Grimaldi Forum, Monaco.
The venue was packed to the brim.
Under the relentless flashes of camera lights, star players, coaches, and club executives from across Europe made their way into the hall.
This year's turnout was unusually complete.
No one skipped the ceremony simply because they had not won an award.
That was not a subtle hint, it was clearly aimed at someone.
Sitting inside the business car, Ling suddenly remembered the scene from two years earlier.
Back then, he could only sit in front of the television and watch with envy as Europe's biggest stars attended the award ceremony.
To be honest, he had felt more than a little jealous at the time.
He never expected that, only two years later, he would be the star everyone was waiting for.
...
📰 Sky Sports: Stars Gather in Monaco for Champions League Draw and UEFA Awards
📰 BBC Sport: Ling, Messi and Ronaldo Headline UEFA Men's Player of the Year Shortlist
📰 The Athletic: Manchester United Await Group-Stage Draw as Three-Peat Mission Begins
📰 Marca: Messi and Ronaldo Arrive in Monaco as Ling Dominates Award Talk
📰 Manchester Evening News: United No.7 Takes Centre Stage After Historic Seven-Title Season
...
"Messi!"
"Cristiano!"
"Ling!"
The cheers outside the conference center rose again and again.
Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo walked onto the red carpet, and both men instinctively glanced toward the giant poster of Manchester United's No.7 hanging outside the venue.
Their expressions dimmed for a brief moment before quickly regaining their familiar spark.
Once upon a time, they had gone from challengers to monopolists of the football world.
Why couldn't they become challengers again?
Cristiano withdrew his gaze and strode forward with firm, unwavering steps.
For Juventus, domestic league titles no longer carried much challenge.
Their true focus had always been the Champions League, and the same was true for Cristiano.
In the 2017–18 season, everyone had assumed Real Madrid would complete three consecutive Champions League titles, only for Manchester United to emerge from nowhere and shatter that fairy tale.
Now, if Manchester United wanted to complete their own three-peat, they would have to ask for his permission first!
Messi smoothed the wrinkles on his suit.
Recently, he had been thinking about one question: if Barcelona had beaten Manchester United, could they have won the Champions League?
It was a question destined to have no answer.
And because there was no answer, it only became more obsessive.
"Leo, trust in your ability and in ours," Valverde said confidently beside him. "Our recruitment has been successful, and our tactics have gone through a full upgrade. As long as we don't meet Manchester United too early, whether it's Bayern, Real Madrid, or Manchester City, we have a high chance of winning. If we can win the Champions League, the Ballon d'Or won't be far away."
"Mm."
Messi nodded.
Since Argentina had lost 0–2 to Brazil in the Copa América semifinal, there was almost no hope of him winning the Ballon d'Or this year.
Suddenly, loud cheers erupted behind him.
Messi turned and saw Jeremy Ling.
A young player who had not even celebrated his 21st birthday had already broken the Premier League scoring record for two consecutive seasons, led Manchester United to back-to-back Champions League titles, and achieved the unprecedented feat of becoming a Seven-Title Winner.
The hype created by that kind of extreme heroism was impossible to measure.
According to several sports-marketing organizations, Jeremy Ling's global fanbase had already surpassed Cristiano Ronaldo's and Messi's.
Of course, China alone contributed a massive portion of that number.
"Let's go."
Messi quickened his pace and entered the conference center.
He had always been the one other players served as a backdrop for, and he had no intention of becoming someone else's backdrop now.
"Boss, I'll head to the players' area first," Ling said.
"Go ahead. After this, aren't you heading back? Remember to call me when you arrive," Mourinho reminded him earnestly.
Ling was now Manchester United's treasure, the kind whose two feet probably had insurance policies of their own.
"Don't worry!"
With that, Ling followed the staff toward the front row of the conference hall.
...
Pogba's expression was slightly uncomfortable.
After being pushed out of Manchester United following the internal power struggle, he naturally held no goodwill towards Ling.
And it did not stop there.
When a person's jealousy swelled beyond control, he was bound to do something ridiculous.
According to the most absurd tabloid story of the week, Pogba had allegedly gone to his personal witch doctor and spent 200,000 euros to place a curse on Ling!
Of course, the curse was not meant to physically harm Ling.
It was supposedly only meant to make his football skills a little worse.
Unfortunately, the witch doctor was not exactly loyal.
After taking the money, he started talking everywhere and eventually sold the story to The Sun.
As luck would have it, the news broke just the day before the ceremony, which was why Pogba now looked so embarrassed.
Ling did not pay any attention to Pogba and treated him like air.
He was not that kind.
Being friendly with someone who had tried to mess with you was not kindness.
It was stupidity.
Suddenly, a wry smile appeared on Ling's face as he remembered what had happened yesterday.
When Woodward found out that Ling had supposedly been cursed with witchcraft, he panicked and immediately hired a witch doctor from Ghana to perform a ritual at Old Trafford.
The witch doctor used Pogba's jersey, soaked it in chicken blood, danced around while throwing it into a blazing fire, and finally scattered the ashes into the River Irwell.
Ling had been utterly speechless at the time.
Compared to unreliable witchcraft, he might as well go home and pray to Buddha.
Who knew? Maybe Pogba would suffer backlash instead.
Mbappé, however, enthusiastically extended his hand.
