Chapter 7: The Oriental

At the Centro Sportivo La Pinetina, Inter Milan's training ground, head coach Héctor Cúper and his assistant coaches stood watching from the sidelines.

Initially, this was merely a routine screening for the first-team substitutes bench. However, the moment Mo Mo joined in, everything seemed to change. Rather than evaluating mere substitutes, Héctor Cúper was keen to closely observe Mo Mo's overall physical and mental state.

After a period of rigorous training, Rong Guang, Wang Qidong, and Zhang Meng appeared significantly more polished. Strangely enough, Rong Guang had actually lost weight, or perhaps he had simply bulked up? Either way, he looked remarkably sharp and athletic.

A month was not a long time, yet the three of them had already begun to acquire the definitive demeanor of professional football players. Watching them diligently go through their warm-up exercises, a flame of hope ignited within Mo Mo's heart.

There weren't many people around, but neither were they entirely alone. Among the onlookers were undoubtedly scouts from rival clubs or other organizations observing the players on the pitch.

The pitches at La Pinetina training ground were not particularly large. The turf beneath their feet was neither exceptionally good nor bad, clipped short enough to resist the wind, imparting a solid, reassuring feel.

The fans in the stands did not seem to take this kind of training match very seriously, though they appeared to be waiting for someone important. Mo Mo sighed quietly, truly wishing someone would call out his name.

With that thought, Mo Mo peeled off the yellow training vest he was wearing. The very second he shed the vest, a wave of hysterical cheers erupted from the stands!

"Mo Mo! It's Mo Mo!"

"Go China!!!!"

"Mo Mo!!!!"

Mo Mo looked slightly flustered. Well, there were quite a few Chinese people in the stands, alongside a fair number of Italians—to the eyes of many Italians, all East Asians looked pretty much alike.

Mo Mo was mixed in with Rong Guang, Wang Qidong, and Zhang Meng, and for a moment, none of them reacted! After all, although rumors had circulated that Mo Mo would participate in this training match, it hadn't been guaranteed.

Yet the moment Mo Mo took off his yellow vest, the name "MOMO" printed clearly above the number 27 on the back of his jersey left no doubt for the fans in the stands: this was Héctor Cúper's reinforcement for the team's attacking line, and the very guarantee of Inter Milan's championship hopes this season.

Well, perhaps that was a slight exaggeration! In the hearts of the Inter Milan faithful, Mo Mo was hardly a renowned superstar; at best, he was merely a rookie with some potential.

However, it had been far too long since Inter Milan last won a championship. The club had brought in very few forwards during the summer transfer window, and Héctor Cúper's neglect of the offensive department had left the supporters feeling intensely frustrated. Consequently, Mo Mo's appearance provoked such a fierce reaction.

To put it simply, the people who came to the Pinetina training ground today primarily wanted to check out Mo Mo's caliber; they were impatient to see some changes in Inter Milan's attacking force.

Had they merely come to inspect potential youth prospects, nowhere near this many people would have turned up. Most of those present had come specifically to catch a glimpse of the rising Chinese star.

The fans' cheers drew a look of envy from Rong Guang. His eyes held a deep yearning, and he vowed fiercely in his heart that one day, the fans would roar his name just like that.

Zhang Meng's eyes flickered as he wondered what was going through everyone's minds, while Wang Qidong couldn't help but hop up and down. Amidst the surrounding shouts, he was burning with impatience to make the world recognize him.

Just then, Mo Mo felt a gaze as sharp as a blade land on him. Turning his head, he spotted a dark-skinned young man with ordinary features, thick lips, and a rather peculiar hairstyle.

From the sparse crowd in the stands, chants of "Martins!" began to echo.

Obafemi Martins, number 30? Having made four substitute appearances and scored one goal that season, he had originally believed his breakthrough opportunity had finally arrived—only for Héctor Cúper to bring in another forward named Mo Mo.

Noticing that Mo Mo was staring right back at him, Martins abandoned any attempt at concealment. He strode angrily toward Mo Mo. Zhang Meng noticed this instantly, using his formidable physique to step directly between them, his eyes filled with a clear warning.

Martins was roughly the same height as Mo Mo, but an unmistakable expression of defiance was plastered across his face, plain for everyone to see. Mo Mo frowned, tugged at Zhang Meng's sleeve, and asked aloud, "What's the matter, Martins?"

Martins seemed momentarily stunned that Mo Mo knew his name, but then realized it was printed right there on the training kit, which quickly put his mind at ease.

"Orientals?"

Martins's tone was neither particularly friendly nor overtly hostile, but Mo Mo's frown deepened.

"Yes, Chinese. Is there something you need?"

Rong Guang, Wang Qidong, and Zhang Meng couldn't understand what Martins was saying, but the displeasure in Mo Mo's voice was already obvious.

"What do you think you're doing!"

Zhang Meng let out a sudden, explosive roar like an enraged bull, swatting away the dark hand Martins had extended toward Mo Mo's chest.

Héctor Cúper also noticed the commotion from afar. Martins raised his hands to signal that he meant no harm; though he hadn't understood Zhang Meng's words, the intent was clearly a warning.

Careful not to provoke the fragile nerves of the large man, Martins slowly backed away, keeping his eyes fixed on Mo Mo.

"Mo Mo! See you on the pitch! I won't be any worse than you! I'll use my goals to let you know..."

The moment Martins started speaking, Mo Mo smiled. Losing any interest in listening to the rest, he grabbed Rong Guang and Wang Qidong by the arms and walked away.

Under the fierce gaze of Zhang Meng's saucer-like eyes, the remainder of Martins's speech was swallowed back down in silence. Seeing this, Zhang Meng let out a cold snort and turned to follow Mo Mo.

*At home you rely on your parents, away from home you rely on friends.* That was a classic Chinese saying. Even though he didn't understand what the dark-skinned kid was blabbering about, a single glance at Mo Mo's reaction told him it certainly wasn't anything pleasant.

"Cowards!" Martins shouted at their retreating backs.

However, he didn't dare step forward again to demonstrate his determination to pick a fight. Instead, he turned and jogged back toward the substitutes' team.

"What did he just yell?"

Wang Qidong was the one who asked, but both Rong Guang and Zhang Meng wore matching question marks on their faces. Hearing this, Mo Mo simply smiled and replied, "Nothing much. Just someone who needs to be taught a manners lesson. Make sure you play with your hearts later and feed me a few good balls."

Hearing this, Rong Guang let out a surprised gasp and asked, "Are you playing on our team?"

Mo Mo smiled and nodded.

Orientals? *Heh.* Cowards? *Heh.*

How did that saying go again? You're not convinced? I'll beat you until you are.