Chapter 93: Pass the Ball to Tang! (Request Monthly Tickets!)

No words, only actions

Long live Feyenoord

Brothers in arms

…

The Feyenoord anthem echoed across the pitch.

It was the 10th minute of the first half, and the home fans were extremely excited.

They could see their team held the advantage!

Look at the current possession rate—Utrecht has less than 40%.

And this is even after Tang Ye joined the pressing!

Clearly, Utrecht’s high press had failed to counter Feyenoord’s rapid attacking rhythm.

“Utrecht is struggling now, De Jong, get the ball to the left flank!”

“Aale drops back to receive—see if he can find an opening!”

“Aale is trapped! Tang Ye, go support him!”

“Aale passes to Tang Ye!”

“It’s King Tang’s time to shine!”

The camera cut to Tang Ye—he’d noticed a gap at the right baseline where Balazs was standing, so as soon as he received the ball, he immediately turned his head toward the right.

But unfortunately, during the time Tang Ye had run into position, both Balazs and Ramseyer, who had dropped back to help on the right, were now marked by defenders.

…

With no better option, Tang Ye passed directly to Jostens, who had dropped back to receive.

“Go go go!”

Jostens shouted twice; Tang Ye reacted instantly and sprinted into the penalty area.

This was a vertical positional switch by Utrecht—Tang Ye had surged straight into the box!

“Look! Look!”

Goalkeeper Vorm grew anxious and frantically signaled his defenders to stop Tang Ye.

Van Bick reached out—but as Tang Ye ran forward, he suddenly crouched, then rose again, perfectly avoiding Van Bick’s intentional foul.

You can do that!?

Players in the box were thrown into disarray; Jostens spun and delivered a direct through ball past Bertink, sending it straight into the penalty area.

“One-on-one!”

“This is Tang Ye’s one-on-one chance!”

“Why is it Tang Ye’s one-on-one?!”

“Forget it—let’s just watch this!”

Tang Ye wasn’t fast enough, and Jostens’ pass had too much power.

From the God’s-eye view, goalkeeper Vorm should have reached the ball first.

But that didn’t stop Tang Ye.

He went for a scissor kick!

Thud!

Tang Ye slid across the grass, pressing his toes downward, stealing the ball from Vorm by a fraction of a second.

Toe poke!

GOOOOO——AAAAAA——LLLLLLLL!!!

“Tang Ye!”

“Tang Ye scores! Utrecht takes the lead!”

“What the hell is going on?!”

Fans in the livestream erupted.

The scene looked like Feyenoord was leading—but Tang Ye always found a way to beat the opponent to the ball and score first.

That’s the charm of King Tang!

“Come out, haters! Come out, haters!”

“Is this luck? Tell me this is luck!”

“F***, as soon as King Tang stops playing, you haters start yelling!”

On camera, Tang Ye spread his arms and threw a powerful uppercut.

“TOM!”

Aale charged in from behind, slipped his arms under Tang Ye’s armpits, and lifted the team hero high.

Slap slap slap slap!

Ten Hag applauded the players on the pitch.

The match continued.

Van Bronckhorst was under pressure now.

With home advantage and superior form, Van Bronckhorst had believed this match was already won.

But now it seemed otherwise.

There’s something wrong with them!

Van Bronckhorst held up two fingers toward his players.

It was Feyenoord’s internal signal.

One finger meant play open football.

Two fingers meant seek set pieces.

The director reacted instantly and cut to the shot.

The coach’s intent was tactical adjustment—but to the fans, those two fingers might mean something else.

【WTF, still two goals? Is Feyenoord really that arrogant?】

【They probably haven’t been taught enough by my Mong—wait till I drop a divine pass, then they’ll see the gap between them and Utrecht】

【I’m Mong with three stripes of sliding—what do I care about two fingers?】

【Charge charge charge! Dutch Cup champions!】

【Feyenoord won once against Utrecht at the start of the season and thinks they’re invincible? We’ve got to crush them】

【I think Tang Ye’s goal was just luck—Feyenoord’s real strength is undeniable, Utrecht might not win】

【Upstairs, turn off your DMs】

At the 28th minute of the first half, Utrecht’s midfield made a small passing error.