"We haven't had the chance to face each other in the Champions League for two years. I hope we get the opportunity this season."
Back when Ling was just rising to fame, people had often said that after the era of Messi and Cristiano, the football world would belong to Ling and Mbappé.
But now, many had changed their minds.
Peerless.
An era belonging to one man alone.
Mbappé wanted to prove that he was no weaker than anyone.
The genius who had won the World Cup at just nineteen wanted to reshape the future of football into a rivalry, not a one-man story.
"Me too."
Ling shook Mbappé's hand with a cheerful smile.
The more he looked at the person in front of him, the more Mbappé resembled a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle!
All he needed was a mask, and the cosplay would be perfect.
...
Soon, the 2019–20 Champions League group-stage draw and UEFA Awards ceremony officially began.
First came the UEFA President's Award.
Who was it?
The silhouette of Manchester United's No.7 appeared on the screen.
But it was not Ling.
Upon closer inspection, the person on the screen had his collar turned up.
The King of Old Trafford.
Eric Cantona!
"Do you deserve this great stadium?"
"You should ask if it deserves me."
This was a conversation between Sir Alex Ferguson and Cantona.
Exceptional skill and an eccentric personality had created the unique myth of Manchester United's No.7.
"Seagulls follow trawlers because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea."
"I am not a man. I am not French. I am Eric Cantona."
Cantona's words were philosophical, baffling, and completely his own.
After retiring, he did not remain in football. Instead, he entered the acting world, appearing in Elizabeth, which was nominated for Best Picture at the 71st Academy Awards, and directing Bring Me Your Love, which was selected for the short-film category at the Cannes Film Festival.
"Eric, congratulations on winning the UEFA President's Award. Do you have anything to say to the successor of Manchester United's number 7?"
The host asked with a smile.
This was clearly a carefully planned segment by UEFA, bringing two generations of Manchester United No.7s together.
"Of course."
Cantona held the trophy and smiled as he looked toward the audience, or more accurately, toward Ling.
"I started wearing Manchester United's number 7 because Bryan Robson was getting old. After I switched to the number 7, I fell in love with it. I feel as if I have worn it my whole life, as if I merged with the number on the back of the shirt."
"I could also feel the weight of Manchester United's number 7s throughout history. The legacy carried by that shirt can overwhelm some players."
Cantona shrugged casually.
"But for me, it helped. I could feel the weight of those who came before me making me stronger."
He paused, then raised an eyebrow.
"So, if you play bad in the future and ruin Manchester United, perhaps I'll come back from the entertainment industry and personally take that number 7 shirt off you."
The entire venue fell silent for a moment.
The host instantly broke into a cold sweat.
What's going on?
That was not in the rehearsal!
Cantona, true to the man who once kicked a fan, never played by the rules.
Ling stood up and reached for the microphone as the host hurried over and handed it to him.
"Ahem."
Ling cleared his throat.
"If you are the King of Old Trafford, then I am the God of Old Trafford."
The conference hall stirred instantly.
Ling continued calmly, "So I think until you're in your grave, you won't get the chance to take my shirt off me."
The venue erupted into noise.
Ibrahimović only said things like that in private, but Ling had said it on a global live broadcast!
'Absolutely arrogant.'
Almost everyone had the same thought.
But after thinking about it carefully, Ling had the right to be arrogant.
A Champions League final hat-trick, a successful Champions League defense, a Seven-Title season — any one of those achievements alone would have shocked the football world.
And Ling had done all of them himself.
Of course, Cantona's significance to Manchester United was also extraordinary.
He represented the Red Devils' never-say-die spirit.
In the player representative area toward the back of the hall, a tall, intimidating-looking player with the Salzburg badge pinned to his chest stared wide-eyed toward the front.
Even though Cantona was the one standing under the spotlight, Jeremy Ling, standing in the shadows, seemed to shine even brighter.
"Jadon, I want to become a player like him in the future!"
Haaland had found his lifelong target.
"You?"
Sancho glanced sideways at Haaland. "Just your looks alone don't cut it, never mind your rough footwork and your heading technique. You're so tall, yet you always lean back when heading. The gap between you and Ling is too big. I think I have a better chance of catching up to him."
"Get lost! I'm two years younger than Ling. Anything can happen in two years."
Haaland waved his arms around. "Besides, you look like shit, so you're not much better than me. And you can't control your mouth. Do you think Ling would steal food from the cafeteria?"
As the two bickered, Cantona stood on the podium with a pleased expression.
If you were not arrogant, what right did you have to wear Manchester United's number 7?
"Keep going," Cantona said. "If you can win three consecutive Champions League titles, I'll make a documentary about you."
"Deal."
Ling sat back down.
The unexpected exchange had made the award ceremony far livelier than planned.
📱 @UnitedStand ✔
Cantona: I'll take the No.7 shirt off you if you play badly.
Ling: I am the God of Old Trafford.
This club is not built for normal people lmao!
| ↳ 📱 @StretfordEndTom
| Reply: The No.7 shirt is basically a legally protected arrogance license.
📱 @SkyFootball ✔
Ling calling himself the God of Old Trafford on a UEFA stage is either outrageous or completely fair. Maybe both.
📱 @CantonaQuotes
Eric looked proud. That tells you everything.
📱 @NeutralUCLWatch
Haaland staring at Ling like he just found the final boss of football was hilarious.