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

In the boundless, dark training ground, the lights shone on the densely packed plum blossom stakes.

Sun Yang stood in front of the first wooden stake and took a deep breath.

He flicked the ball forward, his eyes fixed on the surface, searching for the point of contact.

"Look up! Look straight ahead!"

Zidane's stern rebuke exploded in my ears.

Sun Yang quickly raised his gaze and pushed the ball forward with his right foot based on his instincts.

There was a muffled thud.

The ball struck the second stake squarely and bounced out of bounds.

They couldn't even get half a meter across.

Zidane stood expressionless on the sidelines, holding a whistle in his hand.

"Terrible." Zidane's voice echoed across the empty training field, carrying a thick southern French accent.

"Your ankle is as stiff as a rusted machine part. Pick it up and start over!"

Sun Yang gritted his teeth, ran over, and retrieved the ball, returning it to the starting point.

He started again. This time he tried to control the ball between the two posts using the inside of his right foot.

He barely made it past the first three stakes, but because he couldn't look down, his perception of the ball's distance became distorted.

Just as he changed direction to get around the fourth stake, his right toe poked directly into the bottom of the ball.

The ball flew high into the air, out of the range of the plum blossom stakes.

"Stop," Zidane blew his whistle.

His bald head gleamed under the searchlight as the French superstar walked up to Sun Yang.

"I just observed your gait. Boy, are you disabled?"

This statement was extremely damaging. Sun Yang was stunned.

"In those five touches, all your dribbling, flicking, and changing of direction were done with your right foot."

Zidane pointed to Sun Yang's left leg.

"Is your left foot just attached to your body to keep your balance and avoid falling? Little one! Your left foot is completely useless!"

Sun Yang was somewhat embarrassed. His left foot was indeed his weakest foot. In normal matches, unless absolutely necessary, he rarely used his left foot to handle complex dribbling maneuvers.

He has a cheat code that allows him to "shoot exactly where he points," making him more reliant on his dominant right foot.

"No truly top-level professional player is crippled! Do you think the French midfielder danced in front of those bloodthirsty South American defenders?"

Zidane's eyes were extremely stern.

"Modern football is getting faster and faster. When a defender blocks your right flank, are you going to slowly switch the ball to your right foot before making a move?"

"You were half a second too late; someone else's spikes were already on your ankle!"

Zidane lifted his foot and hooked the ball in front of him.

"Look carefully."

Zidane began to weave through the plum blossom stakes.

His gaze remained straight ahead, without him looking down at all.

The ball bounced back and forth between his feet.

The ball is flicked with the outside of the right foot, followed by the inside of the left foot. The sole of the left foot pulls the ball backward, while the toes of the right foot immediately push it forward gently.

The football became an extension of his body; the switching between his left and right feet was seamless, as natural and smooth as water flowing through rocks.

"You need to make judgments earlier than the defenders."

Zidane's voice echoed throughout the stadium.

"When the ball is still at your teammate's feet or still flying in the air, you must have a radar map of the surrounding environment in your mind."

"Predict the defender's movement, then choose the right foot and execute your move at the most opportune moment."

"Don't try to find the ball; let your feet remember its position."

The demonstration was flawless; Zidane brought the ball to rest in front of Sun Yang.

"From now on, every change of direction must alternate between left and right feet. One violation, and the count resets!"

Sun Yang was panting heavily, sweat dripping from his chin onto the grass.

Although the Dream World Hardcore System does not consume real physical energy, the extremely high level of mental concentration required, coupled with the psychological pressure from constant setbacks, is more tiring than running 10,000 meters.

He stepped on the ball again, raised his head, and forced himself not to think about the position of his feet.

Push off with your right foot, stop with your left foot.

Stumbling and wobbling, moving as slowly as an old man taking a walk.

But he managed to get through more than a dozen plum blossom stakes.

Just when he thought he had found the right rhythm, the scene in front of him changed again.

The plum blossom stakes that were originally still began to move irregularly.

Even more frightening, two or three virtual defensive players wearing different colored jerseys appeared in the gaps between the plum blossom stakes.

These virtual figures were tall and muscular, charging fiercely toward Sun Yang.

boom!

Before Sun Yang could react, he was carried away on the shoulder by a virtual giant and slammed heavily onto the grass.

