Super Wingstorm

Time flew by, and the first match of the amateur tournament soon arrived.

Unlike the previous match against Omni-Bass, this was an away game against AS80, held at AS80’s own youth academy.

The match was scheduled for the evening, and the pitch was lit up as bright as day. The field was separated from the spectators by a simple iron fence, and the fans stood obediently behind it, buzzing with discussion as they waited for the match to begin.

Facing Almere in their first match, everyone at AS80 was thrilled.

While Almere’s first team had the upper hand, when it came to youth training, AS80 was considered a cut above Almere.

Not long ago, Omni-Bass, a team built around AS80’s youth players, had defeated Baken Academy, a team built around Almere’s, two to one in an away game. This had undoubtedly given AS80 a major confidence boost.

Since it was an amateur match and a home game, the AS80 players didn’t arrive all at once. Instead, they trickled in in small groups. The team captain, number eight midfielder Kueller, was the first to arrive and started getting his teammates to warm up.

In contrast, the players from Almere had arranged to meet up before walking over together from the Almere training base to AS80’s training ground. The two facilities weren’t far apart, so the walk served as a warm-up.

When the Almere team arrived, they were immediately greeted by a number of their own fans who had come to watch the away game.

"Captain, look! The guy with the black hair is here too," said AS80’s number seven player, pointing toward the Almere team.

Kueller followed his teammate’s gaze and easily spotted the black-haired Chinese boy among the Almere players. He remembered him vividly. In the previous match between Omni-Bass and Baken Academy, Yang Yang had nearly helped Baken Academy stage a comeback, leaving a lasting impression on the entire Omni-Bass team.

’He’s here too? This just got a little more complicated.’

Kueller glanced at his number seven, the team’s left-winger. The fear on the player’s face was obvious; the shadow of their last encounter clearly lingered. Kueller couldn’t help but feel a little displeased.

’Fear before the fight is a cardinal sin in sports.’

"Don’t worry," Kueller said, reassuring his teammate. "We have a few players from the first team this time. We’re much stronger than we were a month ago. We’ve got nothing to fear from them."

Just as he said that, a commotion erupted from the fans on the sidelines, followed by waves of cheers.

It turned out that five more AS80 players had arrived.

The cheers were clearly directed at the two players leading the group, who seemed to be the team’s stars. Upon seeing them, Kueller and the others moved forward to greet them as one.

"Ha, Wesley, you’re finally here!"

"Welcome, Cagri."

"Now that you two are here, we’ve got a much better shot at winning this."

"Damn right. We’re going to crush Almere on our home turf and score a massive victory."

"Yeah! We have to show them who the strongest team in Almere City really is."

"This is our first time facing Almere in the amateur tournament. We have to teach them a lesson."

"Hell yeah, well said!"

Like all crosstown clubs, Almere and AS80 had always been bitter rivals. In previous years, Almere had languished in the lower leagues, so the rivalry wasn’t as intense. But over the last two or three years, Almere’s development had been astonishingly fast. First, they entered the third tier, and then they became a satellite club for Ajax.

As Almere rose, AS80 felt they were falling behind. The whole club was simmering with frustration, and their animosity toward Almere had naturally intensified.

Amid the boisterous excitement, Kueller quietly pulled aside Marvin Dorin, the left-back wearing the number two jersey.

"Marvin, keep an eye on that kid with the black hair."

"Is he Henk Demyer?" Marvin Dorin asked.

As the top prospect of the Almere Youth Academy, Henk Demyer was a household name among the AS80 players.

"No, number ten is Henk Demyer. The black-haired one is Chinese. In the Omni-Bass match against Baken Academy, he came on as a substitute and played for half an hour. His ability to break through on the wing is terrifyingly good."

"What’s his name?" Marvin Dorin asked, skeptical.

"I don’t know," Kueller replied.

AS80 was only a Fourth Tier League team. Forget the youth squad, even their first team didn’t have the resources to scout opponents in detail. Their knowledge of the Almere Youth Team was limited to a few well-known players like Henk Demyer.

"You don’t even know his name? Then how good can he be?" Marvin Dorin scoffed.

In his eyes, the only player on the Almere Team worth worrying about was Henk Demyer.

Kueller wanted to warn him just how incisive Yang Yang’s attacks on the right flank were, but he saw the disdain on his teammate’s face. On second thought, he understood. Marvin Dorin was an important left-back for the AS80 first team. Many expected him to be a starter in the upcoming season, and he was famous for his defensive prowess.

’A player like him won’t need to worry about some Chinese kid. He’s got this in the bag.’

With that thought, Kueller decided not to say anything more.

With the addition of several first-team players, AS80 was brimming with confidence. The Almere players, on the other hand, were thoroughly intimidated by the arrival of AS80’s new additions.

...

...

"Oh my god, it’s Wesley Snowye."

"And Kagri Assante."

"What are they doing here?"

"Looks like AS80 is taking this match extremely seriously. They even brought out their big guns."

"You can say that again."

