Chapter 104: The Ultimate Chest

After winning the Eredivisie, Utrecht secured a spot in next season’s UEFA Champions League as champions.

This achievement was historic; that evening, club owner Verhof booked a local Western restaurant in Montford to host a banquet for the entire Utrecht team.

“Vamos!!!”

When the door opened, Amrabat shouted at Tang Ye so loudly the Moroccan nearly made him spit out his gum.

“Damn it, Sofyan, what are you doing?!”

Tang Ye spat out his gum and immediately wrestled with Amrabat.

“Hey, don’t rush—this is something Spaniards shout. Do you even know what ‘vamos’ means? It’s Spanish! Ramos yelled it when Real Madrid beat Manchester City in the Champions League!”

After saying this, Amrabat paused briefly, then shouted again.

“Vamos!”

“Okay, okay, okay—so what does it mean?”

Under Amrabat’s guidance, Tang Ye entered the second-floor hall. Verhof had rented this modest space, where players could freely roam—even jump on tables was fine.

“It means you play football well.”

Amrabat said, leading Tang Ye to grab a Coca-Cola in a glass bottle.

Amrabat gnawed at it for ages but couldn’t open the glass bottle.

“Let me! Let me!”

Tang Ye, growing impatient, stepped forward and took the bottle from Amrabat.

“Sofyan, watch this!”

Tang Ye held up the glass bottle and walked to the table.

He shook it vigorously in his hand.

“Why are you shaking it?”

Amrabat looked confused by Tang Ye’s action.

“It’ll open easier this way.”

Tang Ye explained, pointing the bottle’s mouth toward Amrabat.

Then he smashed it against the table corner.

Crack!

Puff!

The cola inside suddenly erupted, shooting straight at Amrabat’s head.

“Hahaha! Hahahahaha!”

Tang Ye reacted quickly, slammed the bottle onto the table, and bolted away.

“Damn it, Tang, you’re dead!”

Amrabat wiped the foam off his face, grabbed a new cola from the bar, and chased after Tang Ye.

Amrabat had been determined to settle things with Tang Ye, but just then Verhof arrived, along with Ten Hag.

Seeing Verhof and Ten Hag, the players instantly fell silent.

Three giant tables: the starters, head coach, and Verhof sat at the first; substitutes at the second; and first-team staff at the third.

To celebrate the victory, Verhof even brought over Utrecht’s pitch maintenance staff!

The banquet began. The atmosphere at the second and third tables was lively, but the first table was tense.

Verhof’s presence made the players feel restrained.

“Mr. Eric!”

Tang Ye gently tugged at Ten Hag’s shirt, who leaned his ear close: “What is it?”

“See that wrap on your right, in front?”

Tang Ye lifted his fork.

As he said, a beef-and-vegetable wrap sat exactly where his fork pointed.

“Can you get me one?”

“...”

Ten Hag was speechless: “Can’t you get it yourself?”

“I’m too shy—nobody’s speaking.”

Ten Hag wanted to refuse, but Tang Ye gazed at him with hopeful eyes.

Helpless, Ten Hag stood up and, under the stares of players and owner Verhof, picked up one wrap from the platter.

He placed it on Tang Ye’s plate.

Tang Ye rubbed his hands together.

He’d noticed the wrap as soon as he sat down.

It wasn’t that Tang Ye was greedy—he usually ate something back at the base after matches, but tonight’s banquet meant the cafeteria hadn’t prepared food.

He was starving.

Seeing Ten Hag fetch the wrap for Tang Ye, Verhof suddenly remembered something.

“Tom, you’re tonight’s biggest hero.”

Verhof said, mimicking Ten Hag’s gesture to take a squid wrap for Tang Ye, then added: “Everyone eat, everyone eat!”

Without waiting for Verhof, Tang Ye had already eaten half the beef wrap Ten Hag gave him.

He didn’t notice he was the first person at the table to speak and eat—but no one minded.

About five or six minutes into the banquet, several waiters arrived carrying glasses.

They placed the glasses before the players and poured red wine.

Tang Ye got one too: a female waiter shifted his plate slightly, set a wine glass on it, and began pouring liquid into it.

“Uh...”

Tang Ye squinted.

He was wondering why the liquid in his glass differed from everyone else’s.