The ball had already been intercepted.

"Stand up, little guy!" Zidane showed no mercy.

"This is the kind of real pressure you have to experience. Football isn't a one-man show on an empty field."

Zidane looked at Sun Yang lying on the ground.

"In a real professional match, only 20% of the time is spent unmarked. Therefore, here, the amount of play involving the ball must exceed 80%!"

Zidane's roar drowned out Sun Yang's panting. "Abandon those meaningless, non-contact technical drills. Now, face their pressure and carry the ball! Remember, keep your eyes always on the open space ahead, absolutely no looking down at the ball!"

Sun Yang got up and dusted off his trousers. The pain from that collision was absolutely real.

He gritted his teeth and took the ball back.

This is a completely new kind of torture.

He not only had to juggle his left and right feet, keeping his head down to watch the ball, but also had to devote a lot of energy to fighting off the brutal collisions of those virtual figures.

With only 63 points in physical attributes, he is often easily pushed off balance when protecting the ball.

"Your center of gravity! Your center of gravity is too high!"

"Bend your knees! Distribute your pitiful weight to your supporting foot! Use your hips to feel the opponent's strength, then use that strength!"

Zidane transformed into a devilish instructor, constantly roaring from the sidelines.

This football philosophy, which blends the delicate touch of the French Latin style with the robust and confrontational style of European football, is being forcibly instilled into Sun Yang's mind through repeated trials and tribulations.

The thousandth attempt.

The third thousandth attempt.

The 5,000th attempt.

Sun Yang's jersey was soaked through and then dried, then soaked through again.

He completely forgot about the passage of time in the outside world. His mind was filled only with the ever-changing plum blossom stakes and the virtual defenders that could pounce on him at any moment.

In order to incorporate the extremely complex Marseille turn into actual combat, Zidane broke it down into its movements.

Sun Yang faces a virtual defender.

"Shield the ball with the inside of your right foot!" Zidane shouted the command.

Sun Yang immediately did as instructed.

"Rotate your body 90 degrees counterclockwise, using your right toes as the pivot point!"

Sun Yang forcibly twisted his waist and abdomen.

"Immediately follow up with the sole of your left foot, pull the ball back! Pull the ball back deeply!"

The ball was slowly pulled out from under the defender's legs by the left foot.

"Alright! One last step, take control of the ball with your right foot and accelerate forward!"

The entire process was forcibly divided into four extremely precise steps.

Sun Yang practiced this axis transformation repeatedly like a robot.

If there is even the slightest flaw in the movement, or if there is a pause between two touches, Zidane will make him do it again.

Under such intense pressure, Sun Yang not only had to meet the movement requirements, but also had to keep his head up.

Zidane even stood on the sidelines, holding up signs with different numbers and colors printed on them.

"What number is it? Shout it out loud!"

"Red! Number eight!" Sun Yang shouted hoarsely as he struggled with two defenders.

"What number is that!" Zidane changed his card.

"Blue! The number nine!"

This requires Sun Yang's brain to operate at full capacity.

Not only do you have to control the ball at your feet and deal with the physical contact, but you also have to keep an eye on the changes on the sidelines.

This is the true vision of a midfield maestro. Seeing in all directions and hearing from all sides.

Time slips away in endless mechanical repetition.

Until the last few attempts, Sun Yang didn't even think things through when he was double-teamed by two defenders.

His right foot had just touched the ball when his body instinctively began to turn.

The sole of his left foot brushed across the surface of the ball with remarkable naturalness.

Then, he gently flicked his right foot.

The entire Marseille turn flowed smoothly like flowing water. He gracefully slipped between the two burly men, his gaze even lingering on a virtual receiving point in the attacking third.

Muscle memory has finally formed.

Those originally rigid action commands have become subconscious conditioned reflexes.

After an unknown amount of time, just as Sun Yang was preparing to rush to the next set of plum blossom stakes...

The lights suddenly distorted. The entire training ground began to shake violently.

A force pulled him out of his endless concentration.

The crisp sound of the doorbell pulled Sun Yang back to reality from his deep spiritual connection.

He suddenly opened his eyes, his whole body soaked as if he had just been pulled out of the water, but there was an undisguised sharpness in his eyes.