Chapter 82: 45 Goals, 38 Offensive Contributions (20k words—seeking monthly votes!)

Utrecht defeated Saint FC 5-0 to advance to the Dutch Cup final.

Tang Ye recorded his second career assist hat-trick in this match, but he is now under immense pressure.

On the return bus, Tang Ye sat in his seat, both hands clutching his phone.

[Which is faster: a 16-year-old’s reaction speed or an 18-year-old’s?]

Tang Ye is very worried.

Because his reaction speed has been artificially accelerated by the system!

He furrowed his brow, carefully scanning the items popping up on the screen.

Tang Ye did not directly search for which reaction speed was faster between 16 and 18, but he caught a key piece of information among the many results.

[Generally, human reaction speed peaks around age 20.]

Ssshh—

If reaction speed peaks at 20, then logically, an 18-year-old’s should be faster than a 16-year-old’s!

“Fuck, that scared me.”

Tang Ye sighed, put his phone back in his pocket, and leaned back to rest for a while.

“Tang, isn’t your birthday coming up soon?”

Amrabat elbowed Tang Ye, who sat beside him.

Immediately after Amrabat asked, Aale turned around from the seat ahead: “Yeah, I remember your registration form says March.”

“It’s March 4th.”

Tang Ye replied: “What’s today’s date again?”

“It’s already the 2nd, so it’s coming soon!”

Tang Ye rubbed his hands.

He was about to turn 17!

“So does that mean I’m no longer a youth team player?”

Tang Ye blinked. Every time Tenghahe submitted the official match squad list to the federation, he saw “U17” next to his name.

Tang Ye disliked this—he felt he was being treated differently.

“No, as long as you haven’t turned 18, you’re still a youth team player, because you signed a youth contract—this is how the Netherlands does it.”

Amrabat answered: “But after this, your name won’t show U17 anymore.”

“Then what will it show?”

“U19!”

Uh…

Okay!

Tang Ye rubbed his head and realized it was indeed true.

Although he was a regular starter in the first team, he had signed a youth contract and was still officially registered with the U17 reserve team.

…

The Utrecht Evening News front page headline: After Tang’s 17th birthday, Utrecht paid a fine of 44,000 euros for two previous matches, saving about 29,000 euros by delaying payment.

Utrecht RTV reporter: Tenghahe was reported by the Dutch Youth Protection Organization.

“Working minors past 10 p.m. is an undeniable violation of the law. Utrecht Club is treating him as a professional player—this is absolutely wrong. Minors should not be professional players.”

Dongqi Di Extra: Analyzing Dutch Minor Protection Law—Could Strict Laws Put Tenghahe at Risk of Arrest?

…

After the match against Saint FC, Tenghahe gave the players half a day off, then gathered them at the gym in the afternoon.

“The result of the other match is out—our final opponent is Feyenoord.”

Tenghahe sat on the bench press, speaking slowly to the players in the room.

“You’ve all felt it in previous matches—we struggle against Feyenoord, even more than against PSV or Ajax. So I want you to stay grounded and not get overconfident…”

Today was the first day after the match; even the afternoon training intensity wouldn’t be high.

Tenghahe spent a long time chatting with the players—essentially holding a small team meeting in the gym.

Tang Ye sat on the floor, reading a novel on the Qidian app. Ahead of him sat Aale, 1.9 meters tall, perfectly blocking Tang Ye’s phone screen.

He was reading comfortably, so he used his account to tip the author 100,000 Qidian coins—then the next second, Tenghahe called his name.

“Hey, Tang, they’re calling you!”

Amrabat kicked Tang Ye’s foot; he quickly hid his phone in his sleeve and looked up at Tenghahe : “Mr. Eric, I’m listening.”

Tenghahe spread his hands: “Tang, I didn’t call your name, did I?”

Huh?

Fuck!

Tang Ye turned to look at Amrabat—the sneaky Moroccan was smirking.

In fact, Tenghahe never called Tang Ye’s name—it was Amrabat who tricked him!

Tang Ye waved it off, thinking the matter was over, but Tenghahe directly ordered him to stand up.

“Come here, stand right here.”

