Chapter Four: The Poacher

He stepped into the changing room during halftime, and for some reason, Mo Mo felt that Peter Neuiler’s attitude toward him was a bit odd.

There was, in fact, a reason for Peter Neuiler’s behavior. He had noticed that Mo Mo possessed a remarkable knack for seizing opportunities in the box. This is no trivial skill; after all, there exists a type of striker known as the poacher. Sometimes they are called opportunists, but at that time, the concept of the poacher had yet to be clearly defined. It would only become explicit after the rise of players like David Sergio Trezeguet, Ruud van Nistelrooy, Filippo Inzaghi, and Luca Toni. Italy is famed for producing poachers, and if China has one, Li Jinyu could be counted among them.

Currently, Hannover 96’s formation was a 1-1-4-4, with a lone striker requiring excellent movement and awareness. Mo Mo had caught Peter Neuiler’s eye precisely because of his poaching ability.

However, Mo Mo had never perfectly showcased this skill on the pitch. Yet, in the brief ten minutes just now, Peter Neuiler had seen Mo Mo’s sharp sense for finding space and opportunities. Although Mo Mo was still inexperienced in dribbling, shooting, and passing, he was only seventeen and had ample room to grow.

Perhaps not everyone understands what a poacher is: they are strikers with exceptional attacking instincts, agility, and quick reactions, able to make decisive judgments about the flow of the match. They do not require exquisite technique, extreme speed, or overwhelming physical strength. All they need is to appear at the right place at the right time. Often, it’s just one flash of inspiration, one crucial shot, repeatedly sending the ball into the net.

Such players require decent service through the middle; otherwise, their talents are easily wasted. Sometimes, a single dazzling performance is enough to catch the eye of a top club and propel them to stardom—Luca Toni is a classic example. Miroslav Klose also rose to prominence as a poacher.

In later years, during the 2014 World Cup in Brazil, Thomas Müller could also be classified as a poacher. His technical hallmark was off-the-ball movement, always appearing at the perfect moment to finish. Luis Alberto Suárez could be considered an enhanced version of the poacher.

At this moment in 2001, Filippo Inzaghi had just transferred from Juventus to AC Milan and was beginning to shine; Ruud van Nistelrooy, moving from PSV to Manchester United, was gaining fame, scoring 25 goals in the 2001–2003 season and helping United secure the league title early. David Trezeguet, the king of the box at Juventus, praised even by the legendary Ronaldo, shared these traits.

Their poaching abilities were superb, their movement elusive, and most importantly, they could always finish decisively at the right moment, becoming veritable goal machines. So why did Peter Neuiler so neglect Mo Mo, despite knowing he had poaching talent?

Firstly, all the strikers mentioned above were tall—none shorter than 1.8 meters, while Mo Mo was only 1.7 meters and, moreover, an Asian player.

Secondly, Freddie Bobic’s arrival had greatly alleviated Hannover 96’s striker shortage. Mo Mo had never demonstrated his abilities on the pitch, and his first appearance saw him miss a spectacular, unmissable chance. Thus, placing him on the transfer list was only natural.

“Doll, in the second half, give Mo Mo more of the ball. Both wingers push forward; don’t just linger in midfield. We need to press the attack, understood?”

No manager would ever say during a match, “This game isn’t important, it’s fine if we lose.” In truth, for Peter Neuiler, this match wasn’t important; his instructions showed he wasn’t invested, even bordering on perfunctory.

“Does everyone understand? If so, Mo Mo, come with me for a moment.”

Mo Mo’s expression was tinged with indignation, clearly dissatisfied with Peter Neuiler’s lax attitude. Under his direction, the entire Hannover 96 squad had relaxed.

Indeed, Salb was a relegation-threatened team. If Hannover 96 pushed hard for victory, Salb might resort to reckless tactics, risking injury. Peter Neuiler did not want that. Their promotion to the Bundesliga was almost assured, and even the championship was within reach. His focus was already shifting to the long term. But these were not Mo Mo’s concerns. He just wanted to play, to play with abandon!

“Mo Mo, about the transfer… I actually think you could stay at Hannover 96.”

Peter Neuiler’s gaze was deep. He could have simply canceled Mo Mo’s transfer, but announcements had already been made, and forcing a player to stay is harmful for both sides. Mo Mo was still young, only seventeen, and according to his contract, he could wait things out. This would damage the club’s reputation. So, upon realizing Mo Mo had the potential to become a fine striker, Peter Neuiler hoped to keep him at Hannover 96 as an investment.

