For the next two weeks, Oliver transformed the training ground into his "home," like a machine that never stopped. Every morning at six, while the Hoffenheim Training Base was still shrouded in mist, his figure would already appear on the empty pitch. Early in the morning, he practiced the directional change techniques Nagelsmann emphasized, pushing lightly with the outside of his right foot, stopping abruptly with the inside of his left foot, his body's center of gravity shifting as smoothly as mercury, over and over again.
Occasionally, he would also do some ginga ball control, a training that could increase the ball feel on both the inside and outside of his feet. These were basic ball control training sessions. Initially, his teammates only occasionally glimpsed him doing extra training, thinking it was just a new player's three-minute burst of enthusiasm.
But soon, they realized that Oliver's training intensity far exceeded their imagination. After regular training ended, when others had already showered and were preparing to leave, Oliver would quickly rinse off, change into another training kit, and continue his extra shooting practice on the field. He repeatedly blasted shots into the dead corners of the goal until the goalkeeper coach had to remind him, "Hey, kid, if you keep practicing like this, you're going to tear a hole in the net."
Nagelsmann noticed Oliver's unusual behavior. After a tactical analysis class, he even stayed behind specifically to observe Oliver's extra training. Oliver arranged training cones in complex routes, simulating various defensive pressures he might encounter in a match. He would suddenly stop and change direction, then suddenly accelerate, every movement carrying the urgency of real combat.
Even more surprisingly, he even pulled out his tactical notes during training breaks, comparing them to his on-field positions and repeatedly rehearsing his running routes. This was more like football IQ training.
"Kid, are you preparing for the Champions League final?" Nagelsmann finally couldn't help but walk over and ask jokingly.
Oliver wiped the sweat from his forehead, his breathing not yet fully steady: "Coach, I just want to make sure I don't drag the team down in the friendly match."
"Drag down?" Nagelsmann raised an eyebrow.
"Oliver, if I remember correctly, you scored four goals and assisted three times in the last scrimmage. Is that still dragging the team down?"
Oliver didn't relax because of the coach's praise; instead, he said seriously: "But I… also had three misplaced passes and two defensive positional errors. If it were a formal match, these mistakes could cost the team points."
Nagelsmann was silent for a few seconds, his gaze becoming somewhat serious. He had seen too many talented young players, but few were as critical of their own mistakes as Oliver. Most talented players are actually more willing to show off their highlights than repeatedly dwell on their errors.
"Do you know what I admire most about you?" Nagelsmann suddenly asked.
Oliver shook his head.
"It's not your technique, nor your football IQ," Nagelsmann said.
"It's your attitude. Many south american players are more talented than you, but they would never train like you. They believe more in their improvisation than in daily refinement."
Oliver lowered his head slightly, his voice soft but firm: "Coach, my dad often tells me a saying, 'One minute on stage often requires ten years of practice.' I think, in top Leagues, talent is just an entry ticket; ultimate victory is still won through hard work."
Nagelsmann nodded thoughtfully. He recalled the fleeting geniuses he had encountered in his coaching career. Most of them eventually succumbed to laziness or complacency, but this one in front of him seemed to be born with a nearly obsessive gene for diligence.
"You can train, but you must pay attention to your body," Nagelsmann's tone became serious.
"I don't want to receive a report from the team doctor on the eve of the friendly match saying you pulled a muscle due to overtraining."
Oliver smiled: "Don't worry, Coach. I do recovery training every day, and my body is much stronger than it looks."
In fact, thanks to his daily training and systematic extra practice, Oliver's physical reserves were astonishing. In the subsequent team physical test, his 12-minute run score ranked third in the entire team, only behind two specialized defensive midfielders. Even more astounding was that his shuttle run data broke the club's U23 team record. Fitness coach Schmidt looked at the data sheet in his hand, shaking his head in disbelief: "Is this guy's lung capacity 1.5 times that of a normal person?"
His teammates also went from initial surprise to admiration. Gnabry, after an extra training session, voluntarily stayed behind to practice passing and movement with Oliver; Captain Vogt even specifically adjusted his extra training time so he could study defensive positioning with Oliver.
