Super Wingstorm

Beijing, China. National Television Headquarters.

Wei Zhen sat in front of his computer, frowning, his eyes fixed on the document resting on his keyboard.

He had graduated from the country’s most prestigious media academy and went on to work for National Television. Because of his love for sports, particularly football, he was assigned directly to the sports channel. After two years as a reporter, he was now a director-producer, independently in charge of a project for the very first time.

In a few days, he was scheduled to lead a project team to Europe. Their mission was to follow, interview, and report on several Chinese players currently playing abroad, covering their daily lives, training regimens, and matches. Upon returning to China, the footage would be edited into a special series for the sports channel.

But just a few days ago, a piece of news from Europe had caught his attention, though it had gone completely unnoticed back home.

The Ajax Second Team, led by Van Basten, had won a match.

In the third round of the Dutch Cup, they had eliminated the top-ranked team in the Eerste Divisie, and everyone was praising Van Basten.

Wei Zhen wasn’t surprised. Van Basten was a legendary superstar. From the famed Dutch Trio, Rijkaard was already a world-class manager, and Gullit was coaching the Dutch Youth Team. It was only natural that the media would pay close attention to Van Basten’s coaching career.

As the saying goes, comparisons can be cruel, and the media loved to draw parallels between the members of the Dutch Trio.

However, what truly caught Wei Zhen’s attention was a name mentioned in the report: Yang Yang.

It was a Chinese name.

Wei Zhen felt like he had heard the name somewhere before, but he just couldn’t place it. He chalked it up to being completely swamped with work recently; he hadn’t been able to keep track of everything and must have missed something important.

He made a special inquiry at the Football Association, but no one had heard of the name. Worse, no one even knew that a Chinese player was on the Ajax Youth Team. One official even asked impatiently, "Maybe he’s an overseas Chinese?"

After that, Wei Zhen managed to get Ajax’s official contact information through a colleague at a domestic football newspaper. He called to inquire, and the person on the other end confirmed that Yang Yang was indeed Chinese and seventeen years old, but they refused to disclose any further information.

Only after being worn down by Wei Zhen’s persistence did the representative finally reveal, "He’s currently our team’s most promising rising star. Our technical director, Van Gaal, and our Second Team head coach, Van Basten—everyone here has high hopes for him. We want to let him develop in an environment free from outside interference."

Upon hearing this, Wei Zhen was ecstatic.

He knew he had found a hidden gem, a treasure that the outside world had overlooked.

A rookie, just turned seventeen, yet so highly valued by everyone at Ajax—what did that mean?

Hope!

The very thing Chinese Football lacked the most: hope!

From yesterday through today, he had stayed up all night gathering news from all over Europe to prepare a proposal. He wanted to take the film crew on a detour to the Netherlands to visit Ajax and learn more about this young talent.

He hoped to use this program to let all the fans in the country know that Chinese Football had also produced such a promising new star.

With this in mind, Wei Zhen took a deep breath, stood up, and snatched the document from his keyboard, heading toward his supervisor’s office.

Ten minutes later, in the office, the supervisor pushed the document back across the desk to Wei Zhen.

"Xiaowei, your intentions are good, but you need to understand, this ’Eurostar’ project is very important. We are supposed to be reporting on the players in the top-tier leagues, not some kid playing for a youth team in the insignificant Eredivisie."

"What if we focus our coverage on him now, and he ends up failing? What if Ajax is just giving him lip service and doesn’t actually value him at all? We have to consider the potential consequences and fallout."

Wei Zhen had spent ten minutes pleading his case, only to receive a disappointing reply.

’He desperately wanted to remind the supervisor sitting across from him that while the Eredivisie might not be as glamorous as the Four Major Leagues, it served as a stepping stone for countless top stars. And even though Ajax had fallen from its former glory, it was still a European giant with one of the best youth academies in the world.’

’He wasn’t an idiot. He could tell truth from fiction based on the news reports and the representative’s own words.’

’How could a young man so highly valued by Ajax not be worthy of our attention?’

’And he was only seventeen, no less.’

But Wei Zhen said nothing. He knew it was pointless to argue with a supervisor who knew nothing about football. Dejected, he simply picked up his document and left the office.

...

...

「The Netherlands. Outside a school gate in the Southeast New City of Amsterdam.」

School was letting out for lunch, and students were bustling through the gates. Their attention was drawn to a flashy, cool-looking luxury car parked on the other side of the street. Those who knew a thing or two about cars immediately identified it as a Porsche 911, causing a stir of excitement and chatter.

Three young men in their early twenties were standing by the Porsche. One of them was exceptionally tall, towering over the others. He had long hair, and as he watched the students emerge from the school, he would occasionally raise his right hand to flick his wavy locks.

"Whoa, it’s Ibrahimovic!"

"Ah, it really is him."

"Oh, my God, what’s he doing at our school?"

"And the other one with long hair, isn’t that Maxwell?"

"It is him, isn’t it?"

"Oh my god, why are they here?"

