinked and defensively replied: "He hit it!"
"From control to shot he used three seconds. Do you think opposing keepers and defenders are mannequins? You didn't even reach full speed on the first sprint. If a chance appears in a match, can you catch it at that snail pace?"
"10-meter sprint in 1.92 seconds — that's fine, right?"
"1.92? Is that something to be proud of? Do you have some confusion about what good is?"
Arshavin secretly made a face at Xia Qi to tell him not to mouth off.
Yet Pat Rice, who'd been displeased a moment ago, slapped Arshavin on the chest as he came off the field, praised him and said: "Nice accuracy."
That double standard annoyed Xia Qi, who muttered inside: "Two-faced!"
Xia Qi began his session.
A few sprints and shuttle runs and he lost his sense of direction.
The first time he didn't even receive the ball;
the second time there was improvement — he got the ball but looked around blankly for the green column.
The third time, the shot was off-target by a fair margin.
His finishing, rated 78, wasn't exceptional to begin with.
After several sprints, his technique grew unreliable.
Although he had learned Van Persie's non-stop volley, his body and conditioning hadn't caught up, so like an unpracticed martial artist he had technique but not the timing.
"Damn!"
"You think you can slap in Van Persie's face like that?"
"You're the dumbest trainee I've coached. Wenger must be blind to treasure you."
Pat Rice's temper was blistering; from Xia Qi's first shot he scolded continuously.
That stung Xia Qi.
The feeder launched a back-passing ball. Arshavin covered his face — he knew Pat Rice well.
This sadist wouldn't spare Xia Qi for the difficulty of the ball; the next second the notebook would smash Xia Qi's face.
Not suitable for children!
He covered his eyes!
But then, Xia Qi's internal channels opened.
He leapt, lunged forward, feet flung back, in an acrobatic scorpion-tailed scissor motion — a backwards flick as the ball dropped behind him — and his right foot snapped up.
Scorpion tail!
Boom!
The football struck the green column for the first time!
"Beautiful!"
Arshavin leapt up!
Not to flatter, but because if that goal had happened in a match it would have been a Puskás Award contender.
The strike was superb; even the extremely picky Pat Rice couldn't find fault.
Xia Qi was ecstatic.
This wasn't one-click auto — it was his genuine skill.
No amount of excitement was excessive.
He slid on his knees as if he'd scored in a match.
But such an injury-prone celebration angered Pat Rice, who couldn't scold politely:
"Beggar's luck goal. What are you celebrating? Move on."
So biased!
His shot was far more beautiful than Arshavin's.
Feeling the injustice,
Xia Qi retorted: "This isn't luck."
Pat Rice burst out laughing: "If you can score another like that, I'll streak across the base."
Damn,
who has no temper?
Xia Qi wasn't truly socially anxious!
At eighteen you're reckless and fearless.
"Boss, who would watch you streak? If the next training satisfies me, promise me you'll keep smiling this week, okay?"
Pat Rice laughed at him — after that show I almost wanted to return you. Who gave you that weird confidence?
"You win. From now on when I see you I'll show an eight-toothed smile. If you fail, training doubles and no rest days."
"Deal!"
Xia Qi began warm-ups. The system refused to be a mere servant after auto-play.
Although his Constitution had been maxed to 100, Xia Qi still feared injury; extra warm-ups can never hurt.
Seeing him so serious and remembering his match footage, Pat Rice felt an odd pulse of apprehension.
"Ding-dong"
"Please choose 'Training' or 'Match' mode."
"Training."
"Please select position: A Forward, B…"
"A."
"Detected host needs short-sprint speed and shot reaction training. Matching training plan…"
"Match complete…"
"Please choose 'Autonomous Mode' or 'One-Click Auto' mode."
"Friendly reminder: during auto mode, the system will automatically perform all required actions for the host."
Xia Qi looked at Pat Rice: Sorry, this time I will win!
"One-Click Auto!"
(END CHAPTER)
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