Chapter 81: Tang Ye, Skyward Slash! (20k words—please vote for monthly tickets!)

The score is now 2-1, with Utrecht leading by one goal at home.

Facing deficit, Feyenoord reacted swiftly, shifting from their original 4-3-3 to a 3-3-4, with Vekinović immediately pushing forward to impersonate a striker.

Honestly, Feyenoord’s move was executed brilliantly.

In the 75th minute, Vekinović assisted Virena with a long-range shot.

Feyenoord equalizes!

Fuck!

“Watch your man!”

Goalkeeper Ruit berated Rieuwe: “That No. 21 surged forward—why didn’t you close him down? Why are you just standing there?!”

“Alright, alright, stop arguing!”

The two were shouting loudly, so Ale, as captain, rushed over and helped Lechert pull them apart.

It’s 2-2 now—this is the most critical moment!

Pfft!

Time was running out; Tang Ye spat out the gum he’d been chewing and replaced it with a fresh piece.

He took a deep breath of minty freshness and instantly felt more alert.

The match resumes!

“This game is more tense than I imagined!”

“Utrecht’s attack remains as bizarre as ever, but Feyenoord’s players are showing remarkable calm against them!”

“Damn it, why are you all so calm?!”

“Only 15 minutes left—any ideas?!”

“De Jong, De Jong receives a pass from Van der Maeler, advancing forward!”

“Amrabat is wide open—De Jong could consider passing!”

“I’ll take it myself!”

“...”

Tang Ye moved slowly across the pitch.

By now, he’d likely covered 7 kilometers.

Seven kilometers isn’t excessive, but for Tang Ye, it’s already quite impressive.

Strangely, Tang Ye no longer felt the heavy fatigue in his thighs as before.

Remember what Ten Hag said.

“Extra training makes you stronger!”

This is all the result of extra training!

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Tang Ye slowly jogged to the left flank.

To support Amrabat, then look for De Jong.

Where’s De Jong...

Got it!

Spotting De Jong’s position, Tang Ye delivered a low pass.

Virena tried to intercept with a foot.

But can anyone intercept a pass from the King of Tang?

De Jong controls the ball!

Feints, then turns!

Direct shot!

Boom!

De Jong’s long-range shot flew into the stands.

A pity!

Ten Hag shook his head.

Though De Jong’s choice was reckless, Utrecht had truly gained momentum after the 80th minute.

A 2-2 draw was acceptable to Ten Hag, but this match was special—if they could win, they absolutely should.

Because it concerns the February Best Coach award!

Ten Hag took a deep breath and clenched his fists tightly inside his down jacket pocket.

He was one step away from the Monthly Best Coach award.

Could God give him a push?

But it seemed God didn’t respond to Ten Hag’s plea.

The match reached the 90th minute; the fourth official signaled three minutes of stoppage time.

The score remained 2-2!

“Can Utrecht seize the opportunity?!”

“De Jong’s pass is precise—delivered to Ale, who sprints toward the left baseline!”

“Tang Ye is following behind—wait, why is Tang Ye trailing Ale?!”

Wang Chao didn’t understand Tang Ye’s move; neither did Ten Hag.

“Come back!”

Ten Hag bellowed toward the pitch.

That undisciplined bastard, Tang Ye.

Why is a central attacking midfielder chasing a striker down the flank?

Who covers the center?

The camera cuts to Utrecht’s front line: Ale flicks the ball with his heel to Josten on the right.

The pass was poor; Josten and Bertkin both kicked the ball simultaneously, sending it straight up.

Oh?

Tang Ye’s eyes lit up—he suddenly sprinted between Ale and Bertkin, charging straight into the penalty area.

Bertkin was in a blind spot—he didn’t see Tang Ye’s run.

But De Jong, standing behind, saw Tang Ye clearly!

Thwack!

A header cleared the ball toward Tang Ye.

“De Jong’s header layoff!”

“Damn, that’s a high ball—Tang Ye can’t handle this kind of ball!”

“Tang Ye’s touch isn’t great—can he try to control it...”

“Just strike it!”

