Chapter 94: Dutch Cup Champion, Tang
«Feyenoord!»
«Feyenoord!»
The home team’s fans on the stands roared hysterically.
They were begging for a miracle—a goal scored within the final three minutes.
But Utrecht’s celebration isn’t over yet!
«Beep!»
The referee blew his whistle and showed Tang Ye a yellow card for time-wasting.
«What the hell, that’s a card now?»
Tang Ye ran up to argue with the referee: «I didn’t waste time, sir, listen to me, listen to me.»
Getting a yellow card at the end of the match wasn’t a big deal, but Tang Ye insisted on nagging the ref.
He needed to waste time!
«I didn’t waste time, sir, my teammate has already taken the kickoff.»
Tang Ye spread his hands, feigning innocence to the referee.
«No, that’s a yellow card. Please step away, thank you.»
He glanced at the clock.
94 minutes!
OK!
Tang Ye obediently walked away.
Yellow card: Tang Y.
«Tang the King got a yellow card!»
«But it doesn’t matter—Feyenoord only has one minute left!»
Back on the bench, Ten Hag and the Utrecht substitutes were already fidgeting.
This wasn’t just any knockout match.
This was the final!
The winner of the final gets the trophy!
The Dutch Cup trophy!
On the broadcast, Feyenoord’s players launched a rapid attack on Utrecht’s goal, while coach Van Bronckhorst sat motionless on the bench.
Van Bronckhorst was the coach—he could see Feyenoord had no chance left!
Equalize?
To hell with it—this match is over!
On the pitch, Tang Ye was shoved back and forth by Ahmed and Kuyt, covered in grass clippings.
It was uncomfortable, but the thought of lifting the trophy moments later made it all vanish.
Adrenaline suppresses pain!
«Beep, beep-beep!!!»
«Match over!»
«Match over! Utrecht defeated Feyenoord 2-1!»
«Utrecht are champions!»
The substitutes surged out again with Ten Hag; Tang Ye cupped his hands over his mouth and nose in a steeple shape.
【Ultimate Chest: The Balanced Scales—guarantee for a man walking the football league. Based on current conditions, the chest has three trigger methods.】
1. Trigger unconditionally. Reward: 99% chance of Legendary Template, 1% chance of Ultimate Template. (Condition met)
2. Win the Dutch Cup or League title. Reward: 80% chance of Legendary Template, 20% chance of Ultimate Template. (Condition met)
«Phew…»
He exhaled slowly—having won the Dutch Cup, he now met Condition Two for unlocking the Ultimate Chest.
A 20% chance of the Ultimate Chest!
Tang Ye was thrilled, but his focus couldn’t be on the system right now.
He needed to celebrate!
Celebrate with his teammates!
«Tom, we did it—you said we would, and we did it!»
Ramseyer’s eyes were red with excitement; Tang Ye pulled him into a hug. De Jong, Amrabat, and Van der Maarel slowly joined them, forming a big circle, jumping and bouncing.
Aale wasn’t in the circle—he was down by the stands, trading insults with the home fans.
«Xuuu!!»
Feyenoord fans, furious at losing the title, booed Utrecht wildly; Aale flipped them the middle finger in return.
«Aale!»
Tang Ye and Ramseyer ran toward Aale—they’d been sent by Ten Hag to bring him back.
But Aale, clearly provoked by the fans, pointed at Tang Ye the moment he arrived: «Hey, you know how he scored on your goal?»
«Like this!»
Aale crouched down and waddled across the grass like a duck.
«Hahaha!»
Ramseyer couldn’t hold it in anymore.
«Come on, don’t do that!»
Tang Ye spread his hands, innocent; soon Amrabat ran up and mimicked Aale’s duck-walk.
Behind them came De Jong and Van der Maarel.
«Aale, Bart, Sofyan, stop this…»
«You get down too!»
Amrabat yanked Tang Ye down; he was forced to crouch on the ground.
«Damn!»
Ten Hag’s head throbbed.
He told them to fetch Aale—and now the whole group was acting like ducks!
«What are you doing?!»
Ten Hag sprinted toward the players.
«Erik Ten Hag!»
«Xuuuu——!!!!»
What the hell?
Ten Hag glared at the Feyenoord fans in the stands, furious—he raised his index finger: «What are you yelling about? We have the Dutch Cup. What do you have?»