Everyone else had bright red wine—his was black.

And...

Was it bubbling?

Damn it!

“Is this cola?” Tang Ye raised his glass; teammates turned to look.

“Haha, Tang, what else are you gonna drink if not cola? You wanna drink wine?”

Tang Ye glanced left and right—only his glass held black liquid—so without hesitation, he swapped cups with Amrabat on his left.

“I thought you hadn’t learned to drink yet, so I arranged cola for you...”

Verhof chuckled.

Tang Ye shrugged, picked up the glass, and took a small sip of the red wine, imitating his father’s manner.

Then he frowned.

He swallowed with difficulty, then turned to Amrabat on his left: “Sofyan, can I have your cup? I’ll ask a waiter to bring you a fresh glass of wine.”

Amrabat shrugged, but if Verhof hadn’t been at the table, he’d have laughed Tang Ye to shame.

“I knew you’d want your cola back, so I didn’t drink it.”

Amrabat was easygoing—he returned the cola to Tang Ye.

!

Squeak!

Verhof stood up: “Today is the most historic day in Utrecht’s history—we’ve won...”

He turned toward the Eredivisie trophy displayed by the wall.

“We’ve won the championship—our first ever. I’m deeply grateful for your efforts, Eric, Bart, Sebastian, Tang...”

Verhof recited the names of every Utrecht player, from starters to substitutes.

Tang Ye was surprised—Verhof pronounced “Tang” with perfect accuracy.

“I truly thank you for your dedication to the team—and the fans too. This has been a perfect season.”

All players stood, raising their glasses to the center.

Seventeen glasses on Table One—all red, except one that stood out.

Its liquid was black, with bubbles rising from the bottom and bursting at the surface.

As Tang Ye looked down at his glass, his expression grew slightly awkward.

But it didn’t matter.

“Utrecht!”

“Utrecht!”

“Utrecht! (off-key)!!!”

Back at the dorm that night, Tang Ye’s stomach felt bloated—clearly from too much cola.

Tang Ye wanted to shower first, but before that, he had something far more important to do.

Ultimate Chest!

Having won both the Dutch Cup and the Eredivisie, Tang Ye had unexpectedly fulfilled Condition Three to unlock the Ultimate Chest.

One hundred percent ultimate template!

An ultimate template one level stronger than a legendary template!

Without hesitation, Tang Ye went to the bathroom, squeezed face wash onto his hands, and carefully washed his face.

【Are you certain you wish to open the ultimate chest using Condition Three?】

【Confirm】

Two enormous spinning wheels appeared before Tang Ye, both beginning to rotate simultaneously.

【Reward determination in progress…】

【Ousman Dembélé 55-Dribble Template (Legendary)】

Effect: Your non-dominant foot (left foot) gains the same dribbling proficiency as your dominant foot (right foot); you have no off-foot disadvantage during dribbling.

“Huh?”

Tang Ye frowned.

He recognized the player this template came from: Dortmund winger Dembélé.

Top-tier 55-dribble technique; although Dembélé himself isn’t considered a legend, his skill being classified as a legendary template is entirely justified.

Excellent dribbling ability—exactly what a ball-dominant midfielder needs.

But Tang Ye now had a problem.

Wasn’t this supposed to be an ultimate template?

What’s with getting a legendary one?

Before Tang Ye could investigate whether his system had another bug, the familiar voice spoke again.

【Ousman Dembélé 55-Dribble Template (Legendary) undergoing ultimate transformation】

【You have obtained Zhou Botong’s Left-Right Mutual Combat Template (Ultimate)】

Zhou Botong?

Tang Ye narrowed his eyes.

Something felt off—why did this name sound so distinctly Chinese?

Could it really be a Chinese person?

Tang Ye felt a twinge of anxiety; Chinese football’s strength was internationally considered quite backward.

So was this template garbage?

But why did the name feel so familiar?

Forget it—let’s just check the effect first.

Template effect:

(1) Fully replicate the ability of your dominant foot onto your non-dominant foot.

(2) Whenever your dominant foot gains a new template, fully replicate that template onto your non-dominant foot.

“…”

“Holy shit.”

…

PS: Unlike lower-tier templates, the distinction between superstar and legendary templates does not rely solely on player market value—it also considers template effect, or rarity.

(End of chapter)