On camera, Tang Ye plants his left foot, tilting his entire body 45 degrees to the left.

Then his right leg swings out!

The outside of his instep strikes the ball—it slams into the grass just outside the small area, bounces, and rockets into the bottom-right corner of the net.

“Holy shit, what was that?!”

“Who can tell me what that was?!”

“Skyward Slash!”

“Tang Ye, with De Jong’s assist, completes a Skyward Slash!”

【Cool?】

【Wait, Tang Ye can do this?】

【That’s a world-class goal—low power, but the angle is absolutely perfect!】

【Damn, who thought of that?】

【When I saw De Jong’s header, I thought Mong was going to cross—but he just volleyed it directly!】

【Master Tang, aren’t you a central attacking midfielder??】

“Clap! Clap!”

Ten Hag retracted his outstretched finger pointing at Tang Ye and began clapping.

God didn’t answer his plea.

But Tang Ye answered!

This damn fate!

Ten Hag’s February Best Coach trophy is already secured!

“Wuhu!!!”

“Hahaha!”

Tang Ye and De Jong ran side by side toward the corner flag.

This goal earned him 10 Comeback Points, but that was secondary.

Tang Ye loved this feeling—the sensation of killing the match with a world-class strike in the final moments.

Fucking awesome!

“Beep, beeeep!!!”

The match ended, with Tang Ye scoring a stunning volley in the 91st minute to secure Utrecht’s victory over Feyenoord.

“This is yours.”

Tang Ye took the MVP trophy from the host and returned to the locker room with it.

Bang!

Tang Ye kicked open the wooden locker room door, greeted by his teammates.

“Trophy again! Another trophy!”

Aar and Amrabat leapt over the physio table and rushed to Tang Ye.

Amrabat took the trophy from Tang Ye’s hands and examined it closely: “Damn, this thing’s actually heavy, Tang—how many MVPs is this for you this month?”

Huh!

Tang Ye froze.

How many trophies had he won this month again?

“Besides today, did I win any others this month?”

Tang Ye asked a question that left his teammates speechless.

“Damn, Tang, you don’t even know how many MVPs you’ve won?”

Jansen clutched his head: “Hmm… if I remember right, three? I think so.”

“Damn, three?”

Tang Ye spat his gum precisely into the trash: “Am I really that good?”

“Good? You’re full of shit!”

Ten Hag walked in: “Tang, remember what I told you—don’t fixate on personal honors.”

For a 16-year-old player like Tang Ye, Ten Hag had his own way of teaching.

“Personal honors are secondary.”

Ten Hag placed a hand on Tang Ye’s shoulder and spoke earnestly: “Best Player, Best Coach—these trophies are secondary. What matters is collective honor. Collective honor. Do you understand?”

“I won Best Coach last month. Did I say anything? I said nothing.”

Ten Hag’s words made Tang Ye hang his head in guilt.

“Alright, come with me—there’s an interview outside.”

“Interview?”

Tang Ye pointed to his MVP trophy: “I already did an interview when I got this.”

“This is different. Just come with me!”

Ten Hag brought Tang Ye back to the stadium’s press room; the flashing cameras nearly blinded him.

No surprise—Utrecht’s popularity this season meant more reporters attended press conferences.

“Eric, you were very lucky to win this match—”

“Lucky? No, no, no—I hate the word ‘lucky.’”

Ten Hag interrupted: “Luck is not a good word for coaches or players. Football is about ability. We killed the game in the final moments—that’s our ability, not luck.”

“But Tang’s volley nearly hit the post.”

The reporter glanced at Tang Ye, sitting quietly beside him.

Tang Ye said nothing—this wasn’t his time to speak.

“But he scored. That’s fact. We won.”

Ten Hag shrugged casually—his victory-born nonchalance.

“I must mention one thing: the Monthly Best Coach award.”

Huh?

Tang Ye turned to look at Ten Hag beside him.

That doesn’t make sense.

“Utrecht scores through ability—just like I won Best Coach through ability. I don’t understand why reporters keep confusing ability with luck. That’s wrong.”

Tang Ye rubbed his hair.

The reporter meant his volley was pure luck.

