Chapter 2: Silent Until the Thunderous Roar

The pitch was largely deserted; this was a private trial.

Hector Cuper seemed to have already written off the three of them—Rong Guang, Zhang Meng, and Wang Qidong—as mere tag-alongs. Aside from noting Zhang Meng’s physique, Cuper even mistook Rong Guang’s deep, dark complexion for that of an African player.

"Alright, Mo Mo! Can you tell me what positions they actually play?" Cuper asked, speaking slowly to avoid appearing too indifferent.

"Rong Guang is a winger or an attacking midfielder. Zhang Meng plays in the center or defense—a defensive midfielder, I suppose. Wang Qidong is a winger, too. Both Rong Guang and Wang Qidong have great speed. Oh, by the way, aside from Zhang Meng, neither Rong Guang nor Wang Qidong has ever played soccer before. Wang Qidong was a hurdler in track and field, right? I think that’s an accurate way to put it."

Wang Qidong rolled his eyes. What did he mean, "a hurdler in track and field"?

However, Cuper’s eyes lit up. Hurdles? Like Liu Xiang? Maybe there really was some untapped potential there!

"Let’s start by testing their 100-meter dash speed."

Cuper’s suggestion was accepted by everyone; things like flexibility and ball control could wait. Mo Mo checked to see if everyone was comfortable in their cleats. Most were fine, but Rong Guang looked worried. Mo Mo asked, "What’s wrong? Are the shoes not fitting well?"

Rong Guang looked up, his expression displaying the simple, earnest nature typical of a boy from the countryside. "No! I... I’ve just never worn such nice shoes before. I’m afraid I’ll ruin them!"

Mo Mo’s face twitched. *Never worn them?* Had he been going barefoot these past few days?

***

As the signal was given, the three began to run. Notably, for the first ten meters, the three were neck and neck; their explosive power was quite good, which made Cuper nod in approval.

However, Zhang Meng soon began to fall behind Rong Guang and Wang Qidong, the gap widening with every stride. Between the two, Wang Qidong seemed to have the edge. His gait seemed more… more calculated than Mo Mo’s?

There was no precise timing, as Cuper viewed this as little more than a formality. Yet, the speed of Wang Qidong and Rong Guang was unexpectedly fast—roughly between 11 and 12 seconds. Zhang Meng, after his initial burst, settled into a steady pace, finishing in about 13 seconds.

Zhang Meng’s face turned bright red. At 22, he was at an age where he was desperate to prove himself, and he was terrified of being cut. After all, the three of them didn't know this was just a formality.

Cuper was most impressed by Wang Qidong, who showed great control. While Rong Guang was just as fast, he couldn't stop. Soccer wasn't just a race; if Rong Guang couldn't control his speed or his body, what did it matter how fast he was?

"Alright, all three are decent enough."

Cuper didn't want to waste more time. He had only come to go through the motions, to show Mo Mo that he was taking things seriously and to win some favor. He figured he’d just toss them into the youth team or the U17 squad for training later.

Nothing made Mo Mo happier than seeing his countrymen recognized by others, but he couldn't be happy now. What did he mean, "just running is fine"? That wouldn't do!

"Coach! Is just running enough?"

Cuper frowned, but his expression smoothed out quickly. In his mind, he thought, *Isn't this just a formality?* Anyone who wasn't disabled could play soccer; it was just a matter of the level.

"Mo Mo! I’ve seen their strengths. The rest is a matter for the youth academy. You don’t expect me to put them straight onto the first team, do you?"

Cuper’s words were an implication. Since signing Mo Mo, the Inter Milan fans' emotions had calmed slightly. Before, the club had only focused on defense, and for the sake of the championship, the fans had accepted it. But in the end, they hadn't won the title, Ronaldo had left, and the expensive defensive signings were all made of glass—shattering at the slightest contact. How could they be expected to endure that? It was predictable: if they came up empty-handed again this season, Cuper would be packed up and shown the door.

***

"No, I don't mean to talk back, but... well, I’d like to ask you to spend a little more time. There are some specialties of theirs that I hope you can see."

Mo Mo’s tone was humble and pleading. Looking at the confused and helpless Rong Guang and Wang Qidong, and the dejected Zhang Meng (even he was slow to realize he was being neglected), Mo Mo felt he had to make this choice.

"Fine, Mo Mo! I just remembered, staying a bit longer won't hurt. I was curious to see your performance anyway!"

Cuper looked at the three Chinese boys, then at the eager Mo Mo. He sighed inwardly, deciding to watch Mo Mo play and take a look at the three boys while he was at it.

Mo Mo smiled happily and signaled to Rong Guang, Zhang Meng, and Wang Qidong. Wang Qidong, the quickest of the bunch, grabbed a ball and tossed it into the air.

Cuper was confused as to why Wang Qidong was throwing the ball in place, when Mo Mo turned to him and said, "You know, in China, we have a saying: 'It does not sing until it sings with a roar.'"

Cuper looked puzzled. What did a bird not singing have to do with anything? At that moment, he saw Rong Guang lift his leg and strike the ball with a loud *thud*.

Cuper’s eyes widened suddenly. He felt as if he had returned to his playing days. He was a defender, and Mo Mo was the striker opposite him.

Rong Guang’s strike looked like a cross from a local player—full of threat! Of course, that wasn't the point. In fact, the quality of the cross wasn't even that great. The target point was fine, and the arc was barely passable, but in a real match, it would be hard for a teammate to reach. Now, all Cuper had to do was track the ball… wait, where was Mo Mo?

Cuper was startled. In that split second, Mo Mo had vanished from in front of him. In that instant, he understood the frustration of the defenders who had been dribbled past by Mo Mo before.

Mo Mo was simply too elusive, like a ghost. Most importantly, how did he manage to move without making a sound? (Of course, it wasn't truly silent, but the sound was negligible.)