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

The entire Auxerre team is overjoyed, having won two consecutive matches by three goals or more, a feat they haven't achieved in a long time.

Before Zhang Kuang arrived, they did score three goals in a single match in the 10th round, but they only won 3-2 against Lille. Since then, although Auxerre also had a 2-0 victory against the league leaders Marseille, they have never scored more than three goals in a single match.

Since Zhang Kuang arrived, he has scored three or more goals in two consecutive games, which shows that the attacking line he leads has greatly improved its scoring ability.

If they keep playing at this pace, forget about qualifying for European competitions, winning the championship is a real possibility, so how can everyone not be happy?

"Hey, Zhang!" Yellen ran over from the court and put her arm around his shoulder. "It's my treat tonight, to thank you for creating this opportunity for me."

"Come on, you seized the opportunity yourself." Zhang Kuang patted him on the back.

"I don't care, it's on me." Yellen laughed heartily. "When you first came, I was worried you'd take my place, but now I think—good riddance, it's actually easier for you now that you've taken mine."

Zhang laughed wildly, "Then we'll talk about it when we get back to Auxerre. I'm going to see an old friend from my hometown tonight, that's on."

"Huh? Uh, okay, then I'll treat you when we get back to Auxerre."

"it is good."

In the locker room, the teammates were having a simple celebration.

Grihidin was shirtless, filming a video with his phone. The camera panned across everyone's face, finally settling on Zhang Kuang.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is our goal-scoring machine—arrogance!" Grihidin exclaimed dramatically. "Five goals in two games! Have you ever seen a debut like this? I certainly haven't!"

Laughter and whistles rang out in the locker room.

At that moment, Zhang Kuang opened a message from an unknown number. The message read: "Mr. Zhang, I am the reporter who interviewed you after today's match."

If time permits, I'd like to have a more in-depth conversation with you. My hotel is in Le Negresco in Nice's Old Town, room number 607.

Zhang Kuang stared at the message for two seconds, then locked the screen and put his phone in his pocket.

The team boarded the bus and returned to their hotel in Nice. After returning to his room, he greeted the team leader and asked for leave.

The team manager was easy to talk to, after all, the team had won the game, and the head coach had just said in the locker room that tomorrow would be a day off, so the players were free to do as they pleased. They just needed to let the team know which players would be traveling with the team bus back to Auxerre and register.

Le Negresco, 607.

The hotel is located on the English Road, less than a ten-minute walk from the hotel where he is currently staying.

Zhang Kuang glanced at his watch—8:23 PM.

Stepping out of the hotel, the Mediterranean night breeze hit me, carrying a salty, damp scent.

Zhang Kuang walked west along the English Road. There weren't many pedestrians on the road, except for the occasional local jogger or an elderly person walking their dog.

Le Negresco is one of Nice's most famous luxury hotels, its pink dome standing out strikingly in the night. Pushing open the doors to the lobby, the marble floor reflects the gleam of the crystal chandeliers.

Room 607 was a sea-view suite at the end of the corridor on the sixth floor. Zhang Kuang rang the doorbell once, and the door opened a few seconds later.

Marina Durand stood in the doorway, wearing a burgundy silk robe, her hair cascading over her shoulders, and light makeup on her face.

She looked younger than she appeared on camera, probably in her early twenties, with delicate features, a tall figure, and her collarbone subtly visible at the neckline of her robe.

"Mr. Zhang, you've arrived." Her voice was much more magnetic than during the interview. "Please come in."

Zhang Kuang walked into the room and closed the door.

The room was spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Angel Bay. On the coffee table sat an opened bottle of red wine and two glasses.

"Want a drink?" Marina picked up the bottle and poured two glasses.

Zhang Kuang took the wine glass, swirled it gently, and then took a sip.

"You played exceptionally well today." Marina sat down opposite him, crossed her legs, and the hem of her bathrobe slipped open, revealing a section of her fair calves. "Both goals were brilliant, one more spectacular than the other. Especially the second one; the composure with which you ran and shot was unlike that of an 18-year-old."

"Thanks, your shots were all amazing." Zhang Kuang raised an eyebrow and said.

"Haha, your French is excellent, almost no accent." Marina tilted her head to look at him. "Did you learn it in China?"

"I taught myself," Zhang Kuang lied without batting an eye.

"You can learn to this level through self-study?" Marina laughed. "Mr. Zhang, there are many things about you that I'm curious about."

Zhang Kuang put down his wine glass and looked directly into her eyes: "There are many things about me that will pique your curiosity; you can discover them slowly."

Marina's smile deepened.

She stood up, walked to the window, and drew the curtains halfway. The room dimmed, leaving only the bedside lamp and the moonlight reflected off the sea outside.

Then she turned around and gently pulled on the belt of her nightgown.

The wine-red silk slipped to the ground.

The arrogant gaze slowly moved down her face, unhurried and composed, as if observing the opponent's defense on a football field.

"Aren't you nervous at all?" Marina leaned against the windowsill, her voice tinged with amusement.

"Why are you nervous? I get excited when I see a ball now, because I can shoot again." Zhang Kuang stood up, walked in front of her, and raised his hand to tuck a strand of hair that was covering her face behind her ear.

Marina reached out and hooked her arm around his neck, pulling him toward her.

"That's good," she whispered in his ear, "because I'm not nervous either."

Zhang Kuang grabbed her waist and lifted her up from the windowsill.

The details that follow are not for outsiders to know.

If I had to summarize it in one sentence, the Hehuan Sect's techniques have once again proven their value in actual combat.

An hour later, Marina lay on the bed, completely drained, too weak to even lift a finger. Her hair was disheveled on the pillow, her breathing was heavy and uneven, and there were fine beads of sweat on her forehead.

"You...you're not human," she said weakly, her voice hoarse.

Zhang Kuang leaned against the headboard, his breathing steady, as if nothing had happened.

"I am not human," he said solemnly. "I am a god."

Marina rolled her eyes, buried her face in the pillow, and fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Zhang Kuang once again ravaged Marina's body. Marina was going crazy; the suffocating feeling of being tossed into the sky was addictive.

"I... I wanted to talk to you about serious matters, but I'm too tired to talk to you right now. I'll call you later; I'm going to sleep."

Marina fell fast asleep after speaking, chuckled lightly without saying a word, then washed up, got dressed, and left the hotel to return to Auxerre.

I believe that as he becomes more and more famous, there will be more and more high-quality and outstanding women surrounding him, which is something to look forward to.