“Regarding the transfer, perhaps there’s one thing I can say to make my attitude clear.”

He paused, his exploratory gaze fixed on Mo Mo, who raised his right hand, pointed to himself, and looked at Peter Neuiler, his voice resolute and sincere.

“For me, coach—just for me—if I cannot win a match, then it doesn’t matter how many goals I lose by! Coach, you know? I want to win! I want to win every game I play!”

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Watching Mo Mo, his emotions running high, Peter Neuiler was surprised. Someone would argue so passionately over this? If he wanted to keep Mo Mo at Hannover 96 and dispel his desire to leave, answering this question well would be a good start.

“Listen, I know you want to win. But defeat is also a kind of growth. I am the head coach, responsible for the whole season. This is a strategic arrangement…”

Peter Neuiler tried to explain, but Mo Mo seemed uninterested. Halftime passed quickly, and under Mo Mo’s cold gaze, Peter Neuiler fell silent.

“Coach, I am disappointed. If a team does not continually pursue victory, it will achieve little. I crave victory. Perhaps you’re right, but I must say—I do not accept defeat! Football is not about life and death, but it is above life and death. Football does not distinguish between life and death, but between victory and defeat! I want to be on the winning side! Even a draw—I cannot accept it!”

With that, Mo Mo turned and ran toward the player tunnel, eager to return to the pitch. He wanted to play, he wanted to win. Even if he would soon transfer away, for him, football was his life. If possible, he would live every moment for football.

“Damn yellow monkey! Who does he think he is! Who does he think he is? Victory? I’ll show you who runs this team. I’ll show you that only by listening to me, Peter Neuiler, can you win.”

Turning around and walking into the locker room, Peter Neuiler tried to calm his anger, but his tone betrayed his unrest. A seventeen-year-old kid, lecturing me about football? Talking about a team’s achievements!?

“Wingers, stick to the flanks. Doll, recycle the ball and push forward when appropriate. Try to score if you can. As for Mo Mo, let him draw Salb’s defenders’ attention.”

Surprised by Peter Neuiler’s sudden change, Doll and the others could still hear the anger in his voice despite his efforts to sound calm. As time ticked down, the players filed out of the dressing room.

Peter Neuiler’s expression was unsettled. Some might like players with Mo Mo’s drive, with his hunger for victory.

But Peter Neuiler was clearly not one of them. He valued authority above all else. For players who challenged his authority, he always found a way to make them understand whose fault it was.

“Hey, kid, what did you just say to the coach?” Doll quietly jabbed Mo Mo in the back. Hannover 96 had performed well this season, so Peter Neuiler was riding high, and few dared to cross him.

As a result, Peter Neuiler developed a habit: when he needed you, he could be amiable; toward star players, he was pleasant; toward lesser-known, average players, he was strict.

“Nothing, big and strong—no, Doll, just remember to give me more of the ball.”

Mo Mo’s tone was calm, as if nothing had happened. In fact, he felt he had handled things well, though he was nervous after speaking. Then he recalled the novels he’d read before being reborn; in those, coaches loved players like him! Was it Mo Mo’s naivety, or the novels’ misleading plots?

With the referee’s whistle, Mo Mo charged toward Salb’s defense, moving through every available gap. There seemed to be a strange tacit understanding between Salb and Hannover 96; Hannover’s pressing was lackluster, and Salb’s players passed leisurely in their own half.

Mo Mo couldn’t understand—why was everyone so lethargic? If someone had bet on this match, they’d surely curse it as a fixed game!

Even the commentators were baffled. Salb, a relegation team, passing with a one-goal lead was understandable. But Hannover 96 behaving as if they were ahead?

Mo Mo found space again, and Doll chose to dribble himself, only to lose the ball to Salb’s defenders. Mo Mo couldn’t take it anymore and confronted Doll.

“Big and strong! You said before the match you’d give me more passes! What are you doing now?”

Doll was still frustrated by his mistake. Hearing Mo Mo’s criticism, he looked up and replied, “That’s the coach’s instructions—and you’re marked so tightly!”

Mo Mo was stunned. The coach’s instructions? Watching Doll’s retreating figure, Mo Mo glanced at the bench. Peter Neuiler stood with folded arms, unhurried, utterly unconcerned about trailing in the score.