His teammates were all murmuring, but Yang Yang was completely lost. He turned to his teammate Nick and asked, "Who are those two? Are they any good?"

"Of course! They’re both starters for the AS80 first team," Nick said, his voice laced with worry.

Nearby, Henk Demyer added with a deep frown, "Wesley Snowye is an attacking midfielder, and the tall one, Kagri Assante, is a center-forward. They’re both eighteen, but they’ve already played on the first team for two seasons. They started as subs, but about six months ago, they seized an opportunity and solidified their positions. They played as starters for half a season and were outstanding in the Fourth Tier League."

Just from his tone, Yang Yang could sense the fear in Henk Demyer’s heart.

’These guys are starters for a Fourth Tier League team, yet they’ve been brought in for an amateur match. It’s obvious how seriously AS80 is taking this game.’

"But Yang, the one you really need to worry about is number two, Marvin Dorin," Henk Demyer added. "He’s their left-back. His defense is incredible, and word is he might be a starter next season."

Henk Demyer’s brow was furrowed as he spoke. ’This guy is on a completely different level from the left-back we faced against Omni-Bass a month ago. Can Yang still make a difference on the right flank?’

But after hearing all this, Yang Yang simply let out a quiet "oh." He showed no fear; in fact, he seemed a little excited.

’In the Super Training ground, the defenders I train against have long been at a third-tier level, far beyond the fourth tier. But I’ve never faced a real, live Fourth Tier League player on an actual pitch. Tonight’s a perfect opportunity.’

Henk Demyer was deeply worried, and seeing Yang Yang’s enthusiasm made him feel a bit ashamed of his own anxiety. Still, he was genuinely troubled.

’Our opponents have gotten way stronger with those first-team regulars. We have first-team players too, but they’re just benchwarmers whose skill level is about the same as mine. Can we really compete?’

’More importantly, how are we supposed to play this game?’

’What’s our formation going to be?’

’Who’s going to lead our attack?’

Psychologically outmaneuvered by the appearance of AS80’s first-team players, Henk Demyer felt his confidence waver. He gathered his teammates, but no one had any bright ideas. They could only resolve to stick to the youth team’s usual formation and tactics.

"If no one has any better ideas..." Yang Yang said, stepping forward when he saw his teammates were already losing their nerve. "Then just give me the ball."

’Give it to you?’

’Can you handle it?’

"As long as their number seven doesn’t track back, Nick, you focus on defending. I’ll take care of their number two left-back on the wing. We’ll stick to the old plan: I’ll create an opening from the right flank, the strikers will wait for the cross in the box, and Henk, you watch for a chance to make a late run from deep."

This was the ace up their sleeve, a tactic that had worked flawlessly for the Almere Youth Team over the past four matches. The reason was simple: no one had been able to stop Yang Yang. Time and again, he had broken through the defensive line, throwing the opposition’s entire defensive structure into chaos.

"But that’s Marvin Dorin. Are you... are you sure you can handle him?" Henk Demyer asked, unable to hide his concern.

Yang Yang nodded confidently. "How will we know if I don’t try? If it doesn’t work, we’ll just switch to playing on the counter."

No one else had a better plan, so they had to go along with what Yang Yang proposed.

He was, after all, ranked first in the Almere Youth Team’s evaluations this semester and had been their sharpest weapon for the past four games. If even he was shut down, Almere’s chances in this match looked grim.

Once the decision was made, the players started picking out their jerseys.

Since he was shouldering the team’s primary offensive responsibilities, nobody objected when Yang Yang chose the number nine jersey.

That was typically a striker’s number, and Yang Yang was a right-winger. But who could argue? His idols were Ronaldo and Van Basten, after all.

Both superstars wore number nine. He usually didn’t get a choice on the team, but now that the opportunity was there, Yang Yang naturally took it.

...

...

Amid the cheers of the fans, the referee signaled for both teams to take the field.

Even though it was an amateur match, all the proper procedures were followed.

After the coin toss, both teams took up their positions.

Almere won the kick-off. Yang Yang positioned himself to the right of the center circle, directly facing AS80’s number seven, their left-winger.

The winger looked surprised to see Yang Yang there, but he also felt a sense of relief.

He hadn’t expected Yang Yang to be playing right-winger instead of right-back.

The number seven breathed an inward sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have to face that tenacious pest himself.

"Looks like Almere is all out of players, putting a full-back up front as a winger," the player taunted. "Do you even know who’s behind me?"

Yang Yang shot him a glance but didn’t reply.

"Marvin Dorin. Our first team’s starting left-back," the winger sneered, clearly enjoying Yang Yang’s predicament. "You’re dead meat."

In his eyes, he could already picture Yang Yang getting utterly humiliated on the pitch.

But to his surprise, Yang Yang just gave him another cool glance. "You talk too much. Is it going to kill you to shut up?"

The number seven was furious.

’The exact same words... I’m hearing them again a month later.’

"Fine. Be arrogant. Let’s see how long you can keep that up!"

The words had barely left his mouth when the referee’s whistle blew, signaling the official start of the match.