Soccer: If they're using these kinds of cheats, what's the point of training?

Before the afternoon session ended, head coach Fernandez announced the roster and starting lineup for the next day to the players. No one was surprised by the other personnel, after all, it had been so long, and there had been almost no change in who was the starter and who was the substitute.

The only change was that the starting strike partnership was now Ireniush Yellen and Zhang Kuang, replacing Daniel Niculae.

Zhang Kuang never expected Fernandez to be so decisive, giving him a starting position in his debut. Daniel Niculae, who was dropped, looked gloomy, never expecting to be pushed out like that.

Captain Benoît patted Daniel on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I heard this guy only wants to stay with our team for half a year. If he can help us win a championship, you'll benefit from following him."

Besides, with so many matches a year, it's impossible for him to start every game or play in every single one.

Daniel nodded: "Captain, I understand. I knew this would be the result when he came for the tryout, but it still makes me uncomfortable."

Benoît: "Then train harder. If you can score ten goals a year, who can take your place?"

Daniel nodded without saying a word.

January 16, 2010, Auxerre, Abe Deschamps Stadium.

It was 2:30 p.m., an hour before the competition was scheduled to begin.

The streets outside the stadium were already teeming with people. It seemed that everyone in Auxerre, a small city with only 40,000 inhabitants, had flocked to this stadium that could hold 24,000. Long lines formed in front of beer stalls and hot dog carts, and scarves and jerseys fluttered in the cold wind.

"Did you get a ticket?"

"Of course, a season ticket! That's why I'm going to see this!"

"Who are we watching? Brendan? What's so interesting about that lousy team?"

"Are you kidding me? Look at that Chinese guy! My cousin's neighbor's son works as a caddie at the training ground, and he said that Chinese guy completely dominated Grihitting and Minho in a practice match!"

"Are you bragging?"

Just you wait and see!

Such conversations were taking place in various corners outside the venue.

Since Auxerre officially announced the signing of Zhang Kuang on January 4th, fans in this small town have been in an uproar. Not because they know Zhang Kuang, but because—a Chinese player, 18 years old, signed for two and a half years, and reportedly promised a starting position by Fernandez himself.

This has never happened before in the history of Auxerre.

During Guy Roux's era, Auxerre recruited many promising young players from Africa, but never an Asian player wore this white jersey.

In the locker room.

Fernandez stood in front of the tactics board, drawing arrows on it with a marker.

"Brun's defense is terrible, but their midfield is quite strong." He drew a circle at the center circle and tapped the tactical board. "Pedretti, drop back a little today. Don't get entangled with their midfield. Just make long passes to Yellen and Zhang."

Pedretti nodded; he was the team's brain, and he understood everything Fernandez said.

"Olic, your task today is simple." Fernandez looked at the Kenyan winger, "Get to the byline, cross. Don't cut inside, don't hesitate. Zhang is waiting for your ball in the penalty area."

Olić grinned: "Got it, Coach. I'll smash it right over Zhang's head."

Everyone smiled knowingly after he said that, because he had witnessed Zhang Kuang's terrifying heading ability in the penalty area countless times during the week's training.

"Bielsa, you'll take all the set pieces. Corner kicks, free kicks—as long as they're out of shooting range, head them out."

Birsa nodded, a flicker of excitement in his Slovenian blue eyes. He had a precise, curving shot, but Auxerre had never had anyone who could finish in the air.

"Zhang." Fernandez finally looked at the young man standing in the corner.

Zhang Kuang raised his head, his eyes calm.

"You're starting today."

"I know," Zhang Kuang replied succinctly, without any unnecessary words.

Fernandez paused for two seconds, then said something that silenced the entire locker room: "You know what the fastest way to win over fans is when you're a starting striker in your debut?"

Zhang, score a goal. That's the only way you can earn the fans' and everyone's approval. Don't let me down, and don't let yourself down.

He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone: "Zhang, score a goal! Today, we're going to show the entire French league that Auxerre is more than just a defender."

"Yes, mission accomplished," Zhang Kuang replied loudly.

---

The away team's dressing room at the Abe Deschamps Stadium.

Bruno Fern coach Laurent Guillot is giving a final pep talk.

"Auxerre's defense is strong, but their attack is just so-so—Yellen alone can't carry the forward line." He drew a line on the tactics board. "As long as we cut off Pedretti's passing, they pose no threat."

"Coach," the assistant coach whispered, leaning closer, "their starting lineup is out. The newly signed Chinese player is starting, partnering with Yellen. Niculae is on the bench."

Juyo paused for a moment, then laughed: "An 18-year-old Chinese kid? Fernandez's gone mad."

He turned to the players: "Listen, they've fielded a rookie for his debut. Rookies are nervous and make mistakes. Let's put some pressure on him and show him what Ligue 1 is all about."

The defenders exchanged a glance, smiles playing on their lips.

A Chinese person.

18 is old.

Debut.

This is an easy question.

---

At 3:25 PM, in the players' tunnel.

Zhang stood arrogantly in the middle of the team, with captain Pedretti behind him and Grihitting in front of him. The caddies held the players' hands, watching these tall men with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

Zhang Kuang took a deep breath.

Ligue 1, one of the top five leagues, here I come!

He glanced at the Bruno players beside him out of the corner of his eye. They were encouraging each other, their gazes occasionally drifting towards him with a mixture of disdain and curiosity.

"Are you nervous?" Pedretti whispered behind him.

"I'm not nervous."

"That's good."

At the end of the passage, the referees raised their arms.

Appearance.

---

"Dear viewers, welcome to the 20th round of the 2009-2010 French Ligue 1 season! Auxerre will host Bruno Fernandes."

Jean-Christophe Barthes, the commentator for the French television sports channel, sat in the broadcast booth and began his work into the microphone.

"The biggest highlight of today's match is undoubtedly the new signing by the home team, Auxerre, during the winter break – Zhang Kuang, an 18-year-old striker from China."

The television screen switched to the players' tunnel, where Zhang Kuang was leading a caddie onto the field.

The director was very good at creating opportunities, giving it an extremely long close-up shot.

The man in the picture is tall with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, and his facial features are so distinct that they look like they were sculpted. Yellow skin, black hair, a high nose, and large double-lidded eyes—this face would be considered top-tier among any race.

"This young man... I must say, his physical attributes are quite outstanding. He should be a model or an actor or some kind of star," commented Christophe Dugarry, Bate's partner and a former French international. "He's 1.85 meters tall, well-proportioned, and doesn't look like a traditional Asian player at all. I hope his skills are as handsome as his looks."

"Dugarry, are you commenting on his tennis skills or his looks?"

"Yes, all of them. A good player first needs a good physique, and he has that."

Bart flipped through the information at hand: "According to information provided by Auxerre, Zhang Kuang is 18 years old this year. He was previously selected for the Chinese U20 national team. He is 185 cm tall, weighs 75 kg, and plays as a striker."

"Do you have more specific data? For example, how many goals did he score last season?"

"No," Bart said with a wry smile. "This is his first professional game."

The air in the live stream room went silent for a second.

Dugarry raised an eyebrow: "Starting in his debut? Fernandez's got guts."

"Either he really saw something incredible, or he's gone mad," Bart chuckled. "Let's wait and see."

---

At 3:30 p.m., the referee blew the whistle to start the game.