Time flew by.
The adrenaline of the victory at Anfield slowly faded, replaced by the relentless rhythm of the Premier League.
Before they knew it, it was October 17th, just two days before Benfica was set to face Manchester United in Portugal.
The results of the eighth round of the Premier League were all in, sparking extensive and explosive coverage across all sports media.
Naturally, the North West Derby was the main highlight.
Meanwhile, DVB's promotional video, featuring Jeremy Ling, had been released online.
Despite the hype from the signing, it failed to make any significant waves.
The main reason was the brand's awkward market position: it fell into the "affordable luxury" category.
A single pair of ordinary jeans cost 1,999 RMB (over £220).
The brand lacked the prestige of Gucci or Balenciaga, and it lacked the affordability of mainstream labels.
Few people, even Ling's new fans, chose to buy it.
The real noise wasn't in fashion; it was in football.
.....
📺 Sky Sports: Monday Night Football🎙️
The studio lights were bright.
Dave Jones sat at the desk, flanked by a still-fuming Jamie Carragher and a smug Gary Neville.
Dave Jones: "Welcome back to Monday Night Football. It was a weekend of... well, just about everything. Let's start with the flashpoint: Anfield. Jamie, you've had 48 hours to cool down. Your thoughts?"
Jamie Carragher: "I'm angrier now than I was on Saturday. I've watched it back. For 92 minutes, only one team was trying to win. We dominated them. Look at the stats! 19 shots to their 6! We played football. They... they came for a 0-0. It's pragmatic, it's cynical, and honestly... it's destroying football. It's anti-football. And they walk away with three points. It's a joke."
Gary Neville: "A joke? Jamie, you had 19 shots and scored one goal. That's not dominance, that's wasteful. You were tactically naive. You played right into his hands. José did what he had to do—"
Carragher: "What he always does, you mean! He parked the bus!"
Neville: "He managed the game! He weathered the storm, he made the subs, and his match-winner... ... look at that. That's not luck, Jamie. That's world-class quality. That's the difference. Sir Alex Ferguson was applauding, David Beckham was praising him. They know what it takes to win at Anfield. You can play your pretty football; we'll take the points."
Dave Jones: "A stark contrast, gentlemen, to what happened at the Etihad. Manchester City 7-2 Stoke City. A complete and total massacre."
Neville: "That... that is terrifying. Forget what we just talked about. This is the team to beat. Who can stop City? De Bruyne is the best-attacking midfielder in the Premier League, period. Aguero and Jesus are goal machines. And Sterling is excelling at breaking down the exact kind of packed defenses United use. They are a truly dominant squad. United won, but City made a statement."
Jones: "And on the other end of the spectrum, Watford 2-1 Arsenal. Arsenal, with a squad value of €566 million, suffer another defeat to a lower-table team. The 'Wenger Out' banners are back..."
Carragher: "Look, Arsenal's biggest weakness right now is Wenger. The tactics are wrong, the morale is low. Their attacking system is outdated, and they still... still... lack a proper, ball-winning defensive midfielder. They've got no hope for the title. They'll be lucky to get top four."
.....
📱 Live Fan Reaction
@Cityzen_Blue: "United struggled to beat a mid-table Liverpool. We smashed seven past Stoke, and one of those was an own goal! This is our league! #CTID"
@Gooner_In_Pain: "Another weekend, another spineless performance. Watford's captain literally said we have no 'cojones' (balls) in his post-match interview! And he's RIGHT! WENGER OUT. #AFC"
@United-We-Stand: "Hahahaha, scousers crying about 'anti-football' again. Enjoy your 'dominance' trophy, we'll take the 3 points. Ling, you legend! #MUFC"
@Kopite_Kev: "Still fuming. We deserved everything. United deserved nothing. Their lucky #23 won't save them every week. Pragmatic football = coward's football."
@FootballAgentWatcher: "By the way, I remember reading that young Ling doesn't have a proper agent yet... just a family lawyer."
@RedDevilRich: "Don't worry. After that goal at Anfield, his phone will be ringing off the hook. The super-agents are coming."
....
While netizens passionately debated tactics, Jeremy Ling's profile landed on the desks of the three most powerful men in football.
The European scene isn't that large.
When a talented player emerges and scores a 93rd-minute winner at Anfield, the sharks begin to circle.
London, England. Stellar Group HQ.
Jonathan Barnett, one of the most influential behind-the-scenes figures in English football, skimmed through Ling's information.
His client roster included Gareth Bale, Joe Hart, and Jordan Pickford.
He was, in a word, "cunning."
Known for his sharp words and resolute attitude, he was regarded by major clubs as the most difficult opponent to deal with.
Now, with Bale's career at Real Madrid on the decline due to injuries, he urgently needed to cultivate another globally influential player to secure his own position.
Ling, on his own, was talented.
But Ling + the entire Chinese market? That was a generational opportunity.
"Get the jet ready," Barnett said in a low voice to his assistant. "We're heading to Manchester next week."
....
Portugal. Gestifute HQ.
Jorge Mendes, the original super-agent, received a scout report detailing Ling's journey.