«Oh, and I’ve got three Coach of the Month awards. What do you have?»
«What do you have?!»
OK, now he felt better!
These Feyenoord bastards were so full of themselves—but they didn’t even win the Dutch Cup, let alone a monthly coach award.
He couldn’t fathom why they dared to argue with Ten Hag.
Feyenoord’s players trudged off the pitch with heads down; officials and stadium staff emerged to set up the award podium for Utrecht.
«Are we really getting the trophy on their home ground?»
Tang Ye stared wide-eyed.
He’d never won the Dutch Cup before—he hadn’t expected the ceremony to start right after the final whistle.
«Yes, we’re getting it on their home ground!»
Aale rubbed his hands, walking slowly toward the podium: «By the way, Tang, you might get an extra trophy.»
«What do you mean?»
Tang Ye followed him—Aale’s words made his excitement surge even higher.
«MVP—you’re definitely MVP.»
«Oh, you mean that?»
Tang Ye spread his hands: «The Dutch Cup MVP trophy is tiny—it doesn’t even count as a trophy, does it?»
«The final is different.»
Ramseyer ran up from behind and slapped Tang Ye’s butt.
«Different? What’s different?»
Tang Ye chased after Ramseyer, but Ramseyer didn’t answer.
A different trophy.
Why would the final’s MVP trophy be different?
Tang Ye rubbed his hands as Amrabat pushed him toward the podium.
Mr. Van Praag, president of the Dutch FA, stood on the podium; beside him stood two attendants holding dozens of medals—awards for Utrecht’s first-team players.
«Ha!»
Tang Ye took a deep breath and stepped firmly onto the podium.
“Nonono!”
Ramselaar quickly pulled Tang Ye down from below.
“What’s going on?”
Tang Ye looked left and right, not understanding Ramselaar’s meaning.
“Oh, oh oh! Sorry sorry!”
Tang Ye hurried down the steps.
“Haha, it’s fine, it’s fine!”
Ten Hag patted Tang Ye’s arm and strode up the award podium steps.
“Mr. Plag!”
“Mr. Eric!”
President Plag shook hands with Ten Hag, and Utrecht’s players immediately followed.
“Thank you!”
Aale bent down, Plag tiptoed, and finally hung the medal around the Ivory Coast player’s neck.
“Hurry up, hurry up!”
Tang Ye urged Amrabat to move forward. “Eh, how can I hurry? You tell them to hurry!”
Amrabat walked forward and received his medal under Tang Ye’s observation.
He played only five minutes in this match.
But it didn’t matter.
Winning by lying down is still winning!
Amrabat walked past behind Aale; Tang Ye came before Plag: “Mr. President, hello.”
“Wow.”
“A 17-year-old magical player.”
Plag squeezed Tang Ye’s shoulders twice—unlike the other players, Tang Ye’s frame was slender, and his muscles were softer.
“This is yours.”
Plag took out the medal and hung it around Tang Ye’s neck.
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
!
Tang Ye nodded, then quickly ran off.
He picked up the medal around his neck to look at it.
“knvbbeker,” with a pinecone pattern on it.
Tang Ye had seen this same pinecone pattern on the MVP trophy he won in the Dutch Cup before—it was the Dutch Cup’s emblem.
After the last player received his medal, Ten Hag returned to President Plag, and Utrecht’s head coach accepted their championship trophy with a broad smile.
“Utrecht!”
“Utrecht!”
“Ten Hag!”
There weren’t many fans in the away section, but due to the home fans’ departure, the players on the central podium could still hear the crowd.
“Wowoww!”
Ten Hag walked slowly toward the players, holding the trophy; the players crouched down.
“Here, here, Eric, come to the middle!”
“3”
“2”
“1”
“Utrecht!”
“Champions!”
Ten Hag handed the trophy to Ramselaar, who then raised it high with a sudden motion.
“Utrecht!”
This was Utrecht’s first Dutch Cup title since 2003; none of the players had ever touched this trophy, so everyone was curious—Tang Ye was no exception.
“Ready? Ready? Let me touch it.”
Tang Ye took the trophy from Van der Maarel.
Hss—
Lighter than expected, but the large pinecone design was still unique among all trophies.
“Wow!”
Tang Ye raised the trophy sharply, but the fans didn’t cheer as loudly as before.