"You remind me of a young Kroos," Vogt told Oliver after a training session.
"You are as calm as he is, and as… crazy."
This was extremely high praise, but Oliver was not satisfied with it. In the tactical room outside the training ground, he often studied opponents' videos alone. Genoa's defensive weaknesses, Bologna's midfield vulnerabilities—he took detailed notes on all of them. Once, an assistant coach walked in and found Oliver drawing complex running routes on a whiteboard, surrounded by dense tactical terms.
"Preparing for a World Cup match ehn, Ollie?" the assistant coach asked jokingly.
Oliver didn't even lift his head: "No, sir, I just don't want to waste the opportunity the coach gave me."
This almost obsessive preparation finally paid off in the second team scrimmage. Oliver continuously dribbled past three defenders on the right wing, then sent the ball into the dead corner with a low shot. After scoring, he didn't celebrate, but immediately ran back to midfield, signaling his teammates to quickly reorganize their defense. This professional attitude made Nagelsmann on the sidelines nod in approval. There was no point in celebrating goals on the training ground, and Oliver would not do anything meaningless. After training, Nagelsmann called Oliver over again. The afterglow of the setting sun shone on them both, casting long shadows.
"Kid, tell me the truth," Nagelsmann looked directly into Oliver's eyes.
"Why are you working so hard? With your talent, you could play without so much effort."
Oliver was silent for a moment, his gaze extending beyond the training ground, looking further away: "Coach, do you know how difficult it is for an half asian player, to establish themselves in Europe? We are not as easily recognized as south american players, nor do we have a complete, high-end youth training system as a backing like European players. I must work harder than everyone else to prove that I belong here."
He thought for a moment, then continued: "And, I don't want to just be an 'okay' player in your words; I want to be the best."
Nagelsmann remained silent for a long time. Finally, he patted Oliver's shoulder: "Next week against Genoa, I'll let you play the full match. Don't disappoint me."
Oliver nodded heavily. This was not just an opportunity for a friendly match, but also Nagelsmann's recognition of his intense training this week. As night fell and the training ground lights went out one by one, Oliver was still practicing free kicks, the ball cutting through the night sky with a whistling sound, flying straight into the dead corner. On the eve of the friendly match, the Hoffenheim player dormitory was so quiet that only the hum of the central air conditioning could be heard. Oliver lay on his back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Tomorrow's match against Genoa was his crucial chance to prove himself, but at that moment, his attention was completely drawn by a system prompt that suddenly appeared in his mind:
"Shop function unlocked"
A line of text glowing with faint blue fluorescence slowly unfolded in his vision, then burst like fireworks, transforming into countless tiny points of light that reassembled into an exquisite virtual interface.
Oliver suddenly sat up, his fingers subconsciously tapping in the air; the system had appeared.
The system shop's layout was simple, almost stark. On the left were category tabs:
"Football Skills," "Life Skills," "Special Items"
On the right was a detailed list of items, each option marked with a precise point price, down to the single digit. Oliver's gaze swept quickly like a scanner over the dazzling options:
"Portuguese Mastery (300 points)" "Advanced Cooking (450 points)" "Basic Muay Thai Combat (600 points)" …
These life skills were already tempting enough, but what truly made Oliver's breathing quicken was the football skills section.
"Cruyff Turn (81,000 points)" "Messi Shoulder Drop (95,000 points)" "Cristiano Ronaldo Knuckleball (88,000 points)" … Each legendary player's iconic special skill was clearly priced and displayed there, like limited-edition football boots in a luxury display window.
Oliver's fingers trembled slightly. He had never so clearly felt the quantifiable chasm between himself and top players.
But what attracted his gaze the most was a special option suspended at the top of the shop:
[Steel Body of the Pitch (Passive Skill)]: Immune to all sports injuries during player career, fatigue recovery speed increased by 100%"
Price: 100,000 points
This skill description, marked with a blood-red border by the system, was only two short lines, but it made Oliver's throat dry. He knew too well what this skill meant. How many talented players were ruined by an accidental slide tackle, how many brilliant careers ended at the moment of an ACL tear. Ronaldo, Deisler, Hargreaves… these names flashed through his mind like a revolving lantern.
