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

Chapter 94 The Arrogant Plan Against Pogba: If He Disobeys, Beat Him Until He Obeys

Zhang Kuang stood on the court, wiping the fine sweat from his forehead, his expression calm, as if the previous forty-five minutes had just been a normal warm-up.

The players of Team A all looked grim, because they had to run 10 laps. They looked at Zhang Kuang with a mixture of delight and resentment.

What's admirable is that this time a truly super offensive king has arrived; what's infuriating is that this newcomer doesn't know how to behave. He should have just kept it at that level, tied 3-3, and everyone would have benefited, and Team A wouldn't have had to run around in circles.

But this guy insisted on playing 5-3, which is just torturing the veteran players.

Vidic crouched on the ground, hands on his knees, panting heavily. He stared at the grass clippings on the lawn, his mind blank.

How many times had he been outmaneuvered by an eighteen-year-old? He couldn't remember. All he knew was that he lost every single confrontation.

Ferdinand stood next to Vidic, hands on his hips, looking at the arrogant figure in the distance with a complex expression. He had played in the Premier League for almost ten years, marking Henry, Drogba, Torres, and Aguero.

But he had never encountered such an opponent before. He was fast, strong, and technically skilled, and he didn't play by the rules. Just when you thought you had defended against him with your skills, he would use his final trump card: he would directly overpower you with his body, and you would have no way to deal with him.

Van der Sar retrieved the ball from the goal and kicked it.

He conceded five goals.

Five.

Although it was just a training match and he hadn't fully recovered his form, conceding five goals is a disgrace for a world-class goalkeeper.

Rooney stood near the center circle, looking at Zhang Kuang with a complex expression.

But the thought of how arrogantly he'd be offered a ride back to America made his complex expression brighten. Berbatov stood beside Rooney, saying nothing.

The Bulgarian usually appears calm and elegant, but at this moment, even his composure and elegance seemed to falter. He was number 9.

He is a striker.

He and Zhang Kuang are direct competitors. If Zhang Kuang performs like this in every game, he won't even be able to stay on the bench.

In short, each player had a different feeling.

At this moment, Ferguson roared, "Team A, what are you still doing? Halftime? Hurry up and run 10 laps, not a meter less, you have to finish, or you won't get any food."

Team B, run three laps! Don't think you're safe. Hurry up, everyone run! Zhang, you run too! You think you're so great just because you scored five goals? Why didn't you share more of those goals with the team? Where's your team spirit? Run, hurry up!

At first, Team A was in despair, but then Team B was completely dumbfounded when they heard that they were also going to run away.

But after Ferguson also scolded Zhang Kuang, the people from Team A and Team B suddenly felt that the situation wasn't so bad. Wasn't the best one also criticized?

We told you to be arrogant, we told you to score goals, now you're just like us, aren't you?

Hey!

Ten laps.

Four thousand meters.

For professional players, this distance is nothing, but after just 45 minutes of high-intensity competition, running another 4,000 meters is a different story.

The players of Team A looked like wilted eggplants, dragging their heavy steps as they ran laps around the training field. Ferdinand was in the lead, with Vidic close behind, both looking rather grim. Not from exhaustion, but from embarrassment.

Four goals were scored by an 18-year-old newcomer, and he provided one assist. All five goals were related to him. If this gets out, the Premier League strikers will laugh themselves to death.

The B team players were running the last stretch of the three laps, with Park Ji-sung in the lead. The Korean's stamina was as good as ever. Owen followed behind, panting heavily, but a smile played on his lips. He had gotten a lucky break today, a goal even though it was a gift from Zhang Kuang.

Zhang Kuang ran at the very back of Team B, his steps as light as if he were taking a stroll.

His physical fitness was already good, and after the upgrade, his physical fitness improved by 20%, so the 4,000 meters was no different from a warm-up for him.

But he just ran in the middle, not wanting to stand out too much.

He was already conspicuous enough.

Ferguson stood on the sidelines, arms crossed, watching the players running laps, his expression unreadable.

Mike Phelan stood next to him, holding a tactics notebook and scribbling on it.

"Sir," Phelan lowered his voice, "you saw Zhang's performance. At this level, he could easily be a starter, let alone adapt to the Premier League. The problem remains: how do we use him alongside Berbatov? If we continue with the 4-4-2 formation, both of them will inevitably be benched. We can't just bench Rooney, can we?"

Ferguson did not respond.

Of course he saw it and thought about it; he had been thinking about this issue from the very beginning.

He not only saw it, but he saw it more carefully than anyone else, and he saw Zhang Kuang's different abilities.

The five spectacular goals: The first was a long-range shot after receiving the ball with his back to goal, relying on physical strength and shooting power. The second was an assist, relying on his composure after a one-on-one opportunity.

The third is a forced breakthrough under double coverage, relying on technique and explosiveness. The fourth is a header, relying on jumping ability and aerial duels. The fifth is a solo run, relying on speed, dribbling, and finishing ability.

Five ways to score, five different abilities.

What does this tell us?

This shows that Zhang Kuang is not the kind of striker who only has one trick up his sleeve. He can use his physical strength to get past defenders, he can use his technique to break through defenses, he can head the ball, he can shoot from long range, and he can go solo.

There are very few strikers like this in the entire football world.

"I know," Ferguson finally spoke. "We may have to make a difficult choice, but let's put this issue aside for now."

Actually, I've been thinking about another issue. Perhaps we should hide Zhang Xian for a while until September.

Ferran paused, then asked, "Why?"

Ferguson turned and glanced at him.

"Mike, what do you think the players at Chelsea, Arsenal, Liverpool, and Manchester City would do if they saw the video of today's training match?"

Ferran thought for a moment.

"They will devise new tactics to counter Zhang Kuang."