“Why aren’t they saying anything?”
Tang Ye pointed to the fans in the stands.
“You need to count down three, two, one—that’s how it works.”
“Okok.”
Tang Ye cleared his throat.
“3”
“2”
“1”
“Utrecht!”
“Woww!”
Now the fans made noise—but only slightly louder than before.
“Shout in Dutch!”
Van der Maarel was speechless: “They’re reading your lips—you shout in Chinese, what are they supposed to do?”
“Oh oh oh, my fault, my fault.”
Tang Ye reset his posture.
“3!”
“2!”
“1!”
“Utrecht!”
“Woww!”
“Tommmm!!!!!!”
Now that felt right!
Tang Ye’s face flushed red—he’d shouted too loudly.
Ground staff allowed the reporters onto the field; Dutch football journalists snapped away furiously at Ten Hag and Utrecht’s players.
Ten Hag walked Zhudong toward the reporters.
“Eric! Mr. Eric! You led the team to win the Dutch Cup in your first season at Utrecht—a feat they haven’t achieved in over a decade. What do you have to say about it?”
One male reporter shouted loudly; Ten Hag walked over, and when he stopped, the reporter handed him the microphone.
“Utrecht hasn’t won the Dutch Cup in over a decade—I know that—but honestly, I don’t care much.”
Ten Hag’s words surprised the reporters: “Many fans think we haven’t won a trophy in over a decade, so we can’t win one—I think that’s absolutely wrong. We’ve won one now.”
“Ten Hag!”
The fans in the stands shouted Ten Hag’s name.
“Eric, this is your first season at Utrecht. Last season, Utrecht finished 11th in the league and performed poorly in the Dutch Cup. But since you arrived, you’ve won the Dutch Cup, and…”
“You’re also currently top of the league.”
The reporter reminded him.
“Hmm, yes.”
Ten Hag pursed his lips: “My goal here is to make the team better. Utrecht’s players are excellent. My aim is to have these excellent players execute excellent tactics—and well, here we are: we won the match, we won the championship.”
Click!
Click-click-click!
“Can we talk about the Eredivisie, Eric? I mentioned earlier—Utrecht is currently top of the league table. PSV, Ajax, and Feyenoord are all behind you. What do you think…”
“Hmm…”
Ten Hag raised his hand to interrupt the reporter: “PSV, Ajax, and Feyenoord—you call them the ‘Big Three’ of the Eredivisie—but I don’t really like that term.”
Ten Hag looked the reporter in the eye: “No matter how strong a team is, it will weaken. They won’t stay strong forever.”
“The Big Three are great—but their era will end.”
!!!
…
“Mr. Ten Hag is bragging again.”
Tang Ye touched the medal on his chest and saw Ten Hag, surrounded by reporters, far away.
The podium had been cordoned off with yellow tape by stadium staff, so as long as Tang Ye didn’t walk over voluntarily, he wouldn’t be surrounded by reporters.
Tang Ye had no time for media interviews—he still had one thing to do.
That was to receive the Finals MVP trophy.
Just as Ramsellar had said, this Finals MVP trophy was “different.”
It had the same pinecone shape, but was only slightly smaller than the championship trophy.
“Tom!”
The moment Tang Ye received the MVP trophy, the players rushed over.
“Didn’t I say it, hahaha, Tom! Congratulations!”
Ramsellar and Ale walked up together, and soon Tang Ye was surrounded by his teammates.
Barazite appeared out of nowhere with a new bottle of mineral water.
“Come on, come on!”
Amid the players’ cheers, Tang Ye held out his trophy.
Splash!
Mineral water poured into the trophy.
“Okay okay, that’s enough, that’s enough!”
Tang Ye gripped his trophy in one hand and took a deep gulp of the water inside.
Then…
He flung the remaining water forward.
“Damn it, Tang!”
“Shit, run!”
“Hahaha!”
【At age 38, you led your Eredivisie team to win the Dutch Cup, your first championship trophy since returning from retirement, and you earned MVP in this match.】
【You received the Middle-Aged Community Welfare Benefit: Comeback Points *100】
…
PS: This chapter is 22,000 characters long—I wrote an extra 2,000 characters just to finish the award ceremony, and didn’t break it off!
How about it, where are my monthly votes?
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(End of chapter)
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