Super Wingstorm

Early in the morning, the vast skatepark was deserted.

Yang Yang, with his schoolbag on his back, skillfully juggled a soccer ball as he entered from the residential area to the east, heading straight for the center of the park along a winding path.

After two weeks of arduous and tedious basic training, his juggling skills had clearly improved a great deal. Even while juggling, his walking speed wasn’t affected in the slightest, and he soon reached the core area of the park.

As the name suggested, the core area of the skatepark featured a skating zone. It was said that in the past, crowds of young skateboarding enthusiasts would gather here every night, making it very lively. But after that wave of skateboarding fever passed, the skatepark gradually fell into decline, with only the abandoned facilities left as a reminder.

Yang Yang’s juggling training could finally come to a temporary halt, but the next phase of special training designed by Old Ice required a wall.

Almere City was large, but finding a wall suitable for training was no easy task. In the end, Yang Yang managed to find a long-abandoned, graffiti-covered wall in the skatepark.

The skatepark was in a great location. To the north was Yang Yang’s school, Baken Academy. Not far to the east was the residential complex where his uncle, Shen Ming, lived. To the west was a river, and to the south was the famous Dominican Garden Villa District, the most upscale residential community in Almere, completed just last year.

Further south of the villa district was Almere Auto City, the largest and most professional car sales and service center in South Amsterdam. Uncle Shen Ming’s Chinese restaurant was located just north of the auto city.

The skatepark was huge, and the skating area had been deserted for a long time. Even early morning exercisers rarely passed through here. This meant Yang Yang could train without worrying about bothering anyone or being disturbed.

After putting down his schoolbag, Yang Yang juggled the ball over to the wall and stopped three meters away from it.

His first drill was to stand in this spot and kick the ball against the wall. When it bounced back, he had to kick it back again. The requirement was to use a single touch, and he had to control the force of each touch to keep it as consistent as possible.

Five hundred reps with his right foot, then another five hundred with his left.

During the dull and repetitive wall training, Yang Yang listened to the THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP of the ball while his body felt the subtle differences in each kick and the feedback from the ball as it rebounded off the wall.

The system, Old Ice, was also constantly in his ear, correcting his form and offering suggestions for improvement.

After warming up by juggling the whole way here and completing a thousand passes, Yang Yang was already panting and sweating, but this was just the beginning.

Moving back to five meters from the wall, Yang Yang began his second drill: wall juggling.

He would use four parts of his feet in total—the insteps and insides of both his left and right feet. Each part for five minutes, making a total of twenty minutes.

Although Yang Yang had already been practicing juggling for two weeks, juggling against a wall was very different. The rebound force from the wall placed a high demand on his first touch.

Old Ice’s requirement was the same as always: five hundred consecutive juggles with each of the four parts of his feet to pass.

Even though these were all very basic drills, Old Ice’s standards for Yang Yang were extremely high. He would immediately point out the slightest mistake and demand a correction. On top of that, the training itself required intense concentration and was quite demanding. Before he knew it, Yang Yang was drenched in sweat.

Focused on his training, he didn’t notice that at some point, a middle-aged man and woman out for their morning exercise had stopped on the park path not far behind him, watching him with curiosity.

......

......

"What is it?" Trus asked her boyfriend curiously.

"Nothing, just curious," the middle-aged Dutch man replied calmly, his expression serious.

Trus followed her boyfriend’s gaze to the boy training against the wall in the distant skatepark area. "Is it strange?"

"Hmm?" The Dutch man clearly didn’t understand.

"I mean, is it strange to train against a wall?" Trus repeated her question.

"No, not at all. Many people do it. Bergkamp, for example."

Because of her boyfriend’s profession, Trus knew a fair bit about soccer. Plus, most of the friends who visited their home were involved in professional soccer, so she could name star players as if she were listing family treasures—especially Bergkamp, who was a massive star at Arsenal.

"Is he like Bergkamp?" Trus asked tentatively.

Given her boyfriend’s expert eye, that was the only explanation she could think of for why he would stop in the middle of their morning run to watch.

But unexpectedly, the Dutch man seemed taken aback when he heard her question.

"Him?" The Dutch man shook his head. "He’s a long way from Bergkamp."

"Is he that bad?"

"He’s probably about ten meters from the wall right now. That’s one of the most common passing distances in professional leagues, something every pro player must master. And it has to be a one-touch pass."

"But look..." The Dutch man pointed at Yang Yang in the skatepark. "He’s using two touches, and his first touch to control the ball is often poor. It’s clear his fundamentals are terrible. If he’s like this when he’s training by himself, he’ll be even worse in a real match. At his current level, he couldn’t even play in an amateur league."

Trus rolled her eyes in exasperation. Her boyfriend was always strict and blunt when it came to soccer, but his judgment was incredibly sharp. If he said so, he must be right.

"He looks like he’s only sixteen or seventeen. Is it really that serious?"

"These are the absolute basics. He should have mastered them by the time he was twelve. Spain takes this kind of training much more seriously than we do, especially..."