Ten Hag was defending him—telling reporters it was Tang Ye’s ability.

But for some reason, Tang Ye felt Ten Hag’s words were oddly strange.

Why was Mr. Eric comparing it to the Monthly Best Coach award?

The first reporter got nothing from Ten Hag; the second reporter wisely avoided him.

He chose to interview the harmless Tang Ye.

“Tang, we understand Feyenoord contacted you earlier. Why didn’t you join them?”

Feyenoord and Utrecht occupied completely different tiers in the Eredivisie.

Feyenoord had offered Tang Ye triple Utrecht’s salary—his refusal was baffling.

“Oh, you mean that?”

Tang Ye gnawed his fingernails, recalling the moment: “Well, they were nice—Mr. Giovanni even took me to dinner at a Chinese restaurant. But I just didn’t want to go there.”

“Was it the club’s restrictions? But they’d pay your release clause.”

“No, no—it’s not about the release clause. The clause doesn’t matter. If I wanted to leave, I’d pay it myself. But I just… didn’t want to leave…”

Tang Ye spoke seriously; the reporters frowned.

Paying his own release clause? What kind of statement was that?

The reporters didn’t understand Tang Ye.

But then again…

Tang Ye was Ten Hag’s protégé. If he was Ten Hag’s protégé…

Then it made sense!

…

Overseas Weekly—Utrecht 3:2 Feyenoord, Guangdong teen Tang Ye scores volley winner.

Utrecht Evening News front page—In Trouble? Utrecht’s Dutch Cup semifinal against Saints FC kicks off at 9:45 PM.

Under Dutch law, Tang cannot work after 10 PM—meaning if Utrecht follows the law, he’s limited to at most 15 minutes of playing time.

…

The schedule is tight: they played Feyenoord on the 28th, and now face Saints FC on March 2nd.

It’s the Dutch Cup semifinal—a crucial match.

Logically, Tang Ye should be excited to play in the semifinal. But he wasn’t excited—he felt uneasy.

Because he might only get 15 minutes.

Knock knock!

After lunch, Tang Ye knocked on Ten Hag’s door.

“Mr. Eric, can I be named in the squad for the semifinal?”

This was Tang Ye’s first season with the first team—he’d never played a proper knockout match in the Netherlands.

To say he didn’t want to play in tomorrow’s semifinal? That would be a lie!

“Yes, of course.”

Ten Hag neatly stacked the papers on his desk: “You won’t just play—you’ll start. Hardworking players are rewarded. You haven’t been late to training all week—you deserve to start.”

“So I’ll be subbed off after 15 minutes?”

“Subbed off? No!”

Ten Hag shook his head: “You’ll start and play at least 45 minutes. The club has already budgeted for the fine.”

After learning of the minor protection law’s restrictions, the club set aside a budget specifically to pay the fines.

“Uh… okay.”

Tang Ye nodded, said goodbye to Ten Hag, and left.

On the stairs, Tang Ye met the club’s proprietor, Verhof.

Verhof was also here to see Ten Hag—and he shared Tang Ye’s concern.

“Eric, if Tang is still on the pitch after 10 PM, we’ll be fined.”

Verhof spoke slowly: “A few tens of thousands of euros per fine—we can afford it. But you know the fines increase. Later, they could reach 100,000 euros!”

Verhof stared into Ten Hag’s eyes: “So must Tang play? Can’t you remove him from the squad for these restricted matches?”

A few tens of thousands? Not a fortune—but not small change either.

One fine would cost Utrecht half a team’s salary.

Verhof was pained!

Utrecht wasn’t Manchester United or Real Madrid—it didn’t have that kind of money!

“This… hmm…”

Ten Hag’s expression was strained: “Mr. Paul, I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Alright, so Tang is our key player, then?”

“Key player? No, not at all.”

“If he’s not key, then why can’t you remove him from the squad?”

"Mr. Paul, this is probably not possible."

Uh...

Verhof placed his hand over his forehead.

A bit speechless.

The Dutch Cup semifinal: Utrecht vs. Saints FC.

Saints FC is a team from Holland’s fourth division, three full tiers below the Eredivisie.