He, of course, had the closest ties to Manchester United—former players like Ronaldo, current ones like De Gea, and even the manager, Mourinho, were all his clients.
Lately, he had been troubled.
The conflict between Ronaldo and Real Madrid's president, Florentino Pérez, was reaching a boiling point.
Ronaldo wanted to leave.
But Real Madrid had made it clear: they wouldn't sell unless a team was willing to pay his insane €1 billion release clause.
Mendes shook his head vigorously, pushing the frustration aside.
The Ronaldo problem was a complex war.
This... Ling... this was a simple, high-value acquisition.
He decided to reach out to Ling through Mourinho, to gain the upper hand.
After all, his style was to do everything possible to satisfy all parties.
The kid was in his orbit already. He just had to make it official.
....
Monte Carlo, Italy.
Mino Raiola, in his penthouse, also received the news.
His plump face contorted with a look of pure, unadulterated greed.
He represented Zlatan Ibrahimović, Paul Pogba, and Romelu Lukaku.
His relationship with Manchester United was... complicated.
In fact, he was despised by almost every club because he often encouraged players to transfer to maximize his own fee, causing significant losses.
Nevertheless, he was also the most beloved agent among players.
He handled everything.
When Balotelli set his own house on fire with fireworks, he didn't call the fire department.
He called Mino.
Raiola was famous for his pitch: "You focus on playing. I'll make sure you become the richest star in the world."
He picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number.
"Zlatan, my lion," he boomed. "I'd like to meet with the little Chinese boy, Ling. Can you arrange it for me?"
...
While the wolves of European football were pulling out all the stops, Jeremy Ling was doing what he always did.
He still woke up early, starting his day's training in the cold, damp morning mist.
He had a plan.
He would transfer £500,000 to his family as soon as the first payment from the DVB endorsement came through.
He'd keep the rest for himself.
At the very least, his parents wouldn't have to live in that rundown apartment building anymore.
They wouldn't have to scrimp and save.
They could finally, finally, enjoy life.
Perhaps because he had one more goal now, he felt even more motivated.
Thud!
With a dull thump, the ball curved around the free-kick dummy and shot toward the top corner.
The angle was slightly off.
It skimmed the outside of the post.
Ling wiped the sweat from his forehead and continued his rigorous training without pause.
Ever since scoring that goal, he had dramatically increased the proportion of his curling shot practice.
He focused, the system interface flickering in his mind.
He realized, after studying it, that the [Gold Module: Elastic Curve] wasn't just for cutting inside and shooting.
It was a physics-based upgrade.
It could be used for free kicks. For corner kicks. For whipped, early crosses.
The modules themselves weren't rigid—they required the user to make adjustments, to innovate.
He thought about his Matthews Shoulder Drop.
It was a basic feint. But he'd been practicing combining it with other skills—a step-over into the shoulder drop, or using it to flow directly into a la croqueta.
All football dribbling moves were composed of the simplest actions.
Pull, flick, step, cut, lift.
How to combine them depended on creativity.
But no matter how talented, you must have solid fundamentals. Otherwise, you'd end up tripping over the ball.
As time passed, Ling lived a repetitive life: Dormitory, Training Ground, Old Trafford.
During this period, two important things happened.
First, the UK's autumn exams were about to begin.
But thanks to his recent hard work, getting into a decent university (on paper, at least) wouldn't be a problem.
Second, he obtained his driver's license.
After signing usage agreements with the club and their sponsor, Chevrolet, he received a 2017 2.0T Camaro.
It was bright, obnoxious, "Bumblebee" yellow.
.....
October 19th. Estádio da Luz, the Stadium of Light.
It was packed with a massive, roaring crowd.
A sea of red, the air thick with smoke from flares.
The third round of the Champions League group stage was underway.
Benfica vs. Manchester United.
Thirty minutes into the match, the score remained 0-0.
It was a tense, tactical grind.
On the sidelines, José Mourinho's eyes were dark and unreadable.
He had once coached Benfica, but only for a brief, turbulent three months.
The reason for his departure was a story of betrayal.
Players, loyal to the old regime, boycotted training with all sorts of excuses: too full to run after lunch... too heartbroken from a breakup to play.
Even the club's technical department secretly sabotaged him, forcing him to pay out of his own pocket for scouting reports on opponents.
Despite it all, he won over the core players.
He gradually steered Benfica back on track.
He even led the team to defeat Sporting CP, then the dominant force in the Portuguese league.
But when the club's internal power struggle ended, the new leadership, without even meeting him, publicly announced he was no longer Benfica's manager.
There was no room for negotiation.
Mourinho vividly remembered that day.
He remembered calling the newly appointed club president, his voice desperate, pleading to be allowed to coach until the end of the season.
That way, he could have a decent, full-season record on his resume and find his next job more easily.
But the answer was a cold, dismissive "no."
Coming from humble beginnings, he knew all too well the bitter taste of that helplessness and humility.
Still, he had persevered.
Now, as harsh taunts and whistles echoed from the very stands he once commanded, Mourinho calmly, almost serenely, issued new instructions to his team.
He was not the same man he was back then.
He was not the one who pleaded. He was the one who returned for revenge.
---------
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