"The one with the short buzz cut, isn’t that Vermaelen from the Youth Team?"

"Yeah, that’s him. I saw him when I went to watch a Second Team match."

"Why did they come here?"

"Ibrahimovic is even taller and more built in person than on TV."

"Wow, Maxwell looks so gentle and refined. Not like Brazilians at all."

...

The students chattered amongst themselves as they stared, completely fascinated by the sudden appearance of the three Ajax players.

Although the school had a partnership with Ajax, the students who enrolled were usually much younger. Ajax players hardly ever came to the school, let alone a star player like Ibrahimovic.

The students pointed and whispered from across the street, but not a single one dared to go up and say hello.

Across the street, the three men wore different expressions. Maxwell and Vermaelen were a bit unused to being gawked at like this. They felt like animals in a zoo cage; it was just too awkward.

Only the Swedish Striker, Ibrahimovic, who had always loved the spotlight, was thoroughly enjoying himself. He would flash smiles at the students across the street and occasionally, deliberately flick his long hair, striking a cool pose.

"Come on, Zlatan, can you stop flicking it? You’ve got so much wax in there, it looks disgusting," Maxwell complained under his breath, turning away as if he couldn’t bear to watch.

"What the hell do you know? This is what schoolgirls like these days."

"Don’t you have Helena?" Vermaelen reminded him.

"I’m just trying to establish my magnificent image in the minds of these students. What does that have to do with Helena?" the Swede retorted, completely self-righteous.

"Are you sure today’s schoolgirls like guys who look like they’ve poured a tub of hair wax on their head?" Maxwell asked doubtfully.

"Maxwell, are you doubting my keen sense of style?"

"I didn’t say that," Maxwell said with a shrug.

"Yeah, besides, do you even have an image to speak of?" Vermaelen chimed in.

The Swedish giant hissed, "I’m telling you two, are you itching for a fight?"

"We just can’t stand you, you narcissistic egomaniac," Maxwell and Vermaelen said in unison, laughing.

"This is just jealousy, you get it?" Ibrahimovic ran a hand through his long hair again, flicking it back. He could almost picture the girls across the street screaming for him.

"There’s not a single thing about your looks that’s worth being jealous of," Maxwell continued his attack.

"Exactly," Vermaelen agreed. "Otherwise, how do you explain the fact that not a single girl has been willing to come over?"

"That’s because you two are here, getting in my way," the Swedish giant said with absolute certainty. ’It must be.’

’It’s the only logical explanation.’

"Please, there are plenty of people more handsome than you. Like Yang Yang, for instance. I think he’s better looking than you."

"He’s better looking than me?" Ibrahimovic looked at Maxwell dubiously.

The Brazilian nodded solemnly. "If you don’t believe me, ask Thomas."

Feeling the Swede’s threatening and intimidating gaze, Vermaelen stammered for a moment. "Well, he is pretty handsome... but you have your advantages too. For example, you’re taller than him, and more built."

But even so, the Swede was still clearly annoyed. It wasn’t just a feeling; it was written all over his face.

If the students across the street could have heard the trio’s conversation, countless of them would have surely had a meltdown. Were these really the high-and-mighty Ajax stars they idolized?

Were they sure these three weren’t just some delinquent punks who had randomly shown up at the school gate to act cool and pick up girls?

Fortunately, at that very moment, Yang Yang appeared, juggling a ball with his feet as he walked, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

His habit of juggling a ball while walking had already made him a unique sight at school; many students would instinctively clear a path for him. As Yang Yang came out of the school gate, on his way to the bus stop to wait for the shuttle to De Toekomst, he spotted the trio across the street waving frantically at him.

"What are you guys doing here?" Yang Yang asked, walking over to them in pleasant surprise.

At that moment, all the students lingering at the school gate finally understood: the three stars were here for Yang Yang.

It was only then that many of them realized they ought to re-evaluate their impression of this Chinese student.

"We came all this way to find you, surprise you, and, while we’re at it, have you treat us to a meal," Ibrahimovic said with a laugh.

Having known him for a while, Yang Yang had discovered that this guy could say the most shameless things with utter conviction. ’That’s a talent in itself, I guess.’

Yang Yang knew what was going on. Both the first and second teams had the day off from training, so the three of them must have planned to come pick him up from school. ’But isn’t this a little too flashy?’

Ever since September started and Ajax paid out their salaries, Ibrahimovic and Maxwell had stopped freeloading meals from Yang Yang. However, they still came to the Second Team’s grounds every afternoon to train with him and Vermaelen.

Since it was a rare day off for the team, the three had decided to get together, and Yang Yang certainly had no objection.

"Alright then, where are we eating?"

"Let’s go to that Chinese restaurant your uncle owns. Didn’t you say his cooking is way better than yours? We want to try it out."

"Isn’t that too far?"

"We’ve got a car, what’s there to be afraid of?" the Swede shouted boisterously, slapping the hood of the car. "Let’s go, get in."

Soon, the four of them piled into the car. To the envy of countless students, the sports car roared to life and sped away.