The match continued, Mo Mo wandered aimlessly on the pitch. He saw Doll advancing into Salb’s half with the ball, but two Salb defenders had already closed in. Mo Mo didn’t hesitate and ran toward Doll.

“Hannover 96’s attack is lackluster; only the headless fly-like number 37 MOMO and number 21 Bill are pressing forward. Now number 21 Bill is tangled up with the opposition, and number 37 MOMO is coming to help. But will Bill pass to Mo Mo? Wait… what’s this?”

The commentator’s relaxed tone abruptly stopped. If they weren’t mistaken, Mo Mo was actually dispossessing his own teammate? How interesting.

Doll and the Salb players were stunned. Where did this Chinese kid come from? First he argued with his teammate, then tackled him? But now was not the time to worry about that; Mo Mo was dribbling toward the box.

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A Salb center-back didn’t rush in for a tackle, instead backing off and maintaining a defensive distance, eyes fixed on the ball at Mo Mo’s feet.

The kid couldn’t dribble at all; the way the ball bounced, it seemed to lure the defender in. Unable to resist, the Salb center-back moved in as Mo Mo pushed the ball forward, stretching out his leg for a tackle.

The Salb center-back lunged toward Mo Mo, while Mo Mo surged forward. Their distance rapidly closed, the defender about to make contact and clear the ball.

Then, a pair of filthy boots appeared in the defender’s field of vision. Mo Mo’s 15-point acceleration allowed him to reach the ball first, and the Salb center-back watched helplessly as the ball slipped through his legs.

Mo Mo successfully nutmegged the Salb defender. His 12 agility wasn’t enough to avoid the collision entirely; his body staggered, and his 8 balance and 7 strength made it feel like he’d crashed into a thick wall. The defender’s principle was clear: the man may pass, the ball may not; if the ball passes, the man stays.

The Salb center-back aimed to leave the man behind, but Mo Mo’s nimble turn allowed him to absorb only a reasonable bump. Mo Mo still got past the defender, now deep in the box, with the ball beyond the penalty spot.

Mo Mo, using his 15 acceleration, reached the ball again, looked up to take a shot—but saw the Salb goalkeeper charging forward. He lost his balance completely.

“What a pity! After a beautiful nutmeg, the Salb goalkeeper rushed out and collected the ball. Number 37 MOMO still needs to step up his game!”

Mo Mo picked himself up, punching the air in frustration. The goalkeeper had played fairly, getting to the ball first; Mo Mo might have fouled him. The referee called Mo Mo over for a verbal warning.

“Hey, kid! Why did you tackle me for the ball?” Doll stormed over, clearly upset about Mo Mo’s challenge, but then laughed and punched Mo Mo’s shoulder.

“But, well done. A shame you didn’t score.”

Mo Mo shot Doll a glare, then grew serious. “Doll, let’s make a deal. Give me three good passes. I won’t ask you to pass every time, but can you give me three good chances? If I waste all three, I won’t say another word. Of course, if you keep feeding me the ball, that’s even better.”

He paused, sensing his argument wasn’t persuasive enough, and insisted, “Three. Just three. I will score! Trust me. If you don’t give me those three chances, I’ll just keep taking the ball from you.”

Seeing Mo Mo’s earnest face, Doll couldn’t help but chuckle. Reflecting on Peter Neuiler’s instructions, he realized there was nothing against passing to Mo Mo. Doll nodded, “Alright! I’ll look for the right moment to give you a good ball. I don’t want to lose, after all.”

Mo Mo nodded fiercely. “I don’t want to lose either. I want to win! I want to win every match!”

After that, the two quickly parted and returned to their positions, ready for Salb’s goalkeeper’s goal kick.

“Number 37 MOMO seems to be discussing something with number 21 Doll. Perhaps we can look forward to their next moves.”

Mo Mo punched the air—three chances! He had to score. But first he needed to learn to conserve his energy; he already felt his breathing growing uneven.

His stamina rating of 9 couldn’t support him running all over the pitch. Mo Mo decided: unless a perfect gap appeared, he wouldn’t make unnecessary runs.

Watching the Salb goalkeeper preparing for a long kick, Mo Mo’s eyes sharpened. You won’t leave unscathed—not even in your own home ground.

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