Football: Messi, I am your wallbreaker!

Chapter 88 La Masia Film Academy!

The eerie blue light sliced ​​the entire virtual space into pieces.

The beam of light shone on the smooth grass, casting three motionless, illusory shadows.

Li Jing stepped onto the grass.

The feel is similar to that of the Calderon home stadium.

A semi-transparent gold panel appeared directly in front of them.

The above lists three lines of explanatory text regarding gold foil stamping:

Cristiano Ronaldo: "Absolute dominance of hang time".

Miloslav Klose: "Absolute luck in the placement of the header."

Oliver Bierhoff: "Precision-guided headers".

Li Jing raised his hand and swiped his finger across the screen in mid-air.

In the upper right corner of the panel, a row of red countdown numbers is extremely eye-catching.

"Available training time: 100 hours."

He lowered his hand and touched the stubble on his chin that he had been shaving all day.

My mind started rapidly deducing the underlying logic of this reward program.

The panel does not state that only one can be selected.

This means that the system is not providing multiple-choice questions.

Given enough time, he could strip away all the traits from these three people.

But these 100 hours are definitely not for slowly figuring things out.

Scenario simulation is inevitably accompanied by extremely high difficulty.

If the judgment is wrong or the timing of the jump is incorrect.

Or they might be pushed out of position by virtual defenders during a physical confrontation.

Failed simulations will have time forcibly deducted.

Time ran out, and the special training ended.

Without any hesitation, Li Jing took a step forward with his right foot.

With a heavy tap in mid-air, his finger landed directly on the leftmost illusory figure wearing a white jersey with the number seven.

"Take Juku first."

The scene changed abruptly.

The darkness around the grass instantly dissipated.

The stands at Old Trafford have risen from the ground.

The red jerseys were flashing before my eyes.

The wind was blowing from the right baseline, bringing significant resistance.

Li Jing stood inside the penalty area line.

Standing in front of him was an extremely tall virtual center-back, who was lowering his center of gravity and concealing his hands in front of his chest, tightly blocking his position.

On the wing, an extremely realistic cross has left the instep, crashing down towards the far post with an exaggerated arc.

Landing point, wind speed, and takeoff space.

All the data needs to be calculated within a fraction of a second.

The virtual defensive player's muscles are already tensing, preparing to jump and disrupt.

Li Jing didn't move.

This scene might seem unfamiliar to others, but he knew it all too well.

In his previous life, he was a veteran commentator and the founder of "Post-Match Love Letters," a football scriptwriting program second only to "Underground Football."

In order to write those tear-jerking articles about star players' retirements, and to analyze the tactical components of various incredible goals, he had already dissected these classic scenes countless times in front of the editing computer in his studio.

At what second did you jump?

How to use the defender's shoulder as a screen.

How to adjust the angle of force exertion when folding the waist and abdomen in mid-air.

These things had long since become frame-by-frame videotapes, etched firmly into the sulci and gyri of his brain, and fused into his muscle memory.

At this moment, Li Jing was given benefits in a different way.

33 hours!

Just as the virtual center-back pushed off the ground with both feet and leaped into the air.

Li Jing made a move.

He slid his left foot half a step to the outside, directly avoiding the opponent's raised elbow.

His right foot stomped firmly into the grass.

With a burst of power from his thighs, he lifted himself up from the ground.

He deliberately delayed his jump by 0.5 seconds.

Just as the defender reached his highest point and began to fall, Li Jing's body soared into the air like a rocket, directly crushing over the opponent's head.

Without any hesitation, he smashed the football hard.

"Whoosh!"

The netting tumbled.

The image freezes instantly.

A line of green text pops up on the panel: Scene simulation perfectly completed.

Time taken: 33 hours, 1 minute and 12 seconds!

Li Jing landed back on the grass, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Exactly one-third of the time!

"Next one."

The scenes changed wildly, like a revolving lantern.

A rainy night in Munich, the San Siro pitch, and that classic golden goal from the turn that sealed the victory at Euro 96 —

Faced with the defender's relentless pulling and interference.

Faced with unpredictable passing trajectories.

Every judgment Li Jing makes is the standard answer.

There's no need for trial and error; the take-off point, landing position, and direction of force are all optimal solutions.

He cut time with extreme, almost obsessive precision.

Every minute and every second is perfectly squeezed out in the highly efficient level completion.

"bite-

! "

An extremely crisp notification sound rang out in the space.

The spotlight went out instantly, and the virtual turf collapsed like a shattered mirror.

My consciousness snapped back to me.

Li Jing lay on the large bed in the apartment bedroom and opened her eyes.

It was still dark outside the window.

On the system panel in his mind, three dazzling golden orbs of light slowly took shape.

[Airborne suppression].

[Landing point sense of smell].

[Precision guidance].

Three golden rays peeled off the panel and disappeared directly into Li Jing's physical attribute bar.

