Chapter 50: Highly Imaginative Clearance (Request Follows!)

During halftime, Ayoub grabbed Ten Hag just before he entered the locker room.

“Eric… do I still have a chance in the second half?”

Ayoub’s expression was grim, but he couldn’t openly break with Ten Hag, so he tried to reason with him first.

“Relax, relax—I know you’re anxious, but don’t rush, okay? If you’re going to get a chance, you’ll get one. Understand? Go in now.”

Ten Hag shoved Ayoub toward the locker room, and inside he saw Tang Ye struggling with Amrabat.

“Everyone, quiet!”

Ten Hag roared, and the players immediately rushed back to their seats.

“A 3-1 scoreline is very good. Aside from a few players whose running distance didn’t meet standards, I’m satisfied with everything else.”

“I’ve been running hard.”

Tang Ye raised his hand to remind him.

The high-intensity training had rapidly improved his endurance; now, Tang Ye’s running distance in nearly every match exceeded the previous one.

Ten Hag turned to Tang Ye: “Your running needs to be more aggressive—this way, our defense can handle the ball more easily under pressure.”

After speaking, Ten Hag remembered something and added: “Only on defense. On offense… well, trust your instinct.”

Tang Ye nodded.

So he’d have to be more active in tracking back in the second half!

“Then there’s the match—opponents’ midfield is strong. Understand? You need to press forward, harass, and crowd their midfielders.”

Ten Hag made a pushing gesture with his hand.

Speaking of pressing, Ten Hag had more to say: “Pressing is a collective effort—Aale and Nasser (Barazite), you two must advance together and press two opponents simultaneously so the opponent feels fear.”

“And then?”

Ten Hag’s gaze lingered briefly on Aale and Barazite, his hands rubbing together: “Midfield strangulation! Crush their midfield!”

“Should I run up? I can tackle—steal the ball from their number 10!”

Tang Ye suddenly said.

Ten Hag’s eyes lit up.

That was a valid idea.

But…

Ten Hag remembered Tang Ye’s incredible one-on-one defending ability, then shook his head: “Just stay up front and wait for chances—you might even score a few more.”

“Oh, okay.”

Tang Ye rubbed his hands, glancing at his 【De Bruyne Curved Long Pass】 already at Lv3.

He still felt there was a chance to extend the lead!

After Ten Hag finished speaking, Aale walked over and swapped positions with Amrabat: “Tang, I already have two goals. Do you know what that means?”

“What?” Tang Ye didn’t catch on at first.

“One more goal and I get a hat-trick!”

Aale sat to Tang Ye’s left, grabbing his right shoulder and shaking it repeatedly: “Understand? Pass to me, please!”

Suddenly entrusted with such responsibility, Tang Ye felt immense pressure and gave a vague reply: “I—I’ll try my best.”

After a few minutes of rest, Ten Hag began clapping, signaling the players to rally—they could now head to the tunnel.

Once all players had left, Fan De stepped in front of Ten Hag: “Eric, did you notice Ayoub’s expression? Are you really not planning to put him on?”

After realizing he might lose his starting spot, Ayoub began extra training.

Ayoub was cunning—he deliberately chose the first team’s No. 2 pitch for his extra drills so Ten Hag and Fan De could see him training below.

In truth, Ayoub did this simply because Ten Hag had repeatedly emphasized during training, “Effort brings rewards.”

Ten Hag looked left and right, confirmed no one was in the locker room, then spoke: “I need talent—talent like Tang’s.”

“Effort?”

Ten Hag suddenly laughed: “Michel, if effort could change everything, why did I play football my whole life and never reach the top five leagues? Was I not trying?”

Ten Hag’s words left Fan De silent.

Though he hated to accept it, competitive sports were this cruel.

What matters isn’t what you do in training.

What matters is what you can do in the match!

…

The second half began; Tang Ye pulled a fresh piece of gum from his pocket, spat out the flavorless one into its wrapper, and slipped it back in.

Fresh gum, fresh match state!

“Twente attacking up front—number 10 Ziyech dribbles toward the arc.”

“Smooth dribbling—Ramsele is struggling, unsure how to react.”

“Ziyech, outside the box—long-range shot!”

“Holy shit!”

Wang Chao, seated at his desk, clutched his head—Twente’s number 10 Ziyech blasted a shot past Ruit’s goal.

The score was now 3-2!

【Damn it, who said Twente was weak? That was a world-class goal!】

【Both are number 10s—why is Ziyech so much better than Barazite?】

【Terrible Utrecht—ten men dragging down my Tang King. 1v21—how am I supposed to win?】

【Stop calling him Tang King—you’re Tang King’s been invisible again.】

【Not yet time for Mengge to shine.】

【Can you raise the stream quality? It’s pirated, but I still demand clarity!】

Ziyech’s long-range shot left Utrecht’s players stunned.

After scoring, Ziyech slowly jogged back and encountered Tang Ye reaching out his hand.

Ziyech thought Tang Ye was trying to provoke him and snapped: “Get lost…”

“You shot really well.”

“Ah, oh, thanks, thanks!”

Ziyech snapped back to reality, nodding repeatedly, then slapped Tang Ye’s arm.

Watching Ziyech walk away, Tang Ye felt a faint sense of disappointment.

Why could others shoot so accurately while he could only rely on luck?

The match continued—72nd minute of the second half!

The team currently attacking was…

Twente!

【F**k, after that number 10’s shot, the away team’s momentum surged—bro, let me check the odds.】

【Hmm—the Utrecht odds are shaky now.】

The director’s camera focused on Tang Ye—he was slowly drifting back toward his own half.

Since the start of the second half, Tang Ye had remembered Ten Hag’s advice and frequently tracked back.

Though his one-on-one defending was weak, his tackling still intimidated attackers, so his backtracking had some effect.

But the cost was high.

Tang Ye, who used to run the full match on 【Wardy Red Bull】, was now falling out of rhythm!

Ten Hag, seeing this, had Ayoub start warming up on the bench, looking for a chance to substitute Tang Ye.

Regardless, with one assist already, Tang Ye’s performance today was flawless.

The moment Ten Hag signaled Ayoub to put on the yellow vest, Rieuwe successfully tackled Ziyech and disrupted his possession.

The ball flew toward Klebe.

Twente players rushed toward Klebe to press.

Klebe had no choice; in panic, he headed the ball toward Tang Ye.

Holy shit!

Seeing the ball flying toward him, Tang Ye’s soul nearly left his body.

He was right in the center of his own half, surrounded on all sides by Twente players.

Klebe didn’t pass him a header—he passed him a damn mountain of knives!

No choice—Tang Ye turned, memorized his teammates’ positions.

He sprinted toward the ball.

Lifted his thigh.

Kicked the ball straight upfield!

“Tang Ye—clearance!”

“Brilliant clearance! Tang Ye cleared Klebe’s backheel pass!”

“Wait—that’s not a clearance!”

“Aale is sprinting forward! Holy shit!”

“Control!”

“Shoot!”

…

(End of chapter)