Super Wingstorm

The Ajax chairman’s office in the Southeast New City of Amsterdam, Netherlands.

Technical Director Van Gaal and Chairman Michael van Praag sat in front of the TV. As they watched Sertenes score a header past Robbent, they both shot to their feet, only to immediately slump back onto the sofa, drained of all strength.

’It’s over! It’s completely over!’

Their Champions League run for the season would end tonight!

Tomorrow, the media across the Netherlands would tear into Ajax. The fans would launch a barrage of criticism. Everyone was being backed into a corner!

Van Gaal’s face was ashen. His once-resolute features were now etched with desolation and helplessness, as if this single match had aged him ten years in an instant. Devoid of all spirit, he remained speechless for a long time.

He didn’t believe the players were deliberately trying to oust him as technical director, not even Ibrahimovic, who held a grudge against him. There was no benefit in it for them. The simple truth was that heading into this match, the entire Ajax squad was shouldering an immense burden of pressure.

The five preceding matches had culminated in the crushing pressure of tonight’s game.

The team also needed to seriously reflect on its signings at the start of the season. Letting Van der Meede go without bringing in a strong replacement on the right wing meant the team’s signature tactic of attacking down both flanks was no longer effective. And for all of this, Van Gaal, as technical director, bore an undeniable responsibility.

As for the club’s financial difficulties? Who cared about that?

All the fans and all the media would only care about one thing: Ajax losing away to Bruges and being unceremoniously knocked out of European competition. It was a failure that even winning the Eredivisie title this season couldn’t possibly redeem.

"How did it come to this?" Michael van Praag muttered.

He couldn’t understand. They were clearly the stronger team, so how could the match have ended up like this?

Van Gaal gritted his teeth and gently patted the chairman’s shoulder, saying nothing. He knew—this was professional soccer.

It was cruel, it was unforgiving, and there were no second chances.

Conceding a goal like that in the 84th minute would shatter the team’s morale. It was all over.

"Don’t worry, Michael," Van Gaal said flatly. "First thing tomorrow, I’ll give the media and the fans the explanation they want."

He heaved a deep sigh, rose from the sofa, turned, and left the chairman’s office.

He was going back to his office to pack his things. He would be leaving this place that had brought him so much heartbreak and frustration.

Just over six months ago, he had returned full of ambition. Now, he had no choice but to reflect on every decision he’d made since then, and to take a hard look at his own shortcomings.

Michael van Praag watched Van Gaal’s forlorn figure retreat. He slowly reached out a hand and opened his mouth to call him back, but no sound came out. He could only watch helplessly as Van Gaal disappeared through the doorway.

「Bruges, Belgium. Jan Breydel Stadium.」

The moment Sertenes’s header found the back of the net, Ronald Koeman buried his face in his hands and crouched down on the grass by the sideline. A complex cocktail of shame, guilt, resentment, and frustration overwhelmed his soul.

He was truly in despair.

They had been on the attack for over an hour without finding an effective way to score, only to concede on a counter-attack in the 84th minute. What more could he do?

He could practically feel the frustration radiating from his players on the pitch.

As a former professional player himself, he knew with absolute certainty that this goal had utterly shattered Ajax’s morale.

He had already made two substitutions, bringing on veterans Litmanen and Soetters, but neither had managed to change their offensive fortunes. Instead, they had conceded on a counter.

He was out of options.

There was only one attacking player left on his bench: the seventeen-year-old youngster, Yang Yang.

It was a promise he had made to Van Gaal.

He had hoped he wouldn’t need to use Yang Yang, but he never imagined it would actually come to this.

"If only one man on the whole team is left standing at the end, I believe it will be Yang Yang."

"If only one man is still willing to fight for me, I believe it will be him."

"If God has truly decided it’s my time to go, then I hope he’s the one to personally see me off."

Van Gaal’s words from that day still echoed in his ears, but for Ronald Koeman, the one who had heard them, the feeling was now entirely different.

’Does sending Yang Yang on now really mean seeing Van Gaal off for the last time?’

"Ronald, there’s no time," Luther Carroll reminded him from the sideline.

Koeman looked up at the scoreboard. The clock had already ticked over to the 86th minute. There really was no time left.

’Fine. I’ll just consider this keeping my promise to Van Gaal.’

"Get Yang Yang ready. He’s coming on for De Jong. Put him on the right wing," Koeman yelled.

Luther Carroll spun around and yelled toward the bench, "Yang Yang! Quick, get warmed up!"

Yang Yang, on the bench, was visibly stunned for a second but immediately shot up from his seat. Tearing off his long-sleeved training jacket, he called back, "I’m already warm! I can go in now!"