An extremely warm current surged through the spine and spread throughout the body, and the bones and muscle fibers underwent a silent reorganization and strengthening in a very short time.

Li Jing sat up from under the covers.

At a time rate of 100:1, exactly one hour has passed!

He threw back the covers, went into the bathroom, turned on the tap, and washed his face.

I looked up at myself in the mirror.

The muscle lines in his neck and back became more exaggerated, and the explosive power contained in his body was simply terrifying.

I just wiped my face with a towel.

Li Jing went back to the bedroom and lay down again.

I pulled the covers over myself, closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning.

Sunlight streamed through gaps in the loosely drawn curtains in downtown Madrid, casting dappled light on the floor.

The cell phone on the bedside table started vibrating rapidly.

Li Jing rolled over and reached for her phone.

I pressed the answer button with my thumb, turned on the speakerphone, and tossed it next to my pillow.

"Li, are you awake?"

Raiola's distinctive husky voice immediately came through the receiver, with airport announcements playing in the background.

"Speak your mind."

Li Jing sat up and rubbed his hair.

"Puma can't sit still anymore."

Raiola chuckled slyly on the other end of the phone.

"They sent me a very solid endorsement deal. They wanted me to sign it before I went to Camp Nou."

Raiola paused for a moment.

"My daughter, Maria, is in charge of this liaison. She just received full authority over the case. She and her team have already flown to Madrid."

"What do you mean?"

Li Jing walked barefoot on the carpet into the living room and poured a glass of cold water.

My Adam's apple bobbed, I swallowed cold water, and my mind cleared completely.

Puma.

Although it has been struggling to breathe in the sports equipment market in recent years due to the dominance of Nike and Adidas, this puma will change course in the coming years and make a strong push in the trendy and casual wear sectors.

It was an extremely lucrative growth market and an excellent springboard for business.

For Li Jing, who needs a large amount of off-field attention to boost his commercial value, this is the best starting resource.

With Raiola using his own daughter as a bridge, the underlying meaning of resource exchange is all too clear.

"Can."

Li Jing put down the glass, her tone indifferent.

"Tell her to come find me near the Maha Daunda training base. I'm going to training later."

"Alright, it's settled then. Feel free to name your contract terms, Maria will handle it."

Li Jing hung up the phone immediately.

He tossed his phone onto the sofa.

He didn't devote much attention to commercial contracts.

Endorsements are secondary; the turf of Camp Nou is the foundation.

But he didn't intend to waste a minute. He changed into a gray tracksuit, grabbed his car keys, and went out.

Mahadawonda Training Base.

Today was supposed to be a day off, but the first team's pitch was not empty.

Several key players who arrived early for extra training were jogging and warming up on the sidelines.

Simone was wearing a black short-sleeved training uniform.

He stood in front of a movable tactical whiteboard.

The old man's face was so solemn it was almost dripping with tears.

He was holding two markers, one red and one blue, with several teeth marks on the caps from biting them.

Li Jing strode through the wire mesh tennis court gate and onto the grass.

Simone caught a glimpse of Li Jing out of the corner of his eye and immediately threw the blue pen in his hand onto the grass.

"Li! Come here!"

Simone called out loudly.

As Li Jing approached, Simeone removed the cap from his red pen and drew a large circle heavily on the whiteboard representing the area of ​​Barcelona's half.

The red ink made a harsh sound as it was rubbed against the whiteboard.

"These Catalans have an extremely abnormal passing and control system."

Simone touched the center of the circle with the tip of his pen.

"Xavi, Iniesta, and Busquets hiding in the back."

"These three players on the field create a terrifying, suffocating pressure. If you try to play a passing game with them on the ground—"

Simone shook his head and threw the red pen on the ground as well.

He rubbed his forehead with both hands in frustration.

"That's suicide. They were able to get the ball into our goal, while we barely even touched it the entire game."

Simone gritted his teeth, a fierce glint flashing in his eyes.

"If this were played at the Calderón, I'd have the turf flooded overnight! Turn it into a muddy, potholed vegetable patch! Completely ruin their ground football!"

Several Atletico Madrid players who were warming up nearby couldn't help but grin when they heard this.

Simone is really capable of doing this.

"But next week, we're going to their territory."

Simone turned around and clapped his hands together sharply.

"Snapped!"

"So we have to settle for second best. Besides relentlessly high-pressing the whole game."

The old man roared at the top of his lungs.

"Throughout the entire match, from the moment you intercept the ball in your own half, every pass should be launched into the air! Use aerial routes!"

"Use the most basic long balls to get past their midfield. Smash Puyol and Pique's defense!"

Simone took a deep breath and calmed himself down.

He strode up to Godin and Miranda, who were stretching their legs.

He stretched out his thick fingers and pointed them at the chests of the two key defenders.

"When defending."

Keep your movements clean.

Stop all those unnecessary pushing, pulling, and dirty tackles in the penalty area.

