Late at night at the Cobham Training Centre, only the furthest floodlight remained lit, like a single eye peering through the darkness.
The rain was still falling. The London winter rain was bone-chillingly cold, pattering monotonously against the waterlogged turf.
"Bang!"
A muffled thud.
The ball was kicked out fiercely, but instead of flying toward the intended top corner of the goal, it deviated from its trajectory, slammed heavily against the post, and bounced away into the dark woods.
"Fuck."
Lin Yuan bent over, his hands resting on his knees as rainwater dripped from the tip of his nose. His breathing was heavy, and white mist rapidly condensed and dissipated in front of him.
This was the 50th passing drill ball he had kicked away tonight.
On this training ground where he was all alone, the "Tyrant" who struck fear into the hearts of opponents in the Premier League seemed somewhat clumsy at this moment.
He was practicing long passes.
No defensive interference, no physical contact, just simple long passes from a stationary ball. The target was a tire hanging from the net forty meters away.
If it were a body check, he could smash that tire to pieces. But to make the ball fly precisely into it?
His accuracy rate was less than 20%.
"Damn these thigh muscles..." Lin Yuan straightened up and slapped his overdeveloped quadriceps hard.
This was the price.
In pursuit of ultimate power and physicality, his muscle fibers were too tight and rigid. This gave him bulldozer-like explosiveness, but it also cost him a delicate touch on the ball. It was like expecting a sledgehammer used for smashing walls to do embroidery.
"That scene in the stands... I don't want to experience it a second time."
Lin Yuan closed his eyes, and the image of Sheffield United's packed bus-parking defense surfaced in his mind. Enzo was desperately searching for passing lanes through the gaps, while he could only sit in the stands, powerless.
Violence can solve the person creating the problem, but it can't solve that fleeting gap in space.
"System."
Lin Yuan called out in his mind.
There were no flashy light effects; only that cold, light blue interface expanded across his retina.
[Host: Lin Yuan]
[Current notoriety points: 48,500 (recently accumulated)]
[Current free attribute points: 2]
This was a massive number. It was the "wealth" he had accumulated over the past half-season through countless boos, insults, red and yellow cards, and bloody conflicts.
In the past, he would have invested these points into [Physicality], [Explosiveness], or [Stamina] without hesitation.
But tonight, his gaze moved firmly toward the corner he had always neglected—[Technical/Passing].
It was a sea of gray.
[Short Passing Accuracy: 65 (D+)] — Evaluation: Barely able to avoid passing the ball to the opponent.
[Long Passing Accuracy: 60 (D)] — Evaluation: Purely down to luck.
[Vision: 55 (E)] — Evaluation: You can only see three meters in front of you.
"I want to upgrade."
Lin Yuan's voice sounded exceptionally determined in the rainy night.
[Please select the upgrade path.] The system's voice was mechanical and cold.
"Passing. I want passing like De Bruyne's."
[System Notification: Detected host's muscle type as "Powerful Physical Type." Forcibly increasing fine technical attributes will consume double notoriety points, and the process will be accompanied by immense neural remodeling pain. Do you wish to continue?]
"Continue." Lin Yuan didn't hesitate for a second. "Stop talking nonsense; I have plenty of notoriety points."
[Calculating...]
[Plan generated: Consume 40,000 notoriety points + 2 free attribute points.]
[Goal: Upgrade [Short Passing/Long Passing] attributes to Grade B (Premier League starter level) and unlock a special skill tree.]
"Only Grade B?" Lin Yuan frowned. Spending forty thousand points only got him to "Premier League starter level"?
[System Explanation: The host's starting point is too low. Moving from D to B is a qualitative leap. Grade B means you are no longer an attack terminator, but a qualified distribution point. Combined with your physical advantages, this is enough to change the course of a match.]
"Deal."
Lin Yuan took a deep breath, stood in the rain, and opened his arms wide.
"Come on."
[Deducting 40,000 notoriety points... starting enhancement.]
The next second.
There was no comfortable sensation of a warm current flowing.
On the contrary, a sharp pain that felt like it was tearing his brain apart instantly pierced Lin Yuan's nerves.
"Ngh—!!!"
