Football: He suffered a broken leg at the start of the game, but partnered with Haaland!

The next morning, the view outside the window was still a grayish-blue.

Sun Yang opened his eyes right on time.

I stretched lazily and opened the window.

The lights at the Dortmund training ground are coming on one by one.

The massive football factory began its day's work.

Sun Yang felt incredibly light.

The system's dreamlike experience of a whole night of grueling training.

Surprisingly, it didn't leave him with any sense of fatigue in reality; instead, it gave him a feeling of being reborn and refreshed.

He knew very well that he needed to survive in the top five European leagues.

You have to train like crazy. Even if you only improve a little bit every day, you'll still see yourself getting stronger.

After all, professional football never believes in tears; it only recognizes running statistics and whether you can pass the ball out in a meat grinder-like confrontation.

Sun Yang put on his sportswear and stuffed the shin guards with the Monkey King painted on them by his father into his training bag.

Push open the door and step into the morning breeze.

The training base at dawn exudes the rigor of a top-tier elite club.

A thin layer of dew clung to the grass, and the automatic sprinkler system in the distance had already started, the water mist shimmering white under the lights.

A small trimmer was slowly driving along the side of the field, its blades humming as it pressed a perfectly neat dark green stripe into the lawn.

Sun Yang stopped and took a look.

This is a top European club.

Even a patch of grass is treated like a work of art by a professional team.

It's definitely not like those bumpy, rotten vegetable plots in China.

Just drawing two white lines doesn't make it a training ground.

Every inch of grass here seems to be telling you something.

Want to play professional football?

It must first be worthy of this venue.

After a simple stretching session, Sun Yang began jogging slowly around the court.

a circle.

Two laps.

Three laps.

……

The sky began to brighten.

His breathing became heavy.

My lungs feel hot.

My legs are getting heavier and heavier.

But he gritted his teeth and never stopped.

Choosing to stay in a dormitory is not about saving a little bit of rent.

Rather, it was so that I could be the first person to step onto the grass.

Others can sleep until seven o'clock.

He can run three more laps at six o'clock.

Others go home to rest after practice.

He can come back and practice passing and shooting for another half hour.

Sun Yang admits he has talent, but in this place teeming with monsters, talent alone isn't enough to secure a seat on the bench.

Arsenal don't want him.

He then trained himself to the point that they couldn't sleep.

After finishing the last lap, Sun Yang bent over, supporting himself on his knees, sweat dripping from his chin onto the grass.

He took a few breaths and looked up at the yellow and black team emblem in the distance.

Borussia Dortmund.

He has arrived at this place.

We're not here for tourism.

Rather, it's about letting the whole world see the name on the back of this yellow and black jersey.

After the morning training session, Sun Yang took a shower and went to the players' restaurant.

The restaurant is very large.

The training field can be seen from the glass window.

Rows of stainless steel dining tables were polished to a shine, and a nutritionist stood beside them, recording what each player had taken.

The screen on the wall scrolls through today's training schedule and recommended diet.

Low-fat yogurt.

Whole wheat bread.

Boiled chicken breast.

Salmon slices.

Quinoa salad.

avocado.

Steamed eggs.

banana.

There are also recovery drinks formulated based on the players' physical data.

It's not fried chicken, fries, and soda.

Here, even a single carbohydrate is calculated precisely.

Sun Yang took a chicken breast, whole wheat bread, two steamed eggs, and also ordered a vegetable salad and a banana.

He sat down in the corner with his tray.

I had only taken a few bites when two employees next to me started talking in hushed tones.

"Is that him? The Asian kid who signed in yesterday?"

"Yes, I heard he was released from his contract while playing for Arsenal's youth team."

"Dortmund offered first-team contracts to players Arsenal didn't want? That's a bold move."

Another employee shook his head.

"You didn't watch the youth team trial yesterday, did you? His long pass was incredible, it was like feeding half the field to the striker's feet. A striker like Erling loves this kind of player."

"genius?"

"Maybe. When Sancho first came to Germany, some people said he was too young. Now? The English are practically praising him to the skies."

"But his physique looks average; the Bundesliga isn't a youth league."

"That's why today's first team training session was so interesting. Whether they can hold on or not, you'll know right away."

Sun Yang heard it.

But he didn't even look up.

He swallowed the dry, brittle chicken breast with a blank expression, then took a sip of yogurt.

It's normal to have doubts.

Asian.

Arsenal discarded player.

With these labels stuck to their bodies, anyone who sees them will ask them a few more questions.

It's okay.

The more labels you put on.

The louder the sound, the better.

After finishing breakfast, Sun Yang slung his training bag over his shoulder and headed towards the first team's locker room.

He paused as he walked down the corridor.

On the left is a whole wall of honor.

A photo of the Bundesliga championship trophy.

German Cup champion.

There are even historical videos of the Champions League trophy, which witnessed the pinnacle of European football.

Those legendary names wearing yellow and black jerseys.

Sammer.

Kohler.

Riddle.

Rosicky.

Lewandowski.

Götze.

Reus.

The background of every photo is the intimidating yellow wall of the South Stand at Westfalenstadion.

Sun Yang stared at the yellow sea, his heart beating faster than usual.

The football mecca he had only glimpsed in football games and highlights in his previous life was now truly before his eyes.

Sun Yang tightened the shoulder strap of his backpack and pushed open the locker room door with a determined look in his eyes.

The first thing you see when you enter is a row of impressive numbers hanging on the cabinet doors on the wall.

Number 11, Reus.

Number 15, Hummels.

Number 28, Witsel.