"It's practically a super cheat…" Oliver murmured, his gaze glued to the price.
He instinctively checked his point balance: 623.
Not even enough for a fraction.
The system timely popped up a reminder:
[Point acquisition rules: Formal match victory +100 (League) / +150 (Continental Cup) / +200 (International Cup), draw receives 50% points, friendly matches have no point reward. Daily training base points 20/hour, positively correlated with focus time.
Rules for obtaining points for winning championships: Domestic Cup victory +2000 points, Domestic League victory +5000 points, Continental Cup victory +20000 points, International Cup victory +50000 points.
Rules for obtaining points for individual honors: League honor 1000 points, Continental honor 5000 points, World-class honor 50000 points.]
Oliver quickly did some mental math.
Even if he played well in tomorrow's friendly, he wouldn't earn any points, and to accumulate enough points for "Steel Body," he would need to win at least two to three seasons of the Bundesliga, and spend countless training days, not to mention other point expenses.
Of course, this was assuming he didn't win any championships or receive any individual honors.
He continued browsing the system and suddenly noticed an inconspicuous beginner's area at the bottom of the shop.
Upon clicking it, several skills labeled "Rookie Special" popped up.
"Precise Short Pass Training Pack (Beginner): 500 points"
"Description: Improves ground pass accuracy within 15 meters by 15%"
This unpretentious skill seemed particularly humble among the many dazzling options, but Oliver stared at it for a full ten seconds. Against Genoa, Nagelsmann had assigned him to the right winger position, which required a lot of short passing combinations.
"Redeem."
Almost at the moment he made the decision, his 623 point balance dropped to 123. A subtle electrical sensation shot from the back of his neck to his limbs, and Oliver felt some unfamiliar muscle memory being written into his body.He flipped out of bed, instinctively picked up the football by his bed, and gently pushed it against the wall with the inside of his foot.
Thump.
The ball precisely hit a fingernail-sized mold spot on the wall, and the rebound angle was as perfect as if calculated by trigonometry. Oliver caught the ball and tried a few more times. He could clearly feel an improvement in his control over where the ball landed. This mechanical precision reminded him of the feeling of turning on assisted passing when playing FIFA.
"Interesting…" Oliver tossed the ball into the air, suddenly realizing that the system should have his past training records. Indeed, his training data from the past two weeks was detailed:
"July 3: Focused training 9 hours, gained 180 points"
"July 4: Focused training 8.5 hours, gained 170 points"
…
The last line displayed:
"Current consecutive focused training days: 14, Achievement [Primary Focus Master] achieved, rewarded random 50 points"
This unexpected discovery made Oliver's eyes light up. If training time could also be converted into points, then 100,000 points didn't seem too difficult to achieve.
Assuming Oliver focused 10 hours a day, he would consistently gain 200 points a day, meaning he could accumulate 100,000 points in 500 days, and this didn't even include matches.
Of course, Oliver couldn't possibly train for ten hours every day without fail; even someone as disciplined as Cristiano Ronaldo couldn't do that. After all the additions and subtractions, accumulating 100,000 points would take almost two years, and that's in a relatively diligent and winning scenario. He flipped out of bed, pulled out his tactical notebook from the desk drawer, and quickly wrote down a new training plan:
Add one hour of short pass drills to morning training. Study match videos during lunch break. Practice set pieces and ball control after team scrimmages. When he wrote the last item, the pen tip paused on the paper. Oliver suddenly realized what he was doing, and he couldn't help but laugh. He was now no different from those game addicts who indulged in gacha games, spending money and grinding daily: feeding an insatiable progress bar with almost obsessive daily tasks.
But when he looked up at the Hoffenheim jersey hanging in his wardrobe, that sense of unreality immediately vanished. The number 17 gleamed faintly under the desk lamp, like a medal waiting to be polished. Oliver closed the system interface and put the football back. The moonlight outside the window was obscured by clouds, and the dormitory fell into darkness. Before closing his eyes, Oliver took one last look at the distant [Steel Body] icon in the virtual interface.
"100,000 points…"
He closed his eyes with that number in mind, continuing his extra training in the system tonight.