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

London, Chelsea's training ground.

Ancelotti sat in his office, the television screen in front of him looping footage of that arrogant dragon scoring a goal. He had watched it at least twenty times, pausing each time at a particular detail to jot something down in his notebook.

His assistant, Paul Clement, walked in, carrying a thick stack of data analysis reports.

"These are the complete statistics from the Auxerre match." Clement placed the report on the table. "His running distance was an astounding eleven kilometers, with sprints accounting for 23% and high-intensity running accounting for 31%. These statistics are top-tier among forwards."

Ancelotti didn't look at the report; his eyes were still glued to the television screen.

"Paul, look at his start." He pointed to the screen at the arrogant player, "After knocking Matsui Daisuke aside, his speed hardly decreased. This is something that ordinary players can't do. His muscle fiber type is probably different from that of ordinary players."

Clement paused, then said, "You mean...genes?"

"I mean talent." Ancelotti finally turned off the TV and turned around. "Some players are born for football."

Ronaldo, Kaka, Messi, Cristiano Ronaldo—they all possess something that ordinary players lack. It's not technique, it's instinct! Arrogance also has this instinct.

"So, what's your suggestion?"

"Sign him, no matter the cost," Ancelotti said calmly, as if he were commenting on the weather. "Chelsea needs a rebuild."

Drogba is 31, Anelka is 31, Malouda is 31. For the next five years, we need a new attacking leader, and Zhang Kuang is that person.

Clement wrote down Ancelotti's words in his notebook.

"Manchester City are also pursuing him; it's said that Mancini has already sent someone to Paris."

"I know," Ancelotti said, taking a sip of his coffee. "That's why we need to get ahead of them."

Manchester, Carrington Training Ground.

Ferguson sat in his usual spot—the leather swivel chair behind his desk, which he had used for over a decade.

A scouting report lay open on the table, with the word "Arrogant" written on the cover and a red stamp below it indicating "Urgent".

His son, Darren Ferguson, stood at his desk, holding a remote control; the television screen was playing highlights of that game.

"Look at his movement," Sir Alex Ferguson said, pointing to the screen. "It's not the ghostly movement of Inzaghi, nor the speed-based movement of Irving. He's creating space with his body. He already knows what he's going to do before he even receives the ball. I haven't seen many eighteen-year-olds with that kind of awareness."

"Cristiano Ronaldo?" Darren asked tentatively.

"When Cristiano Ronaldo was eighteen, he was still practicing dribbling at Sporting Lisbon." Ferguson shook his head. "Arrogance is different."

His body is much stronger than Ronaldo's was at eighteen. While his technique isn't as flashy, his efficiency is much higher. He doesn't need fancy moves to get past you; he just shoves you aside and accelerates. You can't catch him, and you can't stop him.

How do I get a work permit?

Ferguson smiled.

"Special talent clause, huh? If the Football Association doesn't give a talent clause to a player like Zhang Kuang, then there's no point in the Football Association existing."

"But you're about to retire, what's the point of signing?"

Ferguson stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the lawn of the Carrington training ground. The first team was training; Rooney received the ball in the penalty area, turned, and shot.

"Darren, look at Rooney."

Darren walked to the window and followed his father's gaze.

"He's England's best striker. But he's not a pure center forward. He prefers to drop deep to receive the ball and participate in playmaking. We've always lacked someone who can solve problems in the box – a true number nine."

He turned around and looked at Darren.

"Zhang Kuang is that number nine. He can head the ball, shoot from a distance, hold off people in the penalty area, receive the ball with his back to goal, break through on the wing, and make runs in the middle. He can solve problems by himself."

Players like that are few and far between in all of Europe; if you miss out, you might never find another. As for my retirement? Darren, Manchester United's continued success is more important than my personal honors.

Darren was silent for a few seconds.

"Understood."

On the other side of Manchester, at Manchester City's training ground.

Mancini sat in the tactics room, the electronic whiteboard in front of him covered with lines and arrows. His assistant handed him a cup of espresso, which he took a sip of before continuing to write and draw on the whiteboard.

"If he comes, we can adjust our tactics like this." Mancini wrote the word "arrogant" on the whiteboard and then drew several circles around it. "He can play as a center forward or a left winger."

If Tevez plays center forward, he can drop back to play as a number 9.5. If he plays left winger, Adebayor can play center forward, and the two can frequently switch positions.

"Are you sure he can handle the physicality of the Premier League?" the assistant asked.

Mancini glanced at his assistant and smiled.