Tenghahe called Tang Ye over to his side; the players sitting on yoga mats struggled to hold back their laughter.

“Eh, Mr. Eric, what’s wrong?”

“This is exactly what I feared.”

Tenghahe ’s expression turned serious, pointing to Tang Ye beside him: “We’re currently top of the Eredivisie and have reached the Dutch Cup final. I’m worried you’re becoming complacent after these successes.”

Tenghahe held up a “9”: “There are nine league matches left. Do you remember our season’s goal?”

“Avoid relegation!”

Tang Ye answered quickly.

“I mean the later goal—we changed it twice.”

“Oh, top four.”

Tang Ye answered again.

“Exactly. We aim for top four—and ideally qualify for the Europa League, even the Champions League! That’s our goal.”

Tenghahe turned his upper body toward Tang Ye: “But Tang, you’re getting a little too full of yourself! You don’t act like a regular youth player—you act like the top scorer or top assist leader in the Eredivisie. Even the actual top assist leader wouldn’t be this arrogant!”

Uh…

Tang Ye felt embarrassed by Tenghahe ’s scolding.

But.

“Actually—”

Tang Ye stepped forward: “Mr. Eric, but I’m already the top assist leader.”

“What?”

Tenghahe leaned sharply backward and turned to Van der Gaag beside him: “Is he telling the truth?”

Van der Gaag nodded.

“….”

Tenghahe had never been wrong in his statements—yet today, he’d been caught out on a trivial matter.

“Wait, when did you become top assist leader? After yesterday’s match? No, yesterday was the Dutch Cup—that doesn’t count.”

Tenghahe thought for a moment.

“Will you be top assist leader after we play Feyenoord?”

“Let me check.”

Tang Ye pulled out his phone, opened the Royal Dutch Football Association homepage, and found this season’s Eredivisie assist stats.

“I don’t remember exactly, but I think I’ve been number one for a while.”

Tang Ye handed his phone to Tenghahe .

He had checked the assist list last December and remembered he was already number one then.

But since it was assists, he never bragged about it to his teammates.

“Let me see.”

Tenghahe took the phone and examined it carefully.

1. Tang Ye (Utrecht), 24

2. Locadia (PSV Eindhoven), 14

3. Duplan (ADO Den Haag), 13

4. Ziyech (Twente), 12

5. Carlsdoop (Feyenoord), 12

“2…24?” Tenghahe ’s eyes widened: “When did you get so many assists?”

That can’t be right!

Tenghahe felt his memory must be wrong.

He remembered Tang Ye only occasionally making one or two bizarre long passes per game.

How did it add up to this?

Most baffling to Tenghahe was that Tang Ye’s lead was ten assists over second place!

Ridiculous—does Utrecht score every goal because of Tang Ye’s assists?!

“Wait a moment.”

Ten Hag signaled the players to hold off, then took Tang Ye’s phone, turned off the Chinese translation, and pulled up the league table.

The league table shows each team’s total goals scored.

Utrecht’s total goals this season so far are 45.

“Phew…”

!

Ten Hag exhaled, handing the phone back to Tang Ye: “You scared me—I thought you were that strong. But assisting half the team’s passes is still pretty impressive.”

Tang Ye has 24 assists; Utrecht’s total goals this season are 45—that’s over 50%.

Although Ten Hag usually likes to PUA Tang Ye, these stats are genuinely solid.

But!

That’s no excuse for Tang Ye to zone out during meetings!

“Eric!”

Fan de Jiahe whispered, leaning close to Ten Hag’s ear: “He’s also scored 14 goals.”

“…”

14 goals?

24 assists, 14 goals…

24 plus 14 is 38.

38.

45.

Hmm…

“Ahem!”

Ten Hag kept his stern expression, waving his hand briefly: “We just won yesterday, so I won’t make things hard for you today. Tang, you’re dismissed.”

Uh!

Tang Ye slipped his phone back into his pocket and hurried back to his spot.

He never expected that damn Eric would let him off!

Tang Ye sighed in relief, sat down, and gave Ram Saierer a middle finger.

Training began immediately, and Tang Ye started his routine.

