Once David Qin was certain his physical transformation had caused no adverse effects, he shifted his focus entirely to the template.
In the pantheon of football, two superstars stand out for having the fewest detractors: Marco van Basten and Ronaldinho.
The former is revered because his career was cut short at its absolute zenith, leaving behind a sense of tragic beauty. Coupled with his flawless technique and a glittering trophy cabinet, even those who didn't count themselves as fans found little to criticize.
Then there was Ronaldinho.
Despite the womanizing, the late-night clubbing, and even a stint "sewing prison uniforms" later in life, fans still held him in the highest regard. Even Pele and Maradona faced vitriol for their off-field antics or on-field controversies.
Why was Ronaldinho different?
Because most people fell in love with football at an age when running across a pitch felt like the wind itself was laughing with you. Whenever Ronaldinho was on the grass, he wore that iconic, buck-toothed grin—a look of pure, infectious sincerity. It was impossible to stay angry at a smile like that. Even if he humiliated you by dribbling past you three times in a row, you felt he was celebrating the game, not mocking your skill.
That joy-based style tapped into the very essence of football as a game. While others interpreted football as "more important than life itself" or "war in a time of peace," most fans saw it as a way to share happiness with friends. In a sense, Ronaldinho reached the summit of the world on behalf of the child inside every fan.
But the core was the technique. Watching Ronaldinho's highlights always evoked a specific feeling. His flair and his breakthroughs—every flick and trick—oozed raw talent and artistry. That dreamlike footwork, which transcended the sport itself, had conquered millions.
David pulled a football from under his bed and began to play right there in the dorm.
Tap, tap, tap. The crisp, rhythmic sound of leather hitting skin echoed as the ball danced effortlessly between his feet, thighs, and shoulders. David felt the connection, an intuitive grasp of the ball's weight and momentum. This was it—true "ball feel." He felt the childhood joy of playing returning to him.
Reluctantly putting the ball down, he began to map out his future.
First, returning to the Chinese Super League was out of the question. Staying in one of the "Big Five" European leagues was the goal. If that failed, he'd look toward second-tier leagues like the Eredivisie, the Turkish Süper Lig, or the English Championship.
Is there a club that fits?
For some reason, David suddenly thought of a "hat." Specifically, the hat worn by Zhang Xizhe.
In his memory of this timeline, Wolfsburg—backed by the Volkswagen Group—was a powerhouse in the Bundesliga. To bolster their business interests in China, Volkswagen was desperate to sign a Chinese player. If Zhang Xizhe could fit the bill, why couldn't he?
He was a product of the Bayern Munich academy and had plenty of experience with Bayern II. Though his previous stats weren't staggering, he now possessed the Ronaldinho template. If he could just get a foot in the door at Wolfsburg, his talent wouldn't stay hidden for long.
"All that time as a corporate 'ox and horse' in my past life wasn't for nothing," David muttered.
A man of action, he immediately opened his laptop and drafted a professional CV. He searched for Wolfsburg's official website, found the contact emails for their scouting department and the head coach, and sent over a package containing his performance data and media reports from Chinese sports forums. Not stopping there, he tracked them down on Instagram and Facebook to send private messages.
Did it look desperate? Perhaps. But with his career on the line, he couldn't afford to be arrogant and wait for luck to strike. David wasn't a fool; opportunities had to be seized. If he had the head coach's home address, he would have knocked on the door himself to make an introduction. Anything to get a trial and escape Ten Hag's shadow.
He didn't put all his eggs in one basket, though. He spent the morning "casting a wide net," sending his resume to several other clubs.
By the time he finished, the sun was high in the sky. David realized he would eventually need an agent. Handling these administrative chores was eating into his training time, and he needed every second to increase his synchronization with the template.
"Thanks, man," David said to Pierre-Emile Højbjerg, taking the provided meal and digging into the uninspiring food.
The wait was agonizing, but he wouldn't spend it sitting around. Since Ten Hag had banned him from the club facilities, he went to the local public pitches.
What did it matter where he practiced? Germany had no shortage of high-quality, free-to-use football fields.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
On a level synthetic pitch, wearing his Bayern II training kit, David completed a rigorous warm-up and began ball drills. Professional training mostly consists of the basics—dribbling, passing, shooting—the "bitter work" repeated day after day. Even Ronaldinho had to master the fundamentals.
Following the memories in his head, David practiced with meticulous precision. He needed to be in peak condition for any potential trial.
On a nearby street he hadn't noticed, a bald man was walking by. He paused instinctively, his eyes narrowing as he evaluated the youth on the pitch.
Good touch, explosive, decent speed, great flexibility...
As he watched, David, acting on a sudden whim, flicked the ball up in a flashy display of flair, controlling it with his head, chest, back, and feet with seamless quality. A sense of effortless, vivid grace radiated from the boy.
"From the second team?"
Pep Guardiola felt a sudden jolt of recognition. He quickly realized where that feeling came from.
Ronaldinho.
There were only a handful of players in the history of the sport who had left such a profound impression on him. Pep had come out for a walk to clear his head, only to stumble upon such a surprise. Why hadn't he known the reserves had a player like this last season?
As the first-team manager, he received regular reports from the coaching staff of Bayern II so he could scout potential call-ups. Yet, in his year and a half at Bayern, he had no memory of this boy.
Did he just have a sudden growth spurt in skill?
Such "late bloomers" existed in football. Guardiola decided not to overthink it.
"Incredible touch," Guardiola murmured, withdrawing his gaze. He memorized David's face, intending to look into his file once he returned to the office.
As for a direct promotion? That was wishful thinking. Football was never that simple. Physicality and pressure were the themes of a real match; ball control and passing only mattered if you could do them while being hounded by a defender.
His mentor, Johan Cruyff, once said: "Someone who can juggle the ball 1,000 times is not a technician. Anyone can do that by practicing. Then you can work in the circus."
To truly "inspect the goods," Guardiola decided he would organize a practice match in a few days.
Inwardly, he felt a premonition. Perhaps this boy could alleviate some of the immense pressure he was feeling. Despite winning the Double last season, internal frictions were becoming apparent. His friction with the club doctor, Hans-Wilhelm Müller-Wohlfahrt, differing philosophies with certain players, and disagreements with the board over transfers were making his life difficult.
Coaching Bayern after leaving Barcelona was proving harder than expected. He desperately needed "his" players—loyalists who understood his vision. They were proving hard to find.
After a moment, Guardiola turned and walked away.
On the pitch, David finally caught a glimpse of the retreating figure. That bald head was hard to miss, even from a distance.
However, he didn't give it a second thought.