After Paris Saint-Germain was removed from the list, I led England to victory!

At nine o'clock the next morning, Yan Yuan and his father appeared on time in front of the Hoffenheim club headquarters building.

Today, Dad Yan changed into a dark gray three-piece suit, his tie was tied perfectly, and even his usually unruly hair was fixed in place with hair gel.

Yan Yuan also wore a navy blue casual suit with a light blue shirt underneath, looking both formal and youthful.

In the elevator, Mr. Yan gave his son a final piece of advice: "Remember, all you need to do later is smile and nod. Leave all the negotiations to me. If they ask for your opinion, just say, 'I'll listen to my agent.'"

Yan Yuan nodded, feeling a tightness in his throat.

He barely slept last night; his mind was filled with contract terms and numbers.

There were already three people sitting in the meeting room: sports director Rosen, finance director Meyer, and legal counsel Schmidt.

Rosen was a bald man in his fifties with small, sharp eyes. His handshake was so strong that Yan Yuan almost frowned.

Rosen gestured for them to sit down: "Please sit down, let's get straight to the point."

Schmidt pushed a draft contract across the table.

Instead of looking through the pages, Yan's father took out an exquisite leather notebook and a Montblanc fountain pen from his briefcase.

Mr. Yan spoke in fluent English: "Before confirming the contract, I would like to understand your club's overall plan. Is Yan Yuan brought in as an immediate contributor, or is he being developed as a long-term player?"

That was a brilliant move to turn the tables; Yan's father used his business negotiation experience with remarkable ease.

Rosen and Meyer exchanged a glance; this opening remark was clearly unexpected.

Rosen cautiously replied, "Both. Coach Nagelsmann appreciates your son's versatility and believes he can provide rotation options in multiple positions."

Yan's father nodded, and then opened the contract.

His eyes quickly scanned the key terms: a three-year contract, a weekly salary of 8000 euros, a goal bonus of 5000 euros per goal, and an assist bonus of 3000 euros per assist.

Mr. Yan gently closed the document and said, "Excuse my bluntness, but this salary level is inconsistent with Yan Yuan's trial performance. As far as I know, your team's substitute strikers earned more than 1.2 euros per week last season."

Meyer cleared his throat: "Mr. Yan, your son has indeed performed well, but he has no professional league experience after all. This salary is already very competitive among players of the same age in the Bundesliga."

Yan's father smiled slightly: "If we only look at age, that's true, but what if we look at immediate combat effectiveness?" He pulled out a data report from the folder.

"The technical statistics from yesterday's trial show that Yan Yuan ranked first in three key metrics: passing accuracy, shooting conversion rate, and duel success rate."

Rosen tapped his fingers lightly on the table: "Data is only one aspect; professional football also needs to consider commercial value, market appeal..."

Yan's father keenly grasped the other party's subtext.

He leaned forward slightly: "Mr. Rosen is implying that Yan Yuan's commercial value is discounted because he is Asian. Can I interpret this as racial discrimination?"

It has to be said that Yan's father is really good at negotiating. He has been in business for so many years, so of course he knows how to gain the upper hand in negotiations.

The air in the Hoffenheim meeting room froze instantly, and Schmidt next to him nervously adjusted his tie.

"No...that's absolutely not what I meant," Rosen quickly explained. "It's just that from a purely market perspective, Asian players in the Bundesliga do indeed have less commercial value than German or South American players..."

Yan's father took a deep breath and tapped his knuckles lightly twice on the table.

Yan Yuan noticed that the veins on the back of his father's hand were slightly bulging, but his voice remained steady: "Since that's the case, let's talk about it from another angle. Your team has just qualified for the Champions League, and you need a stable rotation lineup to compete on multiple fronts."

My son is a player who can play in three positions, has a reasonable salary, and doesn't count against non-EU player quotas. How should his value be calculated?

Rosen's eyes lit up. Yan Ba ​​had accurately hit Hoffenheim's sore spot: the pressure on squad depth brought by the Champions League.

"What you say...makes a valid point," Rosen's tone softened. "So, what salary do you think would be appropriate?"

"Weekly wage of 1.2 euros, goal bonus of 8000, assist bonus of 5000, and contract extended to 4 years," Mr. Yan recited the figures without hesitation.

Meyer, standing nearby, nearly choked on his water: "This...this is almost the salary level of a starting player!"