Godin straightened up and scratched his head.

"Coach, if we let him off too easily, it'll be harder to manage that Argentine number 10."

Simone gave a cold laugh.

A sneer curled at the corner of his mouth, an undisguised expression of mockery.

"Don't forget. Right across the street is the famous 'La Masia Film Academy'."

7

"If you touch them even slightly, or make any big moves in the penalty area..."

They could immediately roll around on the grass, clutching their legs and howling in pain, demanding cards from the referee.

Simeone pointed to the center circle where the referee usually stands.

"The referees at Camp Nou won't tolerate this."

Did you understand?

Defense relies on anticipation and positioning; don't give them a chance to win a penalty!

Several defensive players burst into laughter.

The somewhat contemptuous and confrontational atmosphere in the locker room towards Barcelona was brought to its peak by Simeone's words.

Afterwards, the players spontaneously divided into two groups and went to both sides of the field to practice crossing the ball from the flanks.

Simeone did not check on the defense.

He strode up to Li Jing, grabbed Li Jing's arm, and dragged him to the edge of the penalty area in front of the goal.

"Li, you stand here."

Simeone pointed to Gabi, the midfield maestro, who was standing on the wing not far away.

"Next week when you're on the field, besides making forward runs, you'll most likely be marking Lionel Messi, who drops back to receive the ball."

But now, none of that matters.

Simone looked at Li Jing.

"Go and match up with Gabi."

You practice heading the ball with me.

The key is controlling the first landing point of the high-altitude ball.

Li Jing stood on the edge of the penalty area.

He nodded.

In that instant, all the muscles in my body completely relaxed, presenting an extremely terrifying sense of relaxation.

The three air-dominating traits that had just been integrated into his body were resurrected in his blood like a sleeping beast.

"Gabi! Start pilling!"

Simeone retreated to the outside of the penalty area and shouted.

Gabi flicked the ball forward near the sideline.

After glancing at Li Jing's position in the penalty area, he struck the bottom of the ball with the instep of his right foot.

To simulate the high difficulty of the match, Gabi delivered a very tricky cross.

The ball was extremely fast, and instead of landing on Li Jing's head, it flew with a strong arc, aiming for the gap about a meter in front of Li Jing.

This is a typical defensive clearance landing point.

Normally.

When faced with this kind of ball, a striker either has to make a desperate diving header or simply give up.

But Li Jing's gaze was fixed on the ball in mid-air.

[Landing Point Sense] activates instantly.

In Li Jing's eyes, the rapidly falling ball seemed to slow down, its trajectory broken down into an extremely clear parabola.

He didn't even jump.

The brain calculates the exact coordinates of the ball's fall within a fraction of a second.

He took two large strides to the left, his right leg firmly planted in the grass.

Lean forward.

Just as the ball was falling, Li Jing's head met the trajectory that should have been the defender's clearance point, and he slammed it in.

o

[Precision guidance] intervention.

"Bang!"

An extremely dull sound of the ball being hit.

The ball changed direction.

It grazed the inside of the post and slammed into the net.

The assistant coach, who was standing on the goal line and acting as goalkeeper, didn't even have time to raise his hand.

Gabi stood on the sideline, maintaining the posture he had adopted after the pass.

I was stunned.

How the hell could that even get in?

Without even jumping, he completely erased the error in the pass thanks to his incredibly accurate anticipation.

"Again!"

Li Jing ran out of the goal and waved to Gabi.

Gabi gritted his teeth and unleashed a high, high cross.

The ball remained suspended in mid-air for an extremely long time.

Simeone stood on the sidelines with his arms crossed.

He wanted to see how Li Jing would handle balls that required strong contact and hang time.

The ball fell.

Li Jing made a move.

He pushed off the ground with both legs.

Two shallow dents were trampled into the grass.

He seemed to defy gravity and soared into the air.

His waist and abdomen were pulled back into a full bow shape.

[Airborne Suppression] Fully activated.

one second.

That feeling of being suspended in mid-air, defying the laws of physics, reappeared on the training field.

Just as the assistant coach thought the ball was about to fly over his head, Li Jing's waist and abdomen suddenly contracted.

The headbutt came crashing down.

"boom!"

The ball slammed onto the goal line like a cannonball and bounced into the top corner of the net.

The net hummed as it was pulled violently.

On the first team's pitch.

Complete silence fell.

All the other players who were practicing stopped.

The sound of swallowing saliva rose and fell.

Simone's mouth was agape, and his hands, which had been clasped in front of his chest, fell limply to the ground.

He stared at the young man who landed steadily without even breaking a sweat.

The old man's eyes were frighteningly bright.

This is an inhuman, dimensional-reducing attack, this is an air defense dominance that takes air combat to its extreme.

Puyol?

Pique?

Simeone suddenly felt that they needed to win at Camp Nou.

It seems that this is no longer just a crazy person's wishful thinking!