Awakening the Messi template, Florentino Pérez begs me to join Real Madrid

Kuala Lumpur, AFC Champions League semi-final draw ceremony.

Lippi didn't go in person. The old man sat in his office at the Guangzhou training base, with three screens in front of him: one showing the live draw, one showing recordings of Kashiwa Reysol's last ten matches, and the third screen was black.

Assistant coach Magroni called from Kuala Lumpur, his voice tinged with the fatigue of a long flight: "In the East Asia region, we're facing Kashiwa Reysol. The Korean team has been eliminated by them."

Lippi grunted in response, not looking at the celebratory scene on the screen, but focusing his gaze on the number 7 player in the blue jersey who was constantly running in the video footage.

Kashiwa Reysol. Last season's J-League champions, and this season they eliminated FC Seoul in the AFC Champions League. They are not the traditional "East Asian champions," but their ability to grind down a South Korean team over two legs shows they are no pushovers.

"What do you think?" Magroni asked.

"We are stronger than them," Lippi said, "but they are more difficult to deal with than we imagined."

He paused.

"Also, Conca won't make it to the first round."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Where is Zeng Cheng?"

"You can play him." Lippi turned off the video recording. "But the first leg is away, so the defensive pressure will be immense. The goalkeeper is just the last line of defense."

He didn't say anything more. Magroni understood.

The real problem is in the midfield.

At the same time, at the Guangzhou training base.

Wu Shi had just finished an extra set of free kick practice and was leaning against the goalpost drinking water. His phone vibrated; a notification popped up: [AFC Champions League Semifinals Matchup: Guangzhou Evergrande vs. Kashiwa Reysol]

"Silver" floated over from behind him, tilting its head to look at the screen.

"Kashiwa Reysol." She repeated the name. "Number 7, Kudo Masato. Number 11, Cleo—oh, you know him."

Wu Shi nodded. Cleo, a former foreign player for Evergrande, was playing for Tianhe at the beginning of the season, but suddenly transferred to another team this season, and now he's in Japan.

He is highly capable and familiar with Evergrande's tactics. In their two encounters, he will be the biggest variable.

"And that number 10." Yin tapped the screen with his chin. "Leandro, Brazilian. He's short, but has excellent footwork and is good at maneuvering around the edge of the penalty area. Shandong Luneng suffered against a Japanese team last year; the referee was strict and called fouls for the slightest mistake."

Wu Shi didn't say anything, and put the water bottle down.

"What's wrong, are you nervous?"

"Thinking about how to kick it."

"Have you figured it out yet?"

"No," Wu Shi stood up, "but there are still two weeks left."

Yin, unusually, didn't mock him. She hovered in mid-air, watching him pick up the scattered soccer balls one by one and put them back into the basket.

"Have you noticed," she said, "that when you say 'two weeks,' it sounds like you're saying 'two days.'"

Wu Shi's hands didn't stop moving: "What do you mean?"

"It means you feel like you don't have enough time." Yin crossed his arms. "Two weeks to study the opponent, adjust your form, fly to the away game, and play a do-or-die match—you're doing the math in your head, so subconsciously you feel like time is tight."

Wu Shi paused for a moment.

"A normal person would think, 'There are still two weeks, enough time to prepare.' You think, 'There are only two weeks left, it's too late.'"

"...Is there a difference?"

"Yes," Yin said. "The former is the player's mentality. The latter is the mentality of someone who wants to win."

Kick the last soccer ball into the basket.

"Don't break this string. Two weeks is enough to get a lot done."

At six o'clock the next morning, Wu Shi arrived at the gym on time.

At 7:15, footsteps were heard at the door.

It's Lippi.

The old man was wearing training clothes and holding a tablet. Without exchanging pleasantries, he went straight to Wu Shi and placed the tablet on the bench press.

The screen showed a replay of Kashiwa Reysol's match, paused on a defensive play.

"Their defense," Lippi pointed to the screen, "likes to create offside traps. The two center-backs maintain good spacing, but the full-backs push forward too much. Here—"

He dragged the progress bar, and in the picture, Kudo Masato was receiving the ball on the wing.

"—There's a gap here. Behind the full-back, in the half between him and the center-back."

Wu Shi stared at the screen.

"Muriqui has the speed to play in that position," Lippi said, "but he needs someone to get the ball in."

The old man did not say "you".

But Wu Shi knew who he was talking to.

"Your vision is your strength." Lippi turned off the recording, turned and walked out. "Don't lose it."

He walked to the door and paused.

"Conca won't play in the first game. You're an attacking midfielder."

Then the door closed.

Wu Shi stood still, his palms sweating as he held the dumbbells.

"Silver" floated beside him, unusually quiet.

After a long while, she whispered:

"The old man is handing in his paper."

The next two weeks

Conca is back.

He hasn't participated in joint training yet, but he does ball-based recovery training every day with the help of a rehabilitation therapist.

Occasionally, when Wu Shi finishes his extra training session, you can see Conca jogging alone on another field, juggling the ball under his feet, his movements still light and agile.

Zeng Cheng has fully recovered. The team doctor's report states that he is "available for high-intensity matches," and Lippi has already filled in his name in the goalkeeper column for the first leg of the semi-final.

The league will proceed as scheduled.

In the 27th round, Wu Shi played away against Shanghai Shenxin. He started and played for 62 minutes, providing one assist, and the team won 3-0.

In the 28th round, the team played at home against Dalian Aerbin. Lippi rotated eight key players, with Wu Shi sitting on the bench for the full 90 minutes. The substitutes struggled, but Gao Lin's header in the 81st minute secured the three points.

After these two matches, Evergrande's lead in the standings has increased to 7 points. With four rounds remaining in the league, as long as they don't suffer consecutive collapses against relegation-threatened teams, the championship is practically theirs.

The opponent for the Chinese FA Cup semi-final has been determined – Beijing Guoan. The match is a two-legged affair, falling between the two legs of the AFC Champions League semi-final. Lippi said at a coaching staff meeting, "We will compete for the FA Cup, but not now."

Everyone knows what that means.

The schedule is filled with squares representing three different competitions, like a chessboard with no way out.

But Wu Shi noticed something:

Lippi has never mentioned the term "treble" on any occasion.

"Silver" said, "Because he knows it's useless to talk about it. Players aren't motivated by slogans, they're motivated by winning games."

"So do you think we can take it?"

Yin remained silent for a few seconds.

"You have the ability," she said, "but ability doesn't equal championship. Injuries, form, referees, luck—any one of these factors can cause you to collapse."

She looked out the window at the darkening sky.

"However, did you ask if I 'can' or 'will'?"

Wu Shi did not answer.

"Yes, that's calculated on paper," Yin said. "Help, that's achieved through hard work, kick by kick."

"At this point in the game, asking whether it's possible is pointless."

"There's only one thing left: go for it, and see what happens."

The night before their departure for Japan, Lippi and Magroni stayed in the office until very late.

On the table lay a complete data analysis of Kashiwa Reysol's last five games; the coaching team had just finished their final tactical meeting.