Lin Yuan let out a muffled groan, his entire body falling uncontrollably to his knees in the mud. He gripped the turf tightly, his nails nearly digging into the soil.
Pain.
It was too painful.
If he hadn't known this was a system upgrade, he would have thought someone was drilling into his temples with an electric drill. This pain didn't come from his muscles, but from his cerebral cortex. A massive stream of data regarding football trajectories, spatial geometry, and power control was forcibly being poured into his mind.
Countless images flashed before his eyes:
Pirlo's effortless long pass at San Siro;
Xavi's precise short pass at Camp Nou;
That eerie curve from De Bruyne at the Etihad... It wasn't just images, but also the tactile sensations.
Which part of the ball should the arch of the foot contact to generate backspin? How should the instep apply force to make the ball fly low to the ground? At what timing should the ball be released to pass exactly through the gap between two defenders?
This "ball sense," which would normally take a genius player ten years of refinement to develop, was being imprinted into Lin Yuan's muscle memory in a violent, forced-feeding manner.
Rainwater mixed with cold sweat flowed down his cheeks and into his mouth, tasting incredibly salty and bitter.
An unknown amount of time passed.
Maybe it was five minutes, maybe it was a century.
The sharp pain finally receded like a tide.
Lin Yuan remained kneeling on the ground, gasping for air, his entire body trembling slightly. He felt as if his head had just undergone a nuclear explosion—groggy yet exceptionally clear-headed.
He slowly opened his eyes.
The world seemed different.
He looked at the goal with the tire hanging from it in front of him.
Before, all he saw was a lifeless object forty meters away.
But now, in his field of vision, a faint, white dotted line seemed to appear. That dotted line extended from beneath his feet, accounting for wind speed and rain resistance, finally passing through the center of that tire.
[Ding!]
[Modification complete.]
[Attributes updated:]
[Short Passing Accuracy: 65 -> 78 (B)]
[Long Passing Accuracy: 60 -> 76 (B-)]
[Vision: 55 -> 80 (A-, due to the host's inherent high defensive anticipation, there is a bonus when converting to offensive vision)]
[Congratulations to the host for unlocking the active skill: Scalpel Through Ball (Beginner).]
[Skill Description: When you are in the center circle arc area, there is a certain probability of discovering fatal gaps in the opponent's defensive line. When passing with this skill, the ball will receive a "penetration" attribute correction, making it difficult to intercept. Current success rate: 40%.]
Lin Yuan climbed up from the mud.
He wiped his face and walked over to a pile of scattered footballs.
He didn't take a run-up; relying only on that newly generated "feeling" in his mind, he planted his left foot and gave a seemingly casual push with the arch of his right foot.
Thump.
The sound had changed. It was no longer that dull impact, but a crisp, clean sound that meant he had struck the sweet spot.
The ball flew out hugging the turf, carrying heavy topspin like a white snake flying low to the ground. It streaked across forty meters of slippery grass and passed precisely through the middle of that tire.
Without touching anything.
A clean swish into the net.
Lin Yuan stood where he was, watching the still-rolling ball, as the corners of his mouth slowly curled into a smile.
It was no longer the ferocious grin belonging purely to a beast.
In it, there was a hint of the cunning belonging to a hunter.
"So... this is what it feels like to pass."
Lin Yuan looked down at his right foot. These feet that once only knew how to destroy had finally learned how to create.
Even if it was only beginner level, even if it was only Grade B.
For a monster with S-grade physicality and S-grade defense, this was like mounting a fire control radar on a main battle tank... Early the next morning.
The Chelsea squad was eating breakfast in the canteen. The atmosphere was still somewhat low; the consecutive losses and the upcoming suspension (Lin Yuan's suspension) left everyone with little appetite.
Lin Yuan walked in carrying his tray.
He looked no different than usual, though his face was a bit pale—a lingering effect of last night's mental exhaustion.
"Morning."
He sat down across from Enzo and began eating large mouthfuls of boiled chicken breast.
Enzo looked at him with some concern: "Lin, did you not sleep well last night? You look pale. You're suspended for the next match, so you can take a good rest."
"I'm not tired." Lin Yuan swallowed a piece of tasteless chicken. "Besides, I've had enough rest."
The morning training session.