"Then get over here!"

At Luther Carroll’s wave, Yang Yang darted to the sideline.

The deafening roar of the crowd filled his ears. The home fans were already celebrating their victory.

Sertenes’s goal hadn’t just secured three points for Bruges; it had won the home team a spot in the UEFA Cup.

Yang Yang was in a daze. He couldn’t even remember how he’d gotten to Ronald Koeman’s side.

The head coach gripped his shoulders firmly, leaned close to his ear, and yelled, "Kid, do you know why I brought you to Bruges?"

Yang Yang’s mind was still blank, his ears ringing. Hearing Koeman’s shout, he just shook his head emphatically.

He truly couldn’t understand why he’d been named to the eighteen-man squad. He was sure he wasn’t the only one; the entire team must have been wondering why the coach would trust an unknown rookie like him in such a crucial match.

"It was Louis!"

"Louis?" Yang Yang thought of Van Gaal.

"That’s right. Van Gaal. He’s the one who told me that when it comes to the final moment, the only person he trusts is you!"

Ronald Koeman’s words left Yang Yang stunned.

He was honored to call Van Gaal a friend, but he never knew the man trusted him this much—to this degree.

"He’s decided to do something."

"I know."

A flicker of surprise crossed Ronald Koeman’s face. He hadn’t expected Van Gaal to tell Yang Yang something so confidential.

Of course, Koeman had no idea that Yang Yang didn’t actually know what Van Gaal was planning to do.

But there was no time to sort any of that out now.

"If we lose this match, if we fail to advance from the Champions League group stage tonight, he’s going to take full responsibility tomorrow and be forced to leave Ajax."

"What?" Yang Yang exclaimed in shock.

Ronald Koeman could tell from Yang Yang’s expression that he was completely unaware of the situation.

"Van Gaal told me that if there was one last person on this team willing to fight for him, it would be you. He said that if things reached a point of no return, he wanted you to be the one to see him off."

At this, Ronald Koeman squeezed Yang Yang’s shoulder, his eyes bloodshot. "Kid," he said through gritted teeth, "you’re our last hope. The only one who can save the team, and save Van Gaal, is you."

Yang Yang’s heart was deeply moved.

Ever since he’d arrived at Ajax, Van Gaal had deliberately kept his distance. Yang Yang had assumed that as technical director, Van Gaal was just trying to avoid any appearance of favoritism, so he had never mentioned their connection to anyone.

But he never could have imagined that when it came down to the wire, he was the one Van Gaal trusted most.

Yang Yang couldn’t tell if Ronald Koeman was being sincere or just trying to motivate him. But he knew one thing for certain: the guy who always handed him a bottle of water at the Almere Skate Park was in serious trouble.

Van Gaal had struggled to recover after a previous string of setbacks. If he was forced to take the fall and step down again, Yang Yang couldn’t imagine how a man with such a proud nature would cope. His entire coaching career could be ruined.

More importantly, Van Gaal was the first person to have this kind of faith in him, believing in him ever since their time in Almere.

Win or lose, Yang Yang had to prove to Van Gaal that his trust had not been misplaced.

"I understand, Coach," Yang Yang said, nodding emphatically.

Though it was just a simple phrase, Ronald Koeman could see the resolve in Yang Yang’s eyes.

With less than ten minutes left, the Ajax head coach was out of ideas. Yang Yang was his last and only option—the fulfillment of his promise to Van Gaal.

’But could he really perform a miracle?’

Luther Carroll led Yang Yang to the sideline, handling the substitution paperwork while offering a constant stream of encouragement.

Yang Yang remained silent, his eyes locked on the pitch, betraying none of his thoughts.

In the 87th minute, during a stoppage in play, the referee signaled for the substitution.

Ajax used their final substitution of the match, bringing on number ninety-nine for number sixteen, De Jong.

When the stadium announcer called out the change, a murmur of confusion went through the crowd.

Number ninety-nine. Such a high squad number was extremely rare.

De Jong, who had played his heart out the entire match, jogged off the pitch. He high-fived Yang Yang, gave him a quick hug and a word of encouragement, then patted him on the back, urging him to get on.

As Yang Yang stepped onto the soft turf, he cast aside every other thought. Only one desire remained: he wanted to win.

Not just for Van Gaal, but for himself!

A winded Muskville ran over to high-five him. As Yang Yang sprinted past Ibrahimovic, the Swedish Striker pulled him in for a quick high-five and hug, whispering a tip in his ear.

"Those two bastards are both right-footed. Destroy them!"

Yang Yang nodded firmly and ran to his position on the right wing, glancing up at the scoreboard.

Time was flying. It was almost the 88th minute.