Chapter Nine: Living in a Dream

Martins couldn’t comprehend the meaning behind Momo’s words at all, but he was determined to give Momo a lesson.

“Damn it, it’s just a training match goal. Is there really a need to get this excited?” Martins grumbled bitterly. At that moment, the training match resumed. His eyes were fixed intently on Momo—anyone else could score, but certainly not him.

On the sidelines, scouts busily jotted down notes in their little notebooks. Some had clearly developed a keen interest in Rong Guang and Wang Qidong. Unlike Shao Jiayi and Yang Chen, Rong Guang and Wang Qidong still had room to be polished. Though somewhat raw now, they were not fixed products like Shao Jiayi and Yang Chen; they held limitless potential.

Given China’s vast population base, this was a promising prospect worth investing in.

Domestic reporters sighed with emotion, declaring this to be the nation’s future. It felt almost like a dream.

A Serie A powerhouse—albeit just a training ground—now featured four Chinese players. And all of this was thanks to Momo’s efforts.

At the Pinetina training base, head coach Héctor Cooper’s expression shifted slightly but he ultimately shook his head. He had little to say about such a dual-wing strategy. Of course, if Rong Guang and Wang Qidong had already become rising stars like Momo, some tactical adjustments might be worthwhile. But alas.

The match continued, and the coach noticed something new: Zhang Meng displayed outstanding talent as a defensive midfielder. In fact, Momo’s team’s defensive line was quite inexperienced. Yet Zhang Meng was like a wall—often forcing a choice between man and ball. Unfortunately, lacking formal training, he committed many unnecessary fouls.

Suddenly, cheers and gasps erupted throughout the Pinetina base. Héctor Cooper snapped back to attention—it was Zhang Meng making a superb, powerful tackle. But the crowd wasn’t cheering for Zhang Meng.

A figure in blue and black raced across the pitch. As he controlled the ball, every eye was glued to him.

Martins closed in swiftly, like an ugly duckling approaching a swan, like gold buried underground striving to shine. He wanted to prove himself—intercept Momo’s ball and shut him down.

Momo sensed Martins’ approach. In fact, during the training match, Martins had been focusing too much on Momo. Some first-team players had gathered on the sidelines, and one shook his head, saying, “Martins, he’s wrong.”

Wrong? Perhaps. But at that moment, Martins only wanted to stop Momo and tell him, “Eastern guy! I am Martins.”

“Momo! Momo!” came clear, precise voices in Chinese. At some point, a group of Chinese fans had gathered at the Inter stadium, raising their hands and loudly calling Momo’s name.

For the first time at the Pinetina training base, four Chinese players were playing on the field, and for the first time a group of Chinese supporters was cheering from the sidelines. Though it was only a training match, it all felt quite wonderful, didn’t it?

“Damn, when did Milan get so many Chinese people?” some players on the sidelines wondered.

Chinese? How do you know they’re Chinese? Damn, just look at the five-star red flag—it’s common sense!

The Pinetina training base suddenly erupted with sounds of astonishment.

A smile played at the corner of Momo’s lips as he looked at the stubborn Martins before him. Alright, alright! I don’t know how good your skills are, but your defense is truly poor!

Martins faked a feint, his eyes dazed and darting wildly.

Momo executed a simple dribble and change of direction, then accelerated with the ball. Martins could do all these moves too, but the feeling of dribbling to pass a man and defending against one was entirely different.

Momo’s approach was swift; his center of gravity shifted rapidly. Martins widened his eyes, sweat dripping from his forehead. “No matter,” Martins told himself, then lunged to intercept the ball.

But Martins’ judgment was completely wrong. He made a mistaken choice, as if cooperating with Momo to deliberately yield space.

When Martins made that move last night, he already had a bad feeling. For a moment, reality seemed to chill his heart. Then a flood of thoughts overwhelmed him. Faced with Momo’s feint, Martins was utterly powerless.

He tried to force himself to stop and turn to chase after him, but this sudden chain of commands caused him to lose balance and fall to the ground. At that moment, Martins felt like slapping himself.

If he hadn’t reacted so quickly when falling, he wouldn’t be kneeling on both knees with hands on the ground, almost in a posture of worshipping a king.

Listening to the surrounding gasps, Martins wished he could sink through the earth. But all this was just his own overthinking. Head coach Héctor Cooper cared more about Momo’s form, and the fans cared more about Momo’s performance.

As for Martins? Who’s that? Oh, just a player who fell down. A moment’s thought and it’s forgotten.

Momo didn’t turn to look at the fallen Martins. He kept advancing like the wind.

He swayed his body like wielding bows from both sides. The goalkeeper had long heard of Momo’s penchant for inviting challenges, and Héctor Cooper knew this habit too. Honestly, Cooper didn’t like it.

Just as the goalkeeper prepared to rush out, Momo faked before stepping into the penalty area, then lifted his foot.

The whole stadium erupted in shouts, some even yelling for a challenge, but Momo did not indulge them.

He struck the ball directly. The goalkeeper, having stepped forward hastily, rushed to save but the ball sailed straight into the net!

Momo was in superb form. Héctor Cooper nodded approvingly—this signing seemed quite worthwhile.

Martins watched Momo’s celebratory gesture with a hint of dejection. In the following match, both were substituted—one satisfied, the other disappointed.

Momo approached and patted Martins on the shoulder, saying, “As an attacker, why do you try to defend against another excellent attacker?”

Martins was taken aback and turned his head, somewhat dazed by Momo’s radiant smile.

Indeed! Why should I defend Momo? Truly, it’s like living in a dream.