Mourinho arranged for a traditional "Rondo."
This is a game that severely tests footwork and reaction speed. Normally, Lin Yuan was assigned to be the "ghost" (the interceptor) in the middle because he was great at winning the ball but terrible at passing, making it easy for him to lose possession.
But today, on a whim, Mourinho assigned him to the possession group on the outer circle.
"Lin, don't kick the ball away!" Sterling shouted jokingly from across the circle. "This is a technical job."
Lin Yuan ignored him.
The training began.
The ball moved quickly within the small circle. Enzo, Gallagher, Sterling... the passes were fast.
In the middle, the ones responsible for intercepting were the recently returned Lavia and a young defender on trial.
The ball came to Lin Yuan's feet.
Lavia immediately pounced. He knew Lin Yuan's footwork was rough; as long as he pressed tightly, Lin Yuan would surely pass back or make a mistake.
Everyone thought Lin Yuan would do as he always did: use his body to shield the ball and then play a safe back-pass to Disasi beside him.
However.
At the very moment Lavia lunged with his foot.
Lin Yuan's gaze suddenly changed.
In his field of vision, the crowd that had just been a disorganized mess suddenly revealed several clear white lines. Those were the fissures in space.
He didn't turn to shield the ball; instead, facing Lavia's challenge, he flicked the ball with the outside of his right foot in an extremely subtle manner.
It was an incredibly incongruous movement, like an elephant dancing the tap.
Snap!
The ball wasn't passed back, nor was it passed sideways.
Like a sharp little knife, it hugged the turf and went directly through Lavia's legs!
It wasn't just a nutmeg!
After passing through Lavia, the ball actually carried a strange curve, bypassed another defender who was preparing to cover, and rolled precisely to Sterling's feet on the opposite side of the circle.
Sterling was stunned.
The ball reached his feet, but he actually forgot to receive it, letting it hit his foot and bounce away.
The entire training ground fell silent for two seconds.
"Holy shit..." Enzo's eyes widened, looking at Lin Yuan as if he'd seen a ghost. "Lin? Was that pass yours?"
That was an outside-of-the-foot through ball! And a nutmeg through ball at that!
This was usually a move that only Modric or his national team partner Messi would make.
Lin Yuan stood in place and shrugged with a flat expression.
"My foot slipped a bit," he said nonchalantly.
Sterling retrieved the ball and looked at Lin Yuan with deep suspicion: "A slip can produce an outside-of-the-foot curve? Have you been going for extra training behind our backs?"
From the sidelines in the distance.
Mourinho had originally been looking down at his tactical board and only looked up when he heard the exclamations. Beside him, the assistant coach excitedly pulled at his sleeve: "José! Did you see that? That pass from Lin just now! My God, that vision was incredible!"
Mourinho narrowed his eyes, looking at the tall figure on the pitch.
As a top manager who had coached countless elite midfielders, he naturally saw the technical quality of that pass. That wasn't luck; it was precise control over space and timing.
"It seems the beast locked in the cage has learned how to pick the lock with its claws."
A meaningful smile appeared at the corner of Mourinho's mouth.
He picked up the piece representing Lin Yuan on the tactical board and rubbed it in his hand.
Originally, he had only intended to use Lin Yuan as a Makélélé (a pure defensive workhorse).
But now... perhaps he could look forward to an enhanced version of Vieira?
Or, even crazier—a Yaya Touré with maxed-out defensive capabilities?
"The next League Cup match," Mourinho suddenly said to the assistant coach, "let him return. And tell the forwards to stop standing around like idiots. Our artillery has been upgraded."
On the training ground, Lin Yuan received the ball again.
This time, he didn't use any fancy moves but steadily pushed the ball to a teammate. The power and spin of that pass were just right, making it very comfortable to receive.
This was Grade B passing.
Not flashy, but practical.
And for him, who possessed the [Scalpel Through Ball] skill, as long as that moment arrived, his rusty hammer could instantly turn into a lethal dagger.
At this time, Lin Yuan didn't know that this seemingly unremarkable training session would become the true watershed moment of his career.
The tyrant who only knew how to destroy was dead.
An all-around midfield ruler was beginning to show his prowess on this wet turf.
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