Chapter 29: You're really giving it to me? If you're really giving it, I'm getting up!

“Mr., may I begin my warm-up now?”

Taking advantage of Ten Hag returning to the bench, Ayoubu asked quietly.

When assigning Tang Ye as starter, Ten Hag had told Ayoubu he would substitute him in around the 60th minute.

Ten Hag offered brief reassurance and signaled for Ayoubu not to rush.

Earlier that morning, when he spoke of this guy, he truly thought so.

But now…

Tang Ye’s rate of improvement had surpassed the Dutchman’s expectations.

This Chinese kid was closing in on Eredivisie level at an astonishing pace.

Ten Hag had to take this seriously!

The referee blew the halftime whistle; thanks to goals from Tang Ye and Ale, Utrecht led Sneek 2-0 away.

“Mr., may I begin my warm-up now?”

Ayoubu asked again; Ten Hag’s response was to hold off for now.

Hold off for now—but Ten Hag didn’t specify when.

At this point, Ayoubu was already feeling pressure.

Ten Hag didn’t seem ready to give him a chance!

…

In the away team’s locker room, Ten Hag was summarizing the first half.

“Very good. Our rhythm throughout the first half was excellent, especially in attack—we created creative chances, and that’s what I’m most satisfied with.”

As he spoke, Ten Hag’s eyes involuntarily glanced toward Tang Ye.

Heh heh!

Tang Ye noticed Ten Hag looking his way, raised an eyebrow, and suddenly sat up straight.

“I didn’t mean to praise you.”

Ten Hag said coldly.

For Ten Hag, managing a small-time player like Tang Ye was easy.

Young players need encouragement.

But young players are young players, and lazy pigs are lazy pigs.

Praising a pig won’t make it move—you’ve got to kick its ass.

Make it run!

“I think I played pretty well.”

Tang Ye took a sip of water to ease the awkwardness.

Though his running distance in the first half was still the lowest on the team, he had at least scored.

“Yeah, Tang really played…”

Ale placed a hand on Tang Ye’s shoulder, ready to compliment him, but was immediately glared at by Ten Hag.

“Ok, ok, Tang, still need to work harder, still need to work harder.”

Ale patted his hands as Ten Hag walked over to Tang Ye: “Kid, you’re young. Let me tell you something: football matches have two halves. Performing well in the first half doesn’t mean you’ll maintain that level in the second.”

Tang Ye stared with wide eyes, looking as if he didn’t quite grasp what Ten Hag meant, so the Dutchman explained again: “You scored in the first half, but you won’t score in the second. So you need to stay humble. Understand? Humble!”

“Okok.”

Tang Ye nodded, seeming to have taken Ten Hag’s words to heart.

…

“Second half has begun, lads. Away team leads 2-0; Utrecht’s odds are still strong.”

“You can place additional bets. Let’s watch the game first. Home team made a substitution; away team’s No. 6, Ayoubu, is warming up.”

“Utrecht is making a substitution?”

“Fuck, don’t do it! You’re leading—why change now? Ten Hag, fuck you, don’t substitute! Don’t substitute!”

Wang Chao was under heavy pressure; fans in the livestream chat began to rage.

But Ten Hag wouldn’t even listen to the crowd’s shouts, let alone these livestream idiots.

On camera, Van der Gaag spoke briefly with the fourth official, who began adjusting the substitution board numbers.

“Ten Hag, fuck you, can’t you even manage a team properly? Subbing now is idiotic, fuck!”

“Get fired! Wait—subbing Amrabat?”

“Good sub! Perfect substitution!”

“Lads, Ten Hag’s substitution is smart—he brought on the more offensive Ayoubu while leading 2-0.”

“Utrecht will keep pushing for more goals.”

“If I were Sneek’s coach, I’d be trembling by now—Tang Ye is still holding on!”

Logically, by the 50-minute mark, Tang Ye should’ve been fatigued, but he felt fine.

Valdi’s Red Bull was kicking in!

62’

Though Sneek made substitutions in the second half, Utrecht still controlled the game.

Sneek striker Gonzales applied heavy pressure on Tang Ye, but it was useless.

Because Tang Ye’s teammates were stronger!

“Move forward!”

Ramseyer ran past Tang Ye with the ball.

Tang Ye had intended to combine with Ramseyer, but since the captain said so, he had no choice but to run forward.

Watching Ramseyer on the pitch, Ten Hag’s head ached.

Utrecht had no possession-oriented midfielder—but two men kept pretending to be one.

One was the lazy pig Tang Ye, who didn’t even run, let alone control the ball.

The other was Ramseyer.

Couldn’t control the ball, but loved to dribble!

But Sneek’s players failed to capitalize on the chances; Ramseyer passed ahead to Balazic, who ran down the flank.

Balazic down the wing!

Balazic was looking for an opening!

Ale stretched out his hand on the left flank, but Balazic didn’t rush.

Ale was marked by two defenders—passing now would just gift them an opportunity.

Plop!

The ball from Balazic landed at Tang Ye’s feet.

Huh!

Looking at the goal ahead, Tang Ye felt tempted, but he had no clear shooting angle.

After thinking it over, he abandoned the shot.

On screen, Tang Ye flicked the ball and began walking into the box.

He wasn’t running—he was walking!

“!!!”

Sneek’s defenders, seeing Tang Ye’s casual demeanor, grew frantic; Van der Veen lunged to tackle him, but his foot clipped Tang Ye’s ankle.

Fuck!

The curse slipped out instinctively; sudden pain surged through Tang Ye’s body, and Utrecht’s No. 99 collapsed to the ground.

“Penalty!”

“Penalty! That’s definitely a penalty!”

“King Tang drew a penalty in the box!”

Beep!

The referee acted decisively—seeing Tang Ye fall, he sprinted over.

Raised his right hand.

Pointed to the penalty spot!

Ten Hag raised his arms in triumph, but his expression turned grim.

Look at Tang Ye’s face.

Shit, is something wrong?

“Ssshh—!!!”

In the box, Tang Ye gritted his teeth, brow furrowed.

The ankle was excruciatingly painful; he was in serious pain.

Ale rushed over and shoved Van der Veen away: “Tang, you alright? This penalty’s yours.”

“Ok!”

Tang Ye suddenly jumped up: “Really giving it to me?”

“No! Don’t give it! Don’t give it!”

Ten Hag shouted toward the pitch.

At halftime, he had just talked so much to Tang Ye.

Where’s the promise that we wouldn’t score in the second half!

Unfortunately, Snick’s goal was too far from Ten Hag’s position; unless the Dutchman held a megaphone, Ale wouldn’t hear him.

“Of course it’s real, hey, are you okay?”

Ale wanted to climb the Eredivisie scoring chart, but goals in the Dutch Cup meant nothing to him.

Since they meant nothing, better to give them to Tang Ye.

Once Tang Ye was happy, he’d feed me hard in the Eredivisie!

“Minor issue.”

Tang Ye pressed down hard on his toes, and after standing again, he felt much better.

“Ale gives the penalty to Tang Ye!”

“Ale! The path is wide, Ale!”

“Tang Ye!”

“Taking it himself!”

On screen, Tang Ye wobbled toward the penalty spot, left, then right, making Louis T. feel dizzy.

Thud!

A low drive!

“Tang Ye, braces!”

“Utrecht 3:0!”

…

(End of chapter)