Number 7, Sancho.

Number 10, Götze.

Those names, which used to exist only on the screen.

He is right in front of him now.

Reus was adjusting his wristbands, moving slowly, like an old captain turning on his personal computer.

Hummels sat in his chair flipping through tactical papers, his brow furrowed the whole time.

Witsel put the shin guards in place, his distinctive frizzy hair making him easily recognizable.

Sancho joked with the person next to him while changing his shoes.

Götze was drinking coffee and looked rather quiet.

The atmosphere in the locker room wasn't very lively.

Professional sports teams are not school clubs.

When the newcomer arrived, no one lined up to applaud.

You can stay without a welcoming ceremony.

They make a living by their feet.

Socialite Sancho looked up and saw Sun Yang. With a head full of dreadlocks, he came over and greeted him in heavily accented London English.

"Hey bro! You're the guy who fed the ball straight into Erling's mouth yesterday? What's his name again?"

"Sun Yang." Sun Yang casually stuffed his bag into the empty locker. "From England, a Londoner."

Sancho raised an eyebrow dramatically: "Arsenal youth academy product? Are those executives' brains filled with Thames silt, just like that, letting you out like that?"

Sun Yang tidied his sneakers: "It's okay, they'll take responsibility for this decision."

Someone nearby chuckled.

Midfielder Dahoud whispered in German, "These young people these days are really interesting; they're quick with their words than they can shoot."

Sun Yang turned his head and replied directly in German.

"Then let them regret it one more time."

Dahud was stunned.

"You speak German?"

"Enough."

Guerrero was tying his shoelaces when he said to the person next to him in Portuguese, "This kid has sharp ears; we can't say anything bad about him."

Sun Yang looked over and replied in Portuguese, "You can say that, but it's best to keep it down."

Guerrero stopped tying the shoelaces in his hand.

"Do you have translation software in your head? How many languages ​​do you actually know?"

Sun Yang thought for a moment.

"Quite a lot."

Sancho burst out laughing and clapped his hands.

"Wow, a Frankenstein's monster of Chinese, German, and Portuguese origins from London, that's a bit outrageous."

Sun Yang corrected him.

"He is of English-Asian descent."

Sancho shrugged.

"Fine, the half-monkey king. Erling will definitely like this nickname."

Sun Yang glanced at him.

"I suggest you don't follow his lead and make trouble."

"Too late, buddy." Sancho laughed even harder. "That guy already posted it in the group last night."

Sun Yang was speechless.

It's only been his first day, and his nickname has already spread.

The Monkey King, right?

Row.

Do you really think he, Sun Wukong, has no temper?

At this moment, veteran captain Hummels finally put down his tactical board and came over.

His tone wasn't harsh, but the oppressive aura of a defensive powerhouse instantly filled the surroundings.

"It's good to know several languages; it makes communication much easier."

He looked at Sun Yang, his tone not harsh, but the pressure was immense.

"But you'd better face reality: on the court, the only thing that can truly shut your opponent up is your skill, not your words."

Sun Yang met the old captain's gaze without flinching and nodded in response.

"I know."

Hummels watched him intently as he continued to tap:

"That kind of long pass yesterday might look impressive in the youth league, but it's not necessarily the case in the first team. The pressing here is at least two levels faster. If you're half a beat slow, you've lost the ball; if you're even half a beat slower, you'll be on a stretcher."

Sancho chimed in from the side, "Mats, your way of welcoming newcomers is so German."

Hummels didn't even look at him.

"I just told him the reality in advance."

Sun Yang didn't utter a single word of rebuttal, his tone extremely firm: "I will adapt as quickly as possible."

Witsel sat to the side adjusting his protective gear, his tone much gentler.

"Don't rush to prove everything. The training here is very fast-paced. First, make sure you survive, then think about how to stand out."

This statement is clearly more effective than simply applying pressure.

Sun Yang looked at this senior who had once played in the Chinese Super League.

"Thanks."

Witsel nodded.

"Also, don't just chew on that dry chicken breast for breakfast. You trained for so long this morning, you need to make up for the carbs, otherwise your stamina will collapse during the joint training session."

Sun Yang was taken aback.

"You noticed?"

Witsel pointed to his feet and burst out laughing.

"The soles of your spare shoes are still wet. The grass is still damp with dew, you should have gotten to the training field before us."

Sancho whistled from the side.

"Wow, the exam king. He started taking exams on his very first day. It's really embarrassing for us old hands."

Sun Yang calmly continued the conversation while taking out his shin guards.

"If you're not physically strong enough, you can only make up for it with hard work."

Götze, who was passing by with a cup of coffee, heard this, stopped slightly, and nodded approvingly.

"There aren't many young people who know how to face their own shortcomings. The vast majority of the rising stars who come for tryouts naively believe that all they need to do is admit that they are geniuses."

On the other side of the locker room, a substitute defender lowered his voice and said in German, "Favre really dares to gamble, picking up scraps that Arsenal had thrown out and treating them like treasures."

Another person chimed in.

"I guess they just brought him in because he's good at passing, to be Erling's personal sparring partner. When it comes to real intensity, what good are those fancy moves?"

Sun Yang heard it.

But he didn't turn around.

He'd heard this cliché far too many times at Arsenal.

An Eastern face.

To combat poor performance.

The technology is flashy but impractical.

Every word he uttered revealed his inherent arrogance and prejudice.

After hearing it so many times, even getting angry feels like a waste of time.

He didn't want to argue at all; he just felt his feet burning and wanted to rush onto the grass as soon as possible.

Smash all the criticism along with the goalposts.