The opponent isn’t strong, but since it’s a semifinal, Utrecht still took it seriously.

At the 15th minute, the crowd’s eyes turned to Ten Hag, who was standing in front of the substitutes’ bench.

Ten Hag remained unmoved.

"OK, Ten Hag is ignoring the rules again!"

"Utrecht is being arrogant—let’s see if Tang Ye can make this fine worth it!"

"Go, King Tang!"

At the 24th minute, Aale headed in a goal, giving Utrecht the lead at home.

Then, at the 37th minute!

"Tang Ye! Not fast, but his rhythm is excellent."

"Pass to Klebe, who’s making a run down the flank!"

"Perfect! King Tang delivered a brilliant pass!"

"Klebe! Long shot!"

"Goal!"

"..."

"Ramselaar, look at de Jong beside you!"

"Pass or not? No pass! Ramselaar’s being too selfish—he’s dribbling alone!"

"Foul! Away team foul! Utrecht gets a free kick!"

"Give it to Mong! Let Mong take it!"

"Tang Ye! Send it into the box!"

"Goal!!!"

"3-0! Utrecht leads by three goals!"

"Good job—Utrecht really got their money’s worth from this fine; Mong already has two assists."

"Damn, I didn’t bet because the odds were too low. Should’ve placed a 10,000-euro bet—I’d’ve made over a thousand!"

"Wait, how did Saints FC even make it to the semifinal? They’re so trash."

"Saints FC trash? No—Utrecht is just too strong!"

"Utrecht too strong? No—King Tang is just too strong!"

"Bijansdoeteenbalprecies"

"Wateenbalmoetdoen"

"Wehebbengoedespelers"

"..."

At halftime, leading 3-0, the home fans were ecstatic.

Although ahead, Ten Hag didn’t rush to substitute Tang Ye off.

Utrecht had hired lawyers to calculate it: Tang Ye playing 45 minutes or 55 minutes incurred the same fine.

So why not let him play until 55 minutes?

The Holland fourth division players weren’t physically strong—even Tang Ye could handle them.

Seeing the opposing defensive midfielder showing off in front of him, Tang Ye charged forward.

"I got it! I got it!"

He slid in a tackle, fell to the ground, looked up, then kicked the ball with his leg into the box. Aale received it, turned, and smashed a powerful shot into the net.

It was Aale’s second goal of the match!

And also Tang Ye’s hat-trick of assists!

A hat-trick of assists!

【You gained 5 Reverse Points】

【Hat-trick of assists: bonus 20 Reverse Points】

【First hat-trick of assists: bonus 20 Reverse Points】

That felt good!

Today’s rule-breaking match cost Utrecht tens of thousands of euros.

It bankrupted the club—but enriched him!

The extra 40 Reverse Points from the assist hat-trick thrilled Tang Ye—he now wanted to see what reward he’d get for a four-assist game.

But sadly, after the dead ball, Ten Hag began making substitutions.

It was the 53rd minute—if Tang Ye played two more minutes, Utrecht would have to pay an extra 8,500 euros in fines!

"Tom!"

Thud! Thud!

"Tom!"

Thud! Thud!

The home fans applauded Tang Ye as he jogged off the pitch.

The opponent was weak; Tang Ye had wanted to farm more Reverse Points.

But restrictions were on him.

What could he do?

【At 37, you play for an Eredivisie team, restricted by the Dutch Middle-Aged Player Protection Law—you cannot play full matches in certain games.】

【System Middle-Aged Player Protection Law triggered. Selecting your compensation reward...】

【Playing at middle age often causes slower reaction speed. As compensation, you gain: 18-year-old reaction speed!】

18-year-old reaction speed?

Walking from the sideline to the substitutes’ bench, Tang Ye’s expression went slack.

Wait—18-year-old reaction speed?

He was 16, and his reaction speed was already at 16-year-old level.

But the system had awarded him 18-year-old reaction speed.

Sixteen-year-old reaction speed versus eighteen-year-old reaction speed...

Holy shit!

Tang Ye now had one question.

Is this making him stronger—or weaker?

(End of Chapter)