Ramseyer assumed Tang Ye would press forward—but Tang Ye didn’t, so his pass went straight to Ahmeddi.

Ahmeddi immediately passed to Vleuten on the left flank!

Vleuten passed to Kuyt!

Utrecht’s players sensed something was wrong—everyone from midfield to forwards began retreating.

Kuyt was extremely fast—he completely outpaced Tang Ye!

To Elia!

Elia drove to the byline!

Elia and Klebe engaged in a one-on-one on the wing; Elia slowly pressured Utrecht’s defense, and when the defense was sufficiently compressed, he delivered a cutback.

Now in possession was Feyenoord’s holding midfielder Ahmeddi!

Ahmeddi adjusted two steps.

Feinted a shot!

Then suddenly sprinted into the box!

De Jong, deceived, reached out and pulled Ahmeddi down.

“Whistle!”

De Jong received a yellow card for the foul—but it was his only option.

He had to take the card.

Because if he didn’t, it would be disastrous!

Ahmeddi rolled on the ground, nearly inside the box—being suddenly fouled felt unjust.

But as he stood up, he suddenly smiled again.

Not because De Jong got the yellow card.

But because referee Gudla’s designated free-kick spot was perfectly aligned with the goal.

A perfect direct free-kick position!

“Stand! Stand! Move left! Move left!”

Goalkeeper Ruiter began organizing the wall.

Feyenoord’s set piece!

Kuyt to take it!

Direct shot!

The ball flew between the heads of Tang Ye and Ramseyer, then found the net.

The angle of this shot is absolutely perfect!

“Wowwwww!!!”

The home team’s fans on the stands erupted in cheers.

“That’s that powerful?”

Tang Ye gripped his waist with both hands, his expression clearly unpleasant.

Kuyt’s direct free-kick ability was far beyond his expectations!

“Feyenoord!”

Thud! Thud!

“Feyenoord!”

Thud! Thud!

With the score tied 1-1, the match resumed, and the home fans’ passion was fully ignited.

Everyone says Feyenoord, PSV, and Ajax are the Big Three of the Eredivisie, but this season Utrecht rose unexpectedly, pushing Feyenoord down to fourth place.

The most embarrassing part? Feyenoord, in fourth, is ten points behind PSV in third—and sixteen points behind Utrecht!

The Dutch Cup final is Feyenoord’s best chance to salvage their pride!

The sudden change made Ten Hag feel something was off, so he ordered Amrabat to start warming up.

At the 37th minute, the score was still 1-1, but Utrecht’s disadvantage was now visibly clear.

“I’ll take it! I’ll take it!”

Tang Ye once again called for the ball; his jersey was now soaked in sweat.

If nothing unexpected happens, this is likely the most active movement he’s ever made in his career!

Here it comes!

Tang Ye controlled Koom’s low, long pass.

Learning from earlier mistakes, Kramer targeted Tang Ye the moment he received the ball.

Holy shit!

Kramer, nearly two meters tall, charged toward Tang Ye, making him involuntarily step back.

But no big deal—Tang Ye quickly recovered.

Dribbling past was impossible, so Tang Ye passed to Ramseyer on the right.

Ramseyer passed to Barazite.

Barazite passed it right back!

The combination was excellent; Tang Ye regained possession.

Send it straight to the right baseline!

Tang Ye not only delivered the pass, but delivered it with perfect control.

But!

Barazite didn’t run!

“Fuck!”

Barazite clutched his head, watching helplessly as Tang Ye’s pass rolled straight to Kong Geluo’s feet.

He didn’t react in time!

Ten Hag threw his hands up in frustration.