His Nixi points now stood at 183; Tang Ye didn’t rush to spend them unlocking new item permissions.

The current items were enough for now.

【You purchased Cristiano Ronaldo’s chicken breast.】

Tang Ye wondered if buying two chicken breasts would give him a 4x training boost.

But after testing it, he found that buying the same item during its active duration only refreshed the timer—it didn’t stack the bonus.

Too bad. But then again, it made sense—if stacking worked, Tang Ye could’ve eaten ten chicken breasts today and woken up tomorrow with shoulders half a foot wider!

…

Nearly two hours later, the first-team players finished their gym session; after massage, it was 5:30 p.m.—Utrecht’s first-team dinner time.

“Damn, Bart, I feel my thigh veins pulsing—do you feel that too?”

Walking out of the physio room, Tang Ye limped.

He wasn’t injured—he was just sensing his muscles.

“Hey, Bart?”

Ram Saierer suddenly nodded repeatedly: “Ah, uh…”

“Bart, you’re zoning out—that’s bad. Eric hates distracted players.”

Tang Ye teased.

They were the last to leave the physio room; Tang Ye had noticed Ram Saierer had been distracted since earlier.

As they walked toward the cafeteria, Tang Ye sized up Ram Saierer : “Bart, you’re not thinking about games, are you? I’ve seen you logging into FIFA a lot lately.”

“No way!”

Ram Saierer shot back: “You’re imagining things. I’m not you. That’s impossible. Only lazy pigs who hide in their rooms playing games think about games—and I’m not a lazy pig.”

“Really?”

Tang Ye was skeptical, but said nothing more and kept walking.

“Bart, I think we should hurry.”

Tang Ye suddenly said.

Earlier in the physio room, Ram Saierer had suggested playing a few FIFA matches—but by now, the other teammates had been in the cafeteria for half an hour.

Tang Ye was worried: if everyone had already eaten, the cafeteria would be dead quiet, and he hated eating alone at a table.

Ram Saierer leaned over, glancing at Tang Ye’s phone screen: “Okay, we really should hurry.”

The two broke into a run.

When they reached the cafeteria, they found the windows closed.

And the curtains were drawn.

That’s not right?

Tang Ye rushed over—according to his memory, the cafeteria shouldn’t be closed at this hour.

He pushed the door.

Good—it was open. There must still be food…

“Happy birthday!”

Huh?

Boom!

As Tang Ye stepped inside, a 10-inch cake flew straight at his face.

Though he had the reflexes of an 18-year-old, Tang Ye still couldn’t dodge it.

“Damn!”

Tang Ye jerked his head violently, flinging cream and chocolate off his face.

He wiped his eyes with his shirt, about to curse—then froze.

The first-team cafeteria had transformed. Colored lights glowed everywhere; in the center, a table held a cake with two candles labeled “1” and “7.”

What surprised Tang Ye most: after “17” was a Chinese character—“ Sui .”

Together: “17 Sui .”

“Tang, see? Haha!”

“Wuhu!”

Teammates were cheering. Tang Ye looked around and realized Ram Saierer had somehow reappeared beside him.

“Bart, so you deliberately distracted me with FIFA.”

“Haha, did you like it?”

“I liked it, but…”

Tang Ye rubbed his head: “My birthday is March 4th—should be tomorrow, right?”

“No, it’s today!”

Ten Hag pushed aside Ale and De Jong, stepping forward: “Last week, when your parents came, I asked your mother—you were born at 12:01 a.m. China time on March 4th.”

“Uh… so what?”

“You’re not very smart.”

Ten Hag patted Tang Ye’s shoulder: “We have a time difference. Right now, it’s 12:01 a.m. on March 4th in China!”

“Happy birthday, Tom!”

Over twenty first-team players, along with Ten Hag and Fan de Jiahe, all watched Tang Ye as he stepped forward to his giant cake.

“You need a wish—maybe…”

Ram Saierer was about to suggest ideas, but Tang Ye closed his eyes and blew out the candles instantly.

Tang Ye raised an eyebrow at Ram Saierer : “Bart, I know exactly what I’m wishing for. I’ve always known.”

…

(End of Chapter)