Yan's father calmly pulled a document from his suit pocket: "This is Bournemouth's letter of intent to offer Yan Yuan a weekly wage of £1.5. We chose Hoffenheim purely because we value Coach Nagelsmann's ability to develop players and our Champions League qualification."

This "letter of intent" was actually made by Yan's father last night, but the Bournemouth club letterhead and the sporting director's signature on it look realistic enough.

Yan Yuan suppressed his surprise and lowered his head, pretending to adjust his cuffs.

For the next two hours, the two sides engaged in a tug-of-war over each clause.

Yan's father demonstrated amazing negotiation skills—when the other party insisted on not raising the base salary, he demanded an increase in the bonus percentage; when the other party refused to increase the goal bonus, he proposed adding a relegation and termination clause.

Whenever the two sides reached a stalemate, he would always bring up "Bournemouth's generous terms" at the opportune moment.

When discussing the 90th minute, Rosen wiped the sweat from his brow and said, "The €500 million release clause and the €7000 goal bonus are the highest possible; we have to protect the club's interests."

After a moment's thought, Mr. Yan said, "It's acceptable, but two special clauses must be added: first, the contract will be automatically renewed for another year if the number of appearances in the first team reaches the required number; second, the salary will increase by 15% every year."

Rosen and Meyer whispered a few words to each other and finally nodded in agreement.

As Rosen began revising the final draft of the contract, he suddenly asked, "Mr. Yan, are you really not a professional agent? I've seen many players who have family members as their agents, but I've never seen anyone as professional as you."

Mr. Yan smiled and put away his pen: "I just did some research beforehand, after all..."

He glanced at Yan Yuan and said, "This is my son's first professional contract."

The main terms of the final version of the contract are as follows:

Contract period: 3+1 years (automatically renewed after reaching the number of first-team appearances stipulated in the contract).

Weekly salary: €9000 (increasing by 10% annually)

Goal bonus: 7000 euros

Assist bonus: 4500 euros

liquidated damages: 500 million euros

Relegation release clause: If Hoffenheim is relegated, Yan Yuan can release his contract for €500 million.

As Yan Yuan walked out of the conference room, he let out a long sigh of relief: "Dad, that offer from Bournemouth..."

Yan's father winked slyly and said, "Shh...it's a trade secret."

At the corner of the corridor, Nagelsmann was leaning against the window smoking.

Seeing Yan Yuan pass by, he walked over and patted the young man on the shoulder: "Welcome to Hoffenheim, kid. First team training is at 7:30 tomorrow morning. Don't be late. This season is very important."

……

On the afternoon of the day the contract was signed, Yan Yuan and his father went to a small local restaurant in Hoffenheim to celebrate.

The restaurant was simply decorated with wooden tables and chairs, several old photos of Bundesliga teams on the wall, and an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner.

As soon as Yan's father entered, he smiled and said, "This place is great, much better than those Michelin-starred restaurants. At least we don't have to pretend to be profound while looking at tiny plates."

Yan Yuan pulled out a chair and sat down: "Dad, you're a successful man now, with a son who plays professionally in one of the top five European leagues. Can't you have a bit more class?"

Yan's father opened the menu.

"Class? Back when your dad was eating mutton soup in Xi'an and munching on noodles, you were probably still nowhere to be found."

He squinted, studying the menu: "These German dishes are even harder to pronounce than the French ones... Never mind, waiter!"

A waitress with a ponytail walked over, and Yan's father spoke German with a Shaanxi accent, which he had learned on the spot.

"Two servings of their signature braised pork knuckle, and two drinks... uh..."

He suddenly paused, then turned to look at Yan Yuan.

"How do you say 'juice' in German again?"

Yan's father had to cram in German these past two days.

Yan Yuan rubbed his forehead: "Dad, weren't you talking so fluently just now?"

Mr. Yan said matter-of-factly, "That's German for ordering food; we haven't learned the beverage vocabulary yet."

Finally, Yan Yuan ordered food for the two of them in fluent German. After the waiter left, Yan's father clicked his tongue in amazement: "How did the Paris youth training program teach you? I studied for two years in England for a master's degree, and my English still sounds like a Shaanxi dialect."

Yan Yuan smiled and said, "It's probably talent. Maybe if I didn't make it in football, I could become a translator."

"Pah, pah, pah!" Yan's father quickly tapped the wooden table. "You're saying such unlucky things right after signing the contract. By the way, have you actually visited the school your club arranged for you?"

Chinese parents care about their children's studies no matter where they are.

