Chapter 13: Monge

After Tang Ye entered the field, he began observing the situation.

Utrecht really wants to win today, so they’ll have many forwards up front.

What does this mean?

It means Tang Ye only needs to sneak back behind, and his touches will be extremely few!

Just three minutes after Tang Ye entered, Utrecht launched a sudden wide attack—Ruwijn broke past Mayerisch on the right flank.

Ruwijn dribbles toward the center!

Aale starts making a run!

Ruwijn passes!

Aale, charge into the box from the arc!

Receive Ruwijn’s pass, then…

Shoot!

“Goal! Goal!”

“Aale scores!”

“Utrecht takes the lead at the death! Aale, brace!”

“2:1”

Wang Chao and some fans in the livestream were extremely excited.

These excited people shared one common trait.

They all bet on away team win or away team 2:1 victory!

“Hahaha!”

Utrecht’s players slowly ran toward the corner flags, while Tang Ye and his teammates hugged tightly.

【Awesome, wasn’t it supposed to be that Utrecht can’t beat Haag?】

【Host, you told us to bet on Haag winning, then turned around saying “support Chinese player” and bet on Utrecht. Host, you’re not human!】

【Damn, is Tang Ye this strong? The team leads right after he comes on!】

【You above are a troll—dare to smear my Monge? Don’t you know the host is a Monge fan?】

【3 minutes on, zero touches—Monge is an attacking midfielder, why is he hiding back? Is this Ten Hag’s tactic?】

Utrecht suddenly took the lead; Koolt was now extremely tense.

He glanced at the fourth official’s board.

It was the 87th minute of the match.

Today’s game had many fouls; with stoppage time, there should still be about seven or eight minutes left.

Eight minutes is enough to equalize!

Koolt complained to the referee that Utrecht was delaying time with celebrations; Aale, who just scored his second goal, received a yellow card.

Utrecht’s players were dissatisfied but said nothing.

The key now is to hold onto the 2:1 lead.

At the start of the season, Utrecht lost two straight games and still had zero points.

They truly wanted these three points!

“Drop back, drop back, stand tight!”

Ten Hag shouted instructions from the sideline, but Haag, being the stronger side overall, was launching a fierce counterattack.

They were mounting a massive assault on Utrecht!

Near the center circle, Christensen controlled the ball, constantly scanning for openings, when Alberg stretched out his hand on the flank, calling for it.

Pah!

Christensen played a direct through ball; Alberg received it on Utrecht’s left flank and burst forward with a powerful run.

Ramselaar reacted quickly—he sensed danger to his goal and immediately sprinted toward Alberg.

Alberg passed to the center.

Now Haag’s striker Hafenal had possession!

“The center is open—where’s Utrecht’s defensive midfielder?”

“Defensive midfielder? Hmm, why is the closest one to Hafenal… Tang Ye?”

“Tang Ye, move! Run!”

“Tang Ye, what’s going on? Run… make a run—Tang Ye is making a run.”

“Tang Ye is still making a run!”

“Da Tang Shuiyun, Jinse Yinxiang, You Lan Shuijing… Tang Ye, damn it!”

“I’m unsubscribing—I’m quitting!”

“I’m done—anyone who supports Tang Ye is an idiot!”

On camera, Hafenal passed to the overlapping Duplan, who, using his excellent movement, found himself facing Utrecht’s two center-backs.

Because their attention was drawn to the wide attackers, Utrecht’s two center-backs were still far from Duplan.

There was a gap between the defender and the ball carrier.

That meant Duplan could shoot directly!

Yet, just as Duplan slowed down to swing his leg, a player in blue away kit crept up from behind his left side.

It was Tang Ye!

“Take him down! Take him down!”

Ten Hag shouted from the sideline: “Foul him directly—it’s fine, bring him down!”

If Duplan shot now, it would pose a huge threat to Utrecht’s goal.

Ten Hag meant for Tang Ye to commit a deliberate foul, take a yellow card, and turn Duplan’s long-range shot into a free kick.

Considering the Eredivisie players’ poor free-kick quality, giving the opponent a free kick was actually safer for Utrecht.

Tang Ye was now intensely focused—he hadn’t heard Ten Hag’s shout.

Facing Duplan with the ball, Tang Ye suddenly dropped sideways, his right thigh hitting the ground, his left leg swinging out.

Pah!

Tang Ye cleanly dispossessed Duplan; the sudden kick startled Duplan into jumping up, causing the Haag forward to lose balance, stagger a few steps, and collapse to the ground.

“I, damn it.”

"Awesome, damn it—perfect tackle, clean, no foul suspicion!"

“I’m an idiot—I’m such an idiot!”

“Tang Ye, king of football—you’re the damn king of football!”

【Wait, what???】

【Monge can do this?】

【Master, what’s your job?】

【Nice, that tackle looked super practiced—did Tang Ye secretly train this?】

【No wonder Ten Hag had Tang Ye pretend to be a defensive midfielder today—he’s got this trick up his sleeve!】

“Damn… damn…”

Wang Chao’s heartbeat quickened; seeing Utrecht’s win odds at 2.7, he felt no excitement.

Instead, he was filled with regret.

Profound, profound regret.

Because he’d only bet 100 yuan!

“Damn it!”

Wang Chao clenched his fists tightly.

He knew Tang Ye was on the big list, yet he only bet 100 yuan on Utrecht winning.

What is this?

This is disrespect to the King of Football!

The King of Football asked me to wash his feet—and what did I do?

I only bet 100 yuan!

“Damn it…”

Wang Chao was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of guilt!

“Are you okay, bro? I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it!”

Seeing Duplan rolling on the ground, Tang Ye rushed over and helped him up.

Duplan wanted to curse, but Tang Ye’s tackle was so clean.

What was the most incredible thing?

The most incredible thing was that Tang Ye almost walked over and tackled Duplan!

“What is this?”

Ten Hag pointed at Tang Ye on the pitch and looked at Fan De: “He can do this?”

“Huh, this… this…”

Fan De frowned: “Technically, he shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Technically?”

Ten Hag gestured to Van Gaal: “Did you see that tackle of his? I just walked over and knocked the opponent down—how many years of practice does it take to get that smooth?”

“Hey, wait, that’s not right!”

Ten Hag suddenly remembered something.

If any other player pulled off something like that, it’d be 100% due to secret extra training.

But the guy standing on the field is Tang Ye.

How could he possibly have done extra training?

“This must’ve just been luck.”

Ten Hag gave his judgment.

Two minutes passed.

“Tang Ye, right flank, tackle—perfect!”

“The one who went down is Duplan again! Tang Ye is apologizing to Duplan!”

“...”

Van Gaal turned to look at Ten Hag, saying nothing.

Hss—

It felt...

It felt... off somehow!

(End of Chapter)