[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-start-with-r9-template":3,"chapter-start-with-r9-template-start-with-r9-template-chapter-3":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Start with R9 Template",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1388673,1840,"Chapter 3: If It Tastes Good, Eat More","start-with-r9-template-chapter-3",3,"\u003Cp>The match restarted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Team B kicked off, but Team A, stung by the goal, pressed high and intense.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>McTominay, receiving the ball under pressure, feinted past a lunging Angel Gomes and immediately sprayed the ball wide to the left flank.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling didn't even need to look.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He heard the defender's boots pounding the turf behind him, felt the pressure on his back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Instead of taking a touch to control it, he let the ball run through his legs and, with a subtle, almost lazy motion, back-heeled it into the open space.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tap.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ball glided in a perfect angled path, completely bypassing the charging defender.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the sideline, Mourinho, who had been watching his feet, looked up.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Hmm,\" he murmured to himself. \"Not just speed. Instinct.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He locked his gaze on the young winger.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling was already in full stride, the move to turn and collect the ball all one fluid motion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He felt... light.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Every touch was perfect, and he could see his teammates' movements in his peripheral vision without even trying.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Demetri Mitchell, the defender he'd just bypassed, recovered quickly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As the main left-back for England's youth national team, Mitchell was fast, strong, and loved a tackle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was on track to be promoted to the first team next year, and he knew it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The gap between them closed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Everyone on the pitch held their breath.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling didn't hesitate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He feinted, dropping his right shoulder as if to burst down the outside line.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mitchell lunged, committing his entire body to the tackle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'Fatal tackle.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the same instant, Ling chopped the ball with the inside of his boot, cutting back inside at full speed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mitchell's outstretched leg hit nothing but air.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Team A's center-back, Axel Tuanzebe, saw the danger and hurriedly stepped out to cover.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was a fraction too late.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling didn't even look up. He struck the ball with a terrifying, clean power.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>BANG!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The explosive sound echoed through the training hall.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ball shot out like a cannonball.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The keeper, Kieran O'Hara, leaped, stretching his body to its absolute limit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ball grazed his fingertips and thudded into the netting.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The training ground went dead silent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Every player there, even the ones on the other team, knew they had just seen something far beyond the level of a U21 training match.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Ling! Mate! What was that?!\" McTominay was the first to break the silence, running over and clapping him on the back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"When did you learn that? Holding out on me, you snake?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Had to make your pass look good, didn't I?\" Ling replied with an easy smile.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As he walked back to the halfway line, he flexed his fingers. He'd felt something different in that touch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That burst of speed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'Is this the template?' he thought. 'The ceiling... it really is higher.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Haha, you left Mitchell for dead! Absolutely sent him! So satisfying!\" McTominay boomed, scratching his head loudly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Across the pitch, Mitchell's face was thunderous.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He heard McTominay's voice and spat on the turf.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He hated Ling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ever since the academy, when he and his mates used to rough up the then-scrawny McTominay, Ling had played the hero.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It had led to a full-on brawl in the changing rooms, one that got both of them suspended for a week.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sir Alex Ferguson himself had learned of it and dragged them into his office.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Settle it on the pitch,\" the gaffer had warned, his voice was cold like ice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And for years, they had.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They were evenly matched, a fierce rivalry where neither could get the upper hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Until today.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Today, Ling had made him look like an amateur.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mitchell spat again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'Never again.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The match resumed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Team B, sensing the shift, started feeding the ball to the left flank.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ten minutes later, Ling received a pass in the 30-meter zone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mitchell was seeing red.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He sprinted at Ling, closing him down with pure, aggressive spite, leaving no room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'I've got you.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling remained perfectly calm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He saw the reckless charge coming.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>s Mitchell lunged in, Ling simply opened his stance and...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tap.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A gentle, almost insulting, touch. The ball slipped perfectly between Mitchell's charging legs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A clean nutmeg.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mitchell's brain froze.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His body, committed to the tackle, kept going. He tumbled over his own feet, falling in a heap on the grass.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling was already past him, sprinting into the box.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tuanzebe scrambled across, desperately trying to block the shooting angle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Ling had already drawn him in.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn't even look at the goal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>e simply squared the ball to the penalty spot, where McTominay, who had made the forward run, met it with a powerful side-footed strike that flew into the top right corner.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>2-1, Team B.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>O'Hara, the keeper, stood up and angrily berated his defense.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mitchell, still on the grass, just stared.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The first time was luck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This... this was humiliation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the sidelines, Mourinho turned to his long-time assistant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Rui. That boy. Ling.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Rui Faria nodded, a small notebook in his hand. \"Yes, boss.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Premier League B match, day after tomorrow. I want him watched. Full data.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Of course,\" Faria said. \"You see something?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mourinho's expression was annoyed, which was his version of intrigued.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Don't you? We are desperate for a winger who can break a line. He just did it twice. Cleanly. Against Mitchell, who is no slouch.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Faria permitted himself a small smile. \"He's explosive. The way he cuts inside... it's a bit familiar, no?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Don't say it,\" Mourinho grunted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Barcelona, '96,\" Faria continued, ignoring him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"The young one. The phenomenon. The one who never wanted to do my fitness plans.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A rare, thin smile cracked Mourinho's face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Ronaldo. Yes. I remember you trying to chase him around the training pitch... This boy... he has that type. The raw power.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Have we struck gold, boss?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mourinho's face instantly hardened again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"It is training. Training is nothing. Football is a contact sport. Get me the data from the match. I have to fly to North America for the ICC. See if he is a lion in training, or a lion in a game.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With that, Mourinho turned and walked off the pitch, not waiting for the session to end.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The morning training session ended quickly after that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Ling, are you sure you're not on something?\" McTominay said, his voice echoing in the changing room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You made Mitchell look like he was running in mud! How'd you do it?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Stop talking nonsense,\" Ling laughed, hooking his arm around McTominay's shoulder.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Let's go eat.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>....\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the other side of the room, Mitchell sat on the bench, his face pale.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was already doubting his own abilities.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'Have I gotten that bad?'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It's never easy for a proud man to accept that his rival has just left him in the dust.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>....\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the canteen, McTominay was piling food onto his plate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Mmm, the mushroom and chicken skewers are insane today. I heard tomorrow they're doing that sweet flower-brewed chicken!\" He was in his growth phase and needed to consume a massive amount of calories.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"If it's good, eat more,\" Ling said with a smile, grabbing a plate of his own.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Of course I am! We're definitely making it to the first team this season,\" McTominay said, his mouth full.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Then we can eat whatever we want.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling just smiled and didn't reply.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He remembered his past life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He remembered the stories that came out years later, when United fully entered the \"Ten Hag era.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Stories of homegrown players being pushed out, disrespected...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He shook his head, pushing the bitter memory away.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That was the old timeline.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was the new one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"What?\" Scott asked, noticing his silence. \"You don't think so?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"No, I do,\" Ling said, his smile becoming more determined. \"I was just thinking... This is only the beginning.\"\u003C\u002Fp>",1304,"2026-06-05T22:48:22.783Z",1,"novelbin.me","e587a8e819170d8e70c6fa4fd9cc65b22bb4424ef3ee66a9ab97c01229b07691","start-with-r9-template-chapter-4","start-with-r9-template-chapter-105",371,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fstart-with-r9-template-cover.jpg"]