If Barazite had made that run, they likely would’ve created a clear scoring chance.

But blaming Barazite outright wouldn’t be fair either.

Ten Hag sat back down on the bench, when Van der Gaag suddenly asked him a question.

“Did you expect him to pass straight to the baseline?”

Ten Hag turned, checked that no teammates were paying attention, then whispered: “No.”

…

“Whew, that was close!”

“Half-time! Still 1-1.”

“Shit, scared me half to death—Feyenoord almost took the lead, but thank god Ruyt held strong.”

“It’s tied, but I don’t think we can keep playing like this.”

“Utrecht’s rhythm is worse than Feyenoord’s. If we keep this up, something’s bound to break.”

“Ten Hag, Saint Ten! Can you come up with something?!”

The situation grew tense; Utrecht’s squad was under heavy pressure.

“Fuck, those forwards charge at us the second we get the ball—I’m totally done.”

“They’re pressing us too hard.”

Tang Ye and De Jong chatted all the way to the locker room before stopping.

“Hurry up, everyone, sit down!”

Ten Hag stood in the center urging them on; Tang Ye and De Jong sprinted to the corner and sat beside Amrabat.

“Got any gum?”

De Jong placed his hand on Tang Ye’s thigh; the latter turned and pulled his backpack from the locker.

“I want one too!”

Aalderink ran over and grabbed two pieces.

Ten Hag kept fiddling with the tactics board, noticing the players chewing gum.

Only Tang Ye chewed it out of pure preference—the rest were doing it because of stress.

“I know you’re all under pressure. You know why? Because the opponent presses hard.”

“The moment you get the ball, they come sprinting at you—bam, bam, bam.”

Ten Hag mimicked running in place, then spread his hands: “So I need you to pass faster. Defenders must help midfielders; midfielders sometimes must help forwards.”

“The essence of attack is creating numerical superiority in the front third—but it’s not absolute...”

Ten Hag’s next sentence was quieter.

“So we’re going to play high pressing?”

Ramseyer asked.

“Yes. We can press high. The opponent’s open-play goal efficiency isn’t as high as I thought, so we can push our defensive line higher.”

Ten Hag explained: “And for passing—here’s a key point...”

“When you’re dribbling, if you see no defenders near Tang’s position, find a way to get the ball to him.”

Huh?

Hearing his name suddenly, Tang Ye froze, snapping his head up.

Under Tang Ye’s stare, Ten Hag’s face flushed slightly.

“Yes, like this—Tang’s position is central. He can distribute to left or right. He’s the playmaker. You need to feed him the ball. That’s the idea. I’m not saying Tang is the core—just that you need to do this.”

“Just remember this.”

Ten Hag scanned the entire locker room.

“Forwards, pay attention to your positioning—and get the ball to Tang as often as you can.”

Van der Gaag walked over and whispered in Ten Hag’s ear: “This doesn’t sound like a tactic.”

“No, it is a tactic.”

…

“Second half begins! Welcome back, everyone! The score is still 1-1. Let’s see what tactical adjustments Ten Hag has made.”

“Can Utrecht rise to the occasion? This is their closest shot at the Dutch Cup title in ten years!”

The camera zoomed in on Tang Ye—his unusually serious expression surprised fans watching live.

【What’s going on with King Tang?】

【Tears—Monggo really wants this trophy.】

【Tang Ye: My teammates are too weak—I have no choice but to carry them.】

The fans didn’t know what crucial mission Ten Hag had given Tang Ye at halftime.

Tang Ye knew the mission.

It was playmaking!

Ten Hag stood before Utrecht’s bench, squinting.

For this final, decided by the championship trophy, Ten Hag had unveiled his ultimate tactic.

Now, the outcome rested entirely on the players on the pitch!

“Tostela!”

“Tostela is dribbling into the box—he’s showing off again!”

“Tostela’s still showing off!”

“Tang Ye, go in and tackle him!”

“Beautiful!”

“...”

