Chapter 892: Uncle Kane Finally Wins the Title, Chinese Football League

‘Beep, beeeep—!!!’

‘The match is over!’

‘Guys, 6-2! Manchester United have won the FIFA Club World Cup this year—this is United’s first trophy of the season!’

‘By the way, hehe, it’s also our Tang King’s first Club World Cup title.’

There was simply too great a gap in strength; for Al-Hilal, defeating Manchester United head-on was nearly an impossible task.

You’re facing Manchester United—this team is full of players from last World Cup’s top four.

Clap! Clap!

‘Vamostom!’

‘Vamos!’

Hearing the noise, Tang Ye stood up from the bench, raised his right fist into the air, and excitedly waved to the fans.

Tang Ye’s attention had been fixed on Kane all along—even the match director had kept the camera on him.

‘How are you feeling now?’

Kane was too busy responding to the fans to hear what Tang Ye had said.

‘Hah!’

Tang Ye nudged Mata beside him and pointed at Kane: ‘He’s stunned!’

‘Hey, what did you say?’

Only then did Kane turn his head to ask Tang Ye what he’d just asked—but Tang Ye stayed silent, pretending he hadn’t said a word.

‘Eme! (Please!)’

Realizing he’d been played by his captain, Kane felt uneasy: ‘Don’t do that, Tom.’

‘Don’t treat me like a rookie—I could be your uncle.’

Usually, rookies get teased by veteran teammates; Kane worried Tang Ye was treating him like one.

‘I really didn’t say anything—Osman can vouch for me.’

Under Kane’s stare, Dembélé raised both hands in innocence: ‘I know nothing.’

…

{‘raw_term’: ‘Amazing, amazing!!’, ‘original_term’: ‘Amazing, amazing!!’}

{‘raw_term’: ‘Kane’s curse isn’t that strong; it doesn’t even compare to France’s defending champion curse, which was broken so easily’, ‘original_term’: ‘Kane’s curse isn’t that strong; it doesn’t even compare to France’s defending champion curse, which was broken so easily’}

{‘raw_term’: ‘ggbond got armor-piercing, you thought’, ‘original_term’: ‘ggbond got armor-piercing, you thought’}

{‘raw_term’: ‘How many trophies can Manchester United win this season? Could it be five?’, ‘original_term’: ‘How many trophies can Manchester United win this season? Could it be five?’}

The runner-up award ceremony was underway, but the music playing over the speakers was drowned out by Manchester United fans’ cheers, leaving the Al-Hilal players on the podium feeling awkward.

This perfectly proved the saying: since Ten Hag joined, Manchester United has become increasingly bandit-like—both the players on the pitch and the fans off it behave exactly like bandits.

‘Now, the championship award ceremony begins.’

‘The champion team of this FIFA Club World Cup—the European representative, Manchester United!’

Following Ten Hag and Tang Ye, the United players stepped onto the podium one by one; Tang Ye met Infantino again, after their last encounter at the World Cup third-place ceremony.

‘Mr. President.’

Tang Ye shook hands and embraced Infantino.

‘You’ve done a lot.’

‘Huh?’

‘Oh, I mean Chinese football—you’ve done a lot for your country’s football.’

Infantino smiled at Tang Ye: ‘You’ve got guts. You know China is huge—some things are not easy to fix.’

‘But I feel we can’t get any worse. The gap between our league level—Super League, China League One, etc.—and the national team is too wide; there’s no future unless we do something.’

‘Well, it’s a good idea—and if it succeeds, you could make a fortune.’

Infantino’s eyes narrowed into slits, giving the impression he was about to drool.

FIFA has some oversight over the Chinese Football Association, but not enough to let Infantino do anything—even to open up the Chinese market.

Judging by Tang Ye’s recent moves… this guy seems to want to make a massive play here!

‘Making money is secondary.’

Tang Ye’s words stunned Infantino: ‘If this can really take off, I’m willing to lose some money.’

‘Wow!’

Infantino nodded, unsure whether he believed Tang Ye: ‘Good luck.’

Infantino didn’t offer any help—he knew FIFA couldn’t do much anyway.

All they could possibly offer was financial support, but before confirming success, Infantino wouldn’t lift a finger.

Tang Ye’s strength is playing football, not running the Chinese league—so the odds of losing money here are extremely high. Until he understands Tang Ye’s plan, FIFA must wait.

‘Wish me luck.’

Tang Ye and Infantino shook hands again.

‘Here.’

Ten Hag handed the trophy to Tang Ye, standing in the center of the team; Tang Ye kissed the trophy, then turned to Kane beside him: ‘Want you to hold it?’

‘You hold it first.’

‘No, I mean—let you hold it.’

‘Wow? Huh…’

Kane took a sharp breath: ‘I think that might not be right?’

‘Huh?’

Kane’s English was muddled, like his tongue and lips were stuck together—Tang Ye didn’t understand.

Didn’t matter. Tang Ye didn’t argue with teammates—he just shoved the trophy into Kane’s arms.

‘Wow!’

Kane’s smile spread across his face immediately.

‘Then I’ll take it.’

‘Phew…’

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

The newly set-up podium shook up and down as players jumped around, waiting for Kane’s countdown.

‘3!’

‘2!’

‘1!’

‘Wow!!!!’

Boom!

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Golden confetti shot into the sky as Kane raised the trophy above his head, his expression terrifying.

‘Fuck!’

Mua!

Kane kissed the trophy: ‘Hah, fuck!’

‘This is just the beginning!’