"Not only that," Ferguson said. "They will increase their recruitment efforts to buy defenders who can contain the arrogant ones. Especially Chelsea, Abramovich has plenty of money, and with that noisy neighbor next door, they also have plenty of money thanks to the investment from the Middle Eastern tycoon."

If they spend a fortune to buy two or three top-class center-backs or midfielders before the transfer window closes, that will be a problem for us.

Ferran suddenly realized.

"So you want Zhang Kuang to hold back in the warm-up matches?"

Ferguson nodded.

"Let him score one or two goals a game, don't let him stand out too much. Let other teams think: Hmm, this Chinese guy is indeed good, but not so good that he needs to be specifically targeted. Let him play freely after the transfer window closes."

"Brilliant," Ferran said sincerely.

Ferguson did not accept the flattery.

He watched Zhang Kuang running around the laps, but was thinking about something else.

Should they change their tactics, or take down Berbatov?

In the following days, the team continued to train and work together. Since Zhang Kuang's amazing performance on the first day, the players tried hard to defend against him, but to little avail.

Of course, in order to avoid making his arrogance too conspicuous, Ferguson also gave the A team a lot of leeway, sending out many reserve team players.

After the training match ended that day, Zhang Kuang called out to Pogba.

The French youngster is only seventeen years old this year, a year younger than Zhang Kuang, but he is already 1.88 meters tall. He is as thin as a bamboo pole, but he has a very good technical foundation. He is a promising talent who emerged from Manchester United's youth academy.

Zhang Kuang quickly took two steps and caught up with Pogba.

"Paul," he called out.

Pogba turned around, somewhat surprised. He wasn't familiar with Zhang Kuang and hadn't spoken to him before, so he didn't know why Zhang Kuang was calling him.

"Um?"

"You played too softly in the training match just now," Zhang Kuang said.

Pogba's expression froze for a moment.

"There were a few balls where you could have moved forward to intercept earlier, but you retreated. Retreating isn't the problem; the problem is that after retreating, you didn't block the passing lanes, so it was a wasted retreat." Zhang Kuang's tone was very calm, as if he were talking about something very ordinary.

Pogba opened his mouth, as if to say something, but Zhang Kuang didn't give him the chance.

"You're in midfield, the linchpin of attack and defense. If you falter, the whole team falters. Remember that, from now on, be the best midfield playmaker for me. Now you better be serious, or I'll spank your ass. You hear me? I'm serious, and don't even think about running away or transferring, or I'll beat you even harder."

"Huh? You want to beat me up?"

"Otherwise what? You think I wouldn't dare to beat you up? Don't worry, as long as you perform well, I'll protect you at Manchester United and get you playing time and becoming a starter as soon as possible."

After saying that, Zhang Kuang patted Pogba on the back of the head and strode away.

Pogba stood there, stunned, for a long time before he could react.

By the time he came to his senses, Zhang Kuang was already far away.

He touched the back of his head where he had been patted, his expression complex: there was annoyance at being reprimanded, but more than that, there was an inexplicable feeling of being valued.

Why did Zhang Kuang specifically say these things to him?

Pogba is the most promising of this group of young players. Most importantly, Giggs and Park Ji-sung are getting old. Anderson, while young, has obvious strengths and weaknesses. He's excellent at dribbling and breaking down the wings. However, his through balls and passes in the middle are lacking, his overall vision is poor, and his playmaking ability is weak.

Anderson is miles behind Pogba; Pogba is still the true anchor of Manchester United's midfield.

From now on, besides Pogba, Rooney will be filling in as the midfield playmaker, so Zhang Kuang needs Pogba to develop quickly.

Zhang Kuang knew what the future Pogba would be like: a World Cup-winning midfielder, a Golden Boy award winner, the absolute core of Juventus, and Manchester United's record signing.

But that's the future Pogba.

Pogba is still a rash young man, full of talent but unsure how to use it.

Zhang Kuang wouldn't mind giving him a hand and putting some encouragement on him.

The premise is that he has to obey. Of course, if he doesn't obey, Zhang Kuang won't be polite and might even give him a good beating.

Yes, just give him a good beating. Don't worry about anything going wrong. What locker room in the top five European leagues doesn't have fights?

Besides, Pogba is an uncultured black man who only knows fists and doesn't understand civilization. You can beat him up a few times and he'll be fine.

That's right, this is the arrogant plan.

Ferguson stood behind the window on the second floor of the office building and saw Zhang Kuang slap Pogba on the back of the head.

He looked at it for a few seconds, then laughed.

"That kid," he muttered to himself.

He saw Zhang Kuang provide numerous assists to his teammates during training, and he also saw Zhang Kuang reprimand Pogba just now; these were all reminders for the young man.

These two actions show that Zhang Kuang is not the kind of person who only cares about himself.

Ferguson turned and walked back to his desk, picked up the tactics notebook, turned to a new page, and wrote a few words: "433 - Arrogance, Rooney, Berbatov".

Yes, he had actually been preparing this formation in his mind for a long time. Rooney couldn't possibly not let him play, and neither could Zhang Kuang. Berbatov was a player he both hated and loved; he was too talented, and he wanted him to play.

"Brother, when exactly is the arrangement for that French meal you mentioned?" Rooney returned to his room that evening after washing up, swinging his gun, and asked Zhang Kuang, who was playing a game, in a low voice.

He and Zhang Kuang always shared a room in order to cultivate their tacit understanding.

Zhang Kuang glanced at the black rifle and said disdainfully, "What's the rush? We'll talk about it when we get to America."

"Huh? We have to wait? We can't rely on our hands every day."

"Pfft, kid, cut back on masturbation, it's bad for your health. Don't mess up when you actually have to face a woman."

Rooney rubbed his hands together, looking expectant.

"Bullshit, there's no way I can't be impotent."

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