“Fuck, he didn’t score? What’s wrong with Barazite today?!”

Barazite slammed a volley toward the stands, sending both home and away fans diving to cover their heads.

After missing two excellent chances, Barazite’s form was clearly off.

“It’s fine, it’s fine!”

Tang Ye ran over and slapped Barazite on the shoulder: “There’s still time, there’s still time.”

Under Tenghahe ’s “ultimate tactic,” Tang Ye’s touches in the second half increased noticeably.

But Feyenoord adjusted their tactics—Ahmedi abandoned all offensive duties and glued himself to Tang Ye.

Van der Maarel passed to Tang Ye; Ahmedi instantly clamped onto him from behind.

Fuck!

Tang Ye used his hip to shield the ball, tried to fake a move and break free—but Ahmedi tackled him clean.

Absolutely infuriating!

Time ticked away minute by minute; the 80th minute arrived, and the score remained 1-1.

Feyenoord’s midfield focused entirely on Tang Ye, indirectly weakening their own attack.

“Teng Hake is incredible!”

“Teng Hake probably knew this would stop the opponent from scoring.”

“But it’s a shame—Tang Ye can barely find a passing chance now!”

“…”

“Villena, shoot!”

“Not bad, not bad—the goalkeeper’s form is still solid.”

Both head coaches were growing anxious.

Glance at the giant screen at the top of the stadium.

88’21

88th minute—estimated stoppage time: 3 or 4 minutes.

The probability of scoring in the final 6 minutes was slim; Teng Hake felt uneasy.

As the weaker side, Utrecht should logically accept extra time.

But Utrecht simply couldn’t accept it.

Running 90 minutes was already exhausting for Tang Ye; extra time would break him.

With Tang Ye on the pitch, Utrecht’s attack was neutered!

Teng Hake was helpless—his brilliant tactics were useless, impossible to deploy.

He turned around.

“Ayoub, get changed…”

“Wowww!”

Just as Teng Hake was about to have Ayoub warm up, a huge section of fans in the stands suddenly stood up.

What the—?

Teng Hake whipped his head around.

Tang Ye had inexplicably moved to the right flank.

He was pretending to be a winger—but he wasn’t running toward the byline!

Thwack!

【De Bruyne 45-degree cross】

The ball flew directly from the right flank into the box; Ale sprinted in.

Quick little steps to adjust.

Jumped and shot!

Goalkeeper Vermeer’s fingertips touched the ball—but it made no difference.

The ball…

Scored!

【You gained 5 Counterattack Points】

“Beautiful!”

“Winning goal!”

“Tang Ye’s perfect 45-degree cross!”

“Goal!”

“2-1!”

“2-1!”

Boom boom boom!

The livestream channel rang with the sound of mechanical keyboards slamming against desks.

Five minutes of stoppage time—goal in the 91st minute.

What else could this be but a last-minute winner?

It’s a winner, damn it!

“…”

The home fans’ section fell eerily silent; Teng Hake burst onto the pitch with Utrecht’s substitutes.

“Tactics! That’s tactics!”

Teng Hake roared, then dropped to his knees and slid across the pitch.

He didn’t slide far—but the emotion was finally released.

“TOM!”

Remembering who dug the well, Ale sprinted toward Tang Ye at top speed.

Kramer stood nearly two meters tall; Ale was only slightly shorter. Seeing Ale charging toward him from afar, Tang Ye felt tense.

“Good ball!”

Ale headbutted Tang Ye to the ground.

“Oh, sorry, sorry!”

He pulled Tang Ye back up.

“TOM! Great job—we won! We won!”

Tang Ye was surrounded by teammates; Teng Hake rushed over, desperate to hug him—but he was locked out.

“Mr. Eric!”

Ayoub hurried over: “Mr. Eric, do I still need to change clothes?”

“Change! Change now!”

Teng Hake shouted: “Change and get ready to collect the trophy!”

…

(End of Chapter)