The Dutch man trailed off mid-sentence, his expression suddenly darkening as if a sore spot had been touched.

Trus noticed it too.

Ever since that incident six months ago, he had become dispirited. Even though everyone knew it wasn’t his fault, he still hadn’t been able to move past it.

Seeing him moping around the house all day wasn’t a solution. Coincidentally, a friend had bought a house in the Dominican Garden Villa District in Almere, and the largest golf course in the Amsterdam area was nearby. So, at Trus’s suggestion, he—a man whose love for golf was second only to soccer—decided to take a temporary vacation in Almere to get away from all the hustle and bustle.

She just hadn’t expected that after only two days in Almere, her boyfriend would be captivated by this strange boy this morning.

"If you think he’s so bad, then why are you curious?" Trus quickly changed the subject.

The corner of the Dutch man’s mouth twitched slightly. Gazing at the sweat-drenched Yang Yang in the distance, he seemed to mutter to himself, "I’m curious how long he can keep up this kind of tedious, useless effort."

"How do you know it’s useless?"

"At his age, doing this kind of basic training is not only mind-numbingly boring, but it also yields minimal results for maximum effort. He might stick with it at first while it’s new, but over time, when he starts to realize everything he’s doing is futile, he’ll give up. If that’s not a useless effort, what is?"

Trus heard the deeper meaning in his words. He was talking about the boy, but wasn’t it also a reflection of himself?

"I don’t think so. I think you have to try to know whether it’s useful or not."

"You’re too naive."

"You’re just being too pessimistic. How about we make a bet?" Trus looked at her boyfriend provocatively. She felt she needed to find something to occupy his mind and stop him from overthinking.

"A bet?" The Dutch man pointed toward Yang Yang in the skatepark. "On him?"

"Yes. I think he can stick with it."

"No, Trus Opmel. I can tell you with absolute certainty that you’re going to lose. He won’t last a month," the Dutch man said with complete confidence.

He had seen and experienced far too many people and situations like this.

"Then it’s a bet," Trus said, spreading her hands.

"Fine. It’s a deal."

......

......

Yang Yang had no idea he had become the subject of someone else’s bet. He just remained focused on his special training.

After finishing the wall-passing drill at ten meters, he moved back to fifteen, then twenty meters. Finally, there were a few other drills, but they were all of the most basic kind.

With his current fundamentals, he had to start with the very basics.

In Old Ice’s words, juggling was the most fundamental of basics, but it wasn’t the end goal. As his feel for the ball gradually improved, the juggling training would be reduced and replaced by other drills with more practical applications.

Yang Yang completely agreed with this.

After finishing his morning training, Yang Yang put his schoolbag back on and started walking north, juggling the ball as he went. He quickly left the skatepark.

Yang Yang’s juggling seemed casual, but a closer look revealed that he tried his best to keep the rhythm and force of each touch the same, and to maintain a consistent stride with every step. It gave him an almost rhythmic appearance.

Baken Academy was a prestigious private school in Almere that covered everything from kindergarten to high school.

Ever since two weeks ago, when Yang Yang started juggling his way to school, he had become a topic of amusement at Baken Academy—though it was mostly ridicule and sarcasm.

Everyone knew that Yang Yang was a good student, but a complete mess when it came to soccer.

The fact that John Reep had repeatedly tried to get Yang Yang to quit had long been spread around by his teammates, and everyone knew about it.

But Yang Yang never responded to any of it, simply continuing to do his own thing.

’There’s only one way to change how others see me,’ he thought. ’I have to pass the semester assessment and stay at Almere.’

"That bastard really doesn’t know when to quit!"

At the school gate, Henk Demyer watched Yang Yang juggle his way onto campus, a flash of anger in his eyes.

Over the past two weeks of training, Yang Yang’s performance on the team had been getting better and better, especially in the rondo drills. Although he was still the worst player on the team, it was now much harder for everyone to mess with him like before.

But as he improved, Henk Demyer’s luck started to turn. He began to frequently end up in the middle, chasing the ball, and it was all thanks to Yang Yang. There were even several times when Di Meier could barely resist the urge to beat him up.

"I heard he’s been doing well in training lately. The coaching staff is thinking about putting him on the roster for the match against Omni-Bass on Saturday," said an Almere youth academy player standing beside him.

"What?" Henk Demyer was stunned.

"Nick’s injured. I heard the coach wants him to play a defensive position."

Almere City had been established less than seven years ago, so neither its youth academy nor its first team was fully developed. That’s why the youth team collaborated with the private school, Baken Academy, and players in the sixteen and seventeen age groups represented Baken Academy in the South Amsterdam Saturday inter-school league.

Omni-Bass was also a team from Almere. They collaborated on youth training with a local amateur team that competed in the fourth division. They were strong and a tough opponent to beat.

Henk Demyer’s eyes narrowed. He was the captain of the youth team and also the captain of the school team, yet he hadn’t been notified of this.

"Then he’d better start praying for himself."