Chapter 6: He Has His Hands in His Pockets

Snap!

After high-fiving his teammate, Tang Ye ran toward the field, feeling pressure—rare for him.

But Tang Ye’s pressure wasn’t because he worried about performing poorly; it was because he was being subbed on too early.

Based on his training experience, if he played in the first half, the second half would be exhausting.

Breathless exhaustion—this was torture for Tang Ye!

“Move! Don’t walk!”

As Tang Ye jogged toward his central midfield position, Merent’s voice came from behind.

“I know, I know!”

Saying that, Tang Ye sprinted toward the opposing ball carrier to prove himself, leaving Merent with a look of satisfaction.

Indeed, players like this need to be yelled at more.

In truth, there are no naturally disciplined players—when coaches yell at players often enough, disciplined players appear.

“Tang Ye is on—he had a stunning performance in the last friendly, but since he played so little time, most fans probably only remember that outside-of-the-foot pass.”

“Today Tang Ye is playing the entire first half—so much playing time, we should see more of his strengths.”

Even though that was true, after Tang Ye came on, Wang Chao quietly switched to the back-end and placed a bet on a draw.

That way he’d avoid losing too much money!

In the first few minutes on the pitch, Tang Ye’s pressing was very aggressive—even nearly stealing the ball once—but after five minutes, he suddenly stopped running.

The camera zoomed in on Tang Ye, the number 99 from the reserve team, hands on his hips, strolling across the field.

“Lazy pig, move!”

Merent shouted—and just before he yelled, Tang Ye dropped back to receive the ball from Amrabat, then surged forward with it.

Tang Ye didn’t run fast, giving Rotterdam Spartans’ defenders their chance.

Of course, Utrecht weren’t fools—seeing a defender charge toward Tang Ye, Zaka immediately dropped back, signaling for Tang Ye to pass to him.

If someone wanted to take that awful ball, Tang Ye never refused.

Snap!

He passed to Zaka, then switched from jogging to walking, slowly advancing toward the front, observing as he went.

Running was exhausting, but watching with his eyes was easy—Tang Ye loved this kind of easy work!

While strolling, Tang Ye spotted an open gap ahead, so he dodged the opposing defender and suddenly accelerated toward it.

!!!

“Pass it, pass it!”

Merent urged—Zaka reacted quickly, sending a direct through-ball with the inside of his foot.

On camera, Tang Ye controlled the ball—he was less than five meters from the arc, but Utrecht had no tall enough striker to occupy the penalty area.

“Give it to me!”

Caron on the right wing reached out for the ball; Tang Ye glanced right, instantly assessing the situation.

This wasn’t a good passing moment.

So he looked left—and decisively whipped the ball with his outside foot!

“Tang Ye, outside-of-the-foot pass to the flank—again with the outside foot!”

Wang Chao had just shouted that, but immediately realized something was wrong—Tang Ye’s pass didn’t go to any left-winger; instead, it curved in a “C” shape toward the left baseline.

“Fuck, shit, it’s out of bounds!”

Wang Chao cried out in frustration—clearly, his decision to bet on a draw after Tang Ye came on was flawless.

Yet, as the ball neared the left post, almost out of bounds, a player sprinted out from the left side.

It was Utrecht’s left-back Trupe!

Thud! Trupe headed it in.

“What… the fuck?”

Dude, are you serious with that pass?

The livestream had only ambient sound—Wang Chao said nothing. Not because he was buffering, but because he genuinely didn’t speak.

The camera cut to Trupe, the Curaçaoan defender, who immediately charged toward Tang Ye.

“What the fuck was that pass, what the fuck was that pass!”

“Holy fuck, 2-0! Utrecht 2-0 Rotterdam Spartans!”

Beep! Beep-beep!

The referee blew the whistle for halftime, and both teams slowly walked toward the tunnel.

As the leading side, Utrecht players wore smiles—except Tang Ye.

He was already struggling.

“Tom!”

“Tom!”

“Tom!”

Over a thousand Utrecht fans chanted Tang Ye’s name.

For these Dutch fans, the character “Tang” was hard to pronounce, so they used an English substitute.

“Hey, Tang, your fans are waving—why aren’t you reacting?”

Zaka slapped Tang Ye on the back, reminding his teammate.

“What should I do now?”

Tang Ye rubbed his head.

“Wave! Wave at them!”

“Oh, okay, okay.”

Tang Ye took a few breaths, then raised his right hand.

“Wowww!”

“Tom!”

“Tom!”

Thump-thump-thump-thump!

No tickets were needed for Utrecht’s reserve match—the spectators were all diehard fans from Utrecht or nearby cities.

They were all Utrecht first-team supporters, thrilled to see such talent emerge from the reserves.

“I guarantee it!”

A bearded man in the stands pounded his chest: “I guarantee this Asian kid will join the first team before he turns eighteen! Utrecht needs midfielders like this!”

The second half began; at halftime, Tang Ye asked Merent to be subbed off—and, unsurprisingly, got cursed out by his “great” coach.

In the second half, Tang Ye kept strolling—but since that pass in the first half, Rotterdam Spartans had doubled their marking on him.

So even though Tang Ye was just walking, Rotterdam Spartans had to assign a player to track him.

That was brutal!

By the 70th minute, Tang Ye was breathing heavily.

The fatigue in the first half was mental; the fatigue now was physical—this was real exhaustion!

While catching his breath, Tang Ye suddenly brightened—he spotted another gap, this time inside the penalty area.

Instinct told him this was a scoring chance, so he clapped his hands, slipped them into his pockets, and strolled casually toward the opponent’s penalty box.

“Tang Ye, what’s going on? Walking straight into the box?”

“Hmm, is he walking or running? Looks like walking—his hands are in his pockets.”

“Wow, Tang Ye isn’t wearing regular shorts—he’s got pockets!”

“Forget it, Amrabat, send a through-ball!”

“Tang Ye, facing the defender, control it, pull it down—defender fooled! Tang Ye, shoot!”

“Goal!”

“Holy shit, Tang Ye scores! 3-0! 79th minute! 3-0! 3-0!”

【Amazing!】

【Tang Ye, you’re my fucking dad, even more than my real dad】

【Tonight’s foot bath is on Tang Gongzi!】

【Merent, legendary coach!】

【Give a penalty… Holy shit, direct goal, Tang Ye】

【Chinese help Chinese! Goal from Tang Ye! 3-0 win!】

…

(End of chapter)