"Didn't you watch the game yesterday? Grenoble's Daisuke Matsui tried to tackle him, but ended up being bounced back. With that kind of physical strength, even Championship defenders, let alone Premier League players, couldn't handle him."

The only thing he needs to adapt to is the pace of the Premier League – faster, more intense, and fewer mistakes. But with his physical attributes and technical ability, adapting shouldn't be a problem.

"A player like that must be very expensive, right?"

"Money is not a problem. Why would you worry about the price at Manchester City?" Mancini interrupted him. "The boss said that as long as we can sign him, money is not a problem. Weekly wages of 200,000, 250,000, or 300,000 are all negotiable."

Signing fees, bonuses, image rights revenue sharing—all are negotiable. What Manchester City needs right now? Championships, influence, and attention.

His arrogance can bring these benefits to Manchester City. His commercial value may even exceed his football skills.

The assistant quickly scribbled notes in the notebook.

"There's one more thing," Mancini put down his coffee cup. "Tell the boss that if we can only buy one player this summer, I'll buy Furious. Not Dzeko, not Ibrahimovic, not Torres. It's Furious."

The assistant looked up and gazed into Mancini's eyes, which were filled with seriousness.

"I'm serious."

-

Madrid, Valdebebas training ground.

Pellegrini sat in his office with a laptop in front of him, the screen frozen on a flamboyant goal celebration—jumping, turning, and swinging his arms back, "Siu—".

Real Madrid's technical director, Miguel Pardeza, sat opposite him, with several scouting reports spread out in front of him.

"This is a report sent back by our French scouts." Pardesa flipped to the top of the report. "In his five games for Auxerre, he started every single one and played the full 90 minutes in every single one—no, not every single one. He was substituted early in two games, but that was because the coach was protecting him. His average rating was an astonishing 8.9, the highest in Ligue 1."

Pellegrini remained silent.

Pardesa continued, "I won't repeat his data, but what I want to say is that the technical department's assessment is that his athleticism is a precipitous lead in Ligue 1."

His sprinting speed, explosiveness, jumping ability, and physical strength are all more than two standard deviations above the average level in Ligue 1. This is also top-level in international football.

"Arrogance is fine, but we have to face reality: how does he fit in with Ronaldo?" Pellegrini finally spoke up.

Paldessa was silent for a few seconds.

"Cristiano Ronaldo is the key player on the flanks, and Zhang Guo is the center forward, those two..."

Pellegrini nodded, interrupting Paldesa.

"Who is the attacking focal point? Do you think Zhang Kuang is willing to be Ronaldo's wingman? And if Zhang Kuang is the focal point, do you think Ronaldo would willingly become Zhang Kuang's wingman?"

"They can be like the relationship between Ronaldo and Rooney when they were at Manchester United."

"No, arrogance is not Rooney's style."

"That?"

"First, find out if Zhang Kuang wants to come to Real Madrid, whether he's willing to be Ronaldo's wingman. If he's not, then..."

Pellegrini shrugged, indicating his helplessness.

--

Barcelona, ​​Joan Gamper Sports City.

After watching the video of the flamboyant match, Guardiola remained silent for a long time. His assistant, Tito Vilanova, sat beside him, waiting for him to speak.

"Tito, what do you think of him?"

Vilanova thought for a moment: "Very strong, extremely strong, I even think he's more interesting than Messi, but he's not a good fit for Barcelona."

Why?

"Barcelona's system requires players to have extremely high tactical awareness and team consciousness. Zhang is indeed very strong, but his playing style is too individualistic."

He can solve problems on his own, but he doesn't need teammates. At Barcelona, ​​we need players who can integrate into the system, not players who can single-handedly win battles.

Guardiola nodded.

"That's what I think too." He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the training field outside. "But I'm not sure if that's the right thing to do. Maybe we're too fixated on the system. Maybe in this era, individual ability is the key to winning games."

Vilanova did not speak.

"Make an offer first. It would be best if we could sign them. It's better to have a top player like that on the bench than to give him to the opponent," Guardiola said. "Even if we can't sign him, it'll be good to disrupt the market."

--

Turin, the headquarters of Juventus.

Sporting director Alessio Seco sat in the office of chairman Jean-Claude Blanc, reporting on matters of arrogance.

Milan, Munich, Arsenal and other top clubs are all secretly studying the situation, while Zhang Kuang has just finished his morning exercise and once again has left the four female reporters exhausted on the bed.

Just as he was getting ready to pack up and leave, his phone rang. It was Jonathan calling.