Yan Yuan nodded: "I've seen it. It's right next to the training base. It's an international school for Hoffenheim's youth players. We go three times a week. The curriculum has been adjusted, and it includes all the necessary academic subjects."

Yan's father nodded in satisfaction.

"That's more like it. Even though you're a professional player now, you can't let your brain sit idle. Just in case..." He paused, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"If I can't make it in Germany, at least I can come to my company and help me with the accounts."

Yan Yuan nearly choked on his water: "Dad! Can't you wish me well for once?"

"Hahaha, just kidding," Yan's father laughed and waved his hand. "My son is going to play in the Champions League." He cut a piece of the pork knuckle that had just been served.

"But seriously, if it really doesn't work out..."

Yan Yuan rolled his eyes; he knew what his father wanted to say.

"You mean, there's still the Chinese Super League as a fallback option, right?"

Dad Yan gave a thumbs up.

"You're smart. Look at those foreign players in the Chinese Super League. Their weekly salary is equivalent to half a year's salary for you. When the time comes, Dad will package you up and say you're an 'English-Chinese prodigy.' I guarantee they'll fight over you, and who knows, they might even naturalize you for the national team."

Yan Yuan made a face that couldn't hold back any longer: "Then I'd rather go back to England and watch your warehouse."

The father and son chatted as they ate. The father finished the pork knuckle completely, and even wiped his mouth with a lingering sense of satisfaction.

"This German food is pretty good. The pork is much better than the British pork. They even know to use sterilized pigs, which is much better than the British 'slutty' pigs."

Dad Yan is right. Germany is one of the few countries in Europe that can cook pork well.

Then, he took out a card from his wallet and handed it to Yan Yuan, "Take this, use it until you get your salary."

Yan Yuan didn't answer: "No need, the club has already advanced the first week's wages, that's enough."

Yan's father raised an eyebrow: "Oh, you've become financially independent so quickly? Okay, then remember to buy me a Porsche when you get rich."

"What's a Porsche? When I make more money, I'll get you a Bugatti first," Yan Yuan said casually.

"Good, good, good lad," Yan's father slapped the table with delight. "Then I'll wait until it opens. If you don't buy me one by then, I'll sell you to the Chinese Super League."

Yan Yuan sighed. His father had always been like this. Perhaps this was why his father was able to go to England alone and start from scratch. He was always very talkative.

To outsiders, the Yan family father and son seem more like a pair of buddies with a large age gap than father and son.

On the way to the airport, the father and son didn't talk much.

Only after the luggage was checked in did Yan's father suddenly turn around and hug his son tightly: "Play well, don't put too much pressure on yourself. If you don't play well, come home. Our warehouse will always be short of a mover."

Yan Yuan's nose tingled a little, but he still wouldn't let it go: "Come on, even the rats in your warehouse would come out crying if they went there."

Dad Yan chuckled and ruffled his hair, saying, "You little rascal, now that you're gone, remember to call your mom. She's been nagging you for days."

Watching his father's figure disappear through the security checkpoint, Yan Yuan took a deep breath, turned around, and headed towards the airport light rail.

My phone vibrated; it was a message from Yan's dad: [I forgot to mention, I put some Lao Gan Ma chili sauce, braised pork, and white rice cakes that your mom made for you in the dorm fridge. Remember to try something different if you're tired of German food.]

Yan Yuan smiled and shook his head, replying: 【Okay, Dad, my mom is the best in the world, and you and my mom are tied for the best.】

……

The Hoffenheim first-team players' apartments were more spacious than expected, with one-bedroom apartments for each individual and brand-new furniture.

The living room wall was covered with autographed photos of the entire Hoffenheim team, and the refrigerator was filled with nutritional supplements provided by the club, as well as individual food for the players.

The training ground was bathed in golden light under the setting sun. Several youth team players were still doing extra training. He took a deep breath, opened his suitcase, and began to pack his clothes.

On top were several vacuum-packed Shaanxi-style roujiamo (meat sandwiches) that my mother had secretly slipped in, and underneath was a family photo.

Yan Yuan smiled as he placed the photos on the bedside table, then took out his training equipment and hung it up one by one.

It was already night. Yan Yuan lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. All of this seemed unbelievable.

In just a few short days, his life underwent a dramatic transformation, from a rejected player from Paris Saint-Germain's youth academy to a signed player for Hoffenheim's first team, from a meager weekly wage in youth academy to €9000 per week...

"Keep practicing!"

Yan Yuan closed his eyes and continued training in the system.