Time flew by.
It was now September 11, the international break had ended.
After finishing his dribbling drills, Qin Ming heard that familiar mechanical voice.
[Template fusion rate has reached 70%.
Green Pitch System’s new feature unlocked!]
[Skill: Elven Ball Control (75%)]
[Skill: Dribbling Techniques (69%)]
[Skill: Three-Dimensional Awareness (67%)]
[Skill: Devil’s Curved Shot (52%)]
[…]
[Points: 3]
A glowing screen appeared in front of Qin Ming, displaying a slew of information he hadn’t seen before.
Upon closer inspection, he realized all the skills came from Ronaldinho’s peak-era technical repertoire.
That meant he could now train specific skills individually—and track their progress in real time.
In the real world, people often had no idea how far along they were in their pursuits, or whether they would succeed at all.
But with a progress bar, more people would persevere.
Because when effort brings visible results, that sense of reward becomes addictive—it fuels motivation.
As for what the points were for, he hadn’t figured that out yet.
“Kevin, you’re back.
Want to—”
Qin Ming saw De Bruyne returning and was about to invite him to train when he noticed his gloomy expression.
De Bruyne glanced around.
He wasn’t the kind of person who took his bad mood out on others, so he forced an awkward smile.
“Qin, sorry.
I’m a bit tired today.
I think I’ll just head home and rest early.”
“Alright… but, you know, it’s best to vent when something’s weighing on your mind.
Keeping it in will only hurt you.”
Sensing something was wrong, Qin Ming offered a warm smile.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’m a good listener.
Want to grab a drink at the Irish bar?”
Since arriving in Wolfsburg over a month ago, Qin had explored the area around the training facility.
He’d discovered the Irish pub a few days ago, tucked into a corner off Goethe Street.
It was a regular hangout for Wolfsburg Ultras.
But on non-match days, it was practically deserted—usually just the bartender inside.
“Hmm… alright.
Just a little.”
De Bruyne hesitated, but eventually nodded.
He was truly worn down inside.
If he didn’t release that pressure, he might genuinely crack.
Qin Ming smiled, packed up his gear, did a quick rinse, and brought De Bruyne along to the Irish bar.
“Good afternoon, Mr.
Scott—I’ll have a Pilsner, please.”
Qin Ming greeted the older man behind the bar, then turned to De Bruyne.
“Kevin, what’ll it be?
Beer or whiskey?”
“I’ll have what you’re having,” De Bruyne muttered as he pulled up a stool.
Scott, with his white hair and beard, showed no change in expression.
He’d been born in Berlin in 1946, right after World War II ended.
Eventually, his family moved to Wolfsburg, and he became a worker at the Volkswagen plant.
After retiring, he opened a bar—and before he knew it, decades had passed.
He’d seen plenty of Wolfsburg players come and go, both past and present.
So the arrival of two young players didn’t faze him.
“Drink less, kids.
Life is long, and there’s no hurdle you can’t overcome.”
Scott placed the beer on the counter, his voice heavy with untold stories.
“Thanks,” De Bruyne said quietly, lips barely moving.
Qin Ming raised an eyebrow and looked at the TV nearby.
It was replaying Wolfsburg’s late-August match against Frankfurt.
The clip was at the moment he performed his elastico dribble and beat his man.
As the German commentator shouted “GOAL!” Qin took a satisfying gulp of beer.
Yes, professional players needed to stay disciplined—but beer was technically a form of carbohydrates.
An occasional drink wasn’t a big deal.
Next to him, De Bruyne drank in silence.
After the replay showed Qin’s goal, he finally spoke.
“At national team camp, I saw Thibaut again.
I thought I was over it, but every time I see him, I remember that disgusting memory.”
He rubbed his temples.
These past two years had been unbearable.
First, his girlfriend had an affair with his teammates—Hunt, Courtois, and others—while he was at Chelsea and on national team duty.
If it weren’t for a Sun journalist tipping him off, he might still be in the dark.
Then came Mourinho’s brutal remark:
“One goal, one assist—that’s your level?”
That sentence exiled him to the Bundesliga and robbed him of his chance to prove himself in the Premier League.
Looking back, his young life had been defined by one word: abandonment.
Abandoned by his host family, by his girlfriend, by his coach…
That lack of security pushed him to work obsessively, trying to prove himself.
But the pain from his past weighed on him like a jackhammer, pounding his temples in the dead of night.
“I’ve never been through what you have, so I don’t really have the right words,” Qin Ming said softly.
“But I believe people must keep moving forward.”
Coming from another world, he’d felt utterly alone—like the world had left him behind.
But as he said—what’s the point in dwelling on the past?
It only drains you.
“Kevin, I think heaven only helps those who refuse to give up on themselves.
And I believe you’ve got the kind of talent that shines like gold.”
Then he smiled sheepishly.
“I guess all I can do is share some philosophical advice.
After all, I’m only sixteen.”
“…Huh?
Wait—you’re sixteen?!”
Before De Bruyne could react, Scott suddenly stood up, nearly throwing out his back.
In Germany, serving alcohol to anyone under 17 is strictly prohibited by law.
And he’d already given Qin Ming several drinks.
Earlier, he had assumed Qin was older—his maturity and demeanor seemed very adult.
But now he realized he’d been tricked!
“Mr.
Scott, I remembered wrong!
I just had my birthday the other day—I’m 17 now!”
Qin Ming quickly clarified.
Before crossing over, he had been nearly 30, so mentally he still saw himself as an adult.
“Show me your ID.”
Scott put on his reading glasses, his tone full of suspicion.
“I didn’t bring it!
But I have another way to prove it!”
Qin Ming pulled up the Transfermarkt website and showed his profile on his phone.
“You little rascal!
A few days ago you weren’t even legal.
Don’t think you can fool me just because I’m old!”
Scott scolded.
“Haha!
We’ve got training soon—we’ll get going!”
Realizing he couldn’t talk his way out of it, Qin Ming tossed 5 euros onto the counter, grabbed De Bruyne, and rushed out the door.
(END CHAPTER)