WE ARE SO BACK, MENN!!
LESSGO<3
If we reach 15 "valid" comments in 10 hours from the time this chapter is posted, there will be a bonus chapter. (Valid comments must include information about what you like or dislike about the story)
Also I'll try to update 3 to 4 chapters a week. I could do no more than that without affecting my studies.
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It was another day of vacation, and after Jules finished his meal, he let out a satisfied burp. Oliver put down his chopsticks, the lingering warmth of the food still on the table.
"Dad, Mom, I need to go to the nearby field to practice," Oliver said after finishing his last steamed bun.
"It's only been a few days since you came back, son?" Shuwen poked her head out from the kitchen, still holding a dishcloth.
"Why don't you rest a bit more and talk with us?" Jules asked.
"Dad, you know, professional players need to maintain their feel for the ball," Oliver said.
He quickly put on his warm down vest and training clothes, then pulled on a fleece ski hat. His exhaled breath condensed into white mist in the cold air.
"Dad, Mom, I'm going to practice now, just at our community field."
"Do you want me to go with you?"
"It's fine, Dad, I'm practicing ball control today, I don't need a training partner."
Shuwen watched her son pull out several used mineral water bottles, dozens of red and yellow plastic marker cones from the storage room, and then pick up a large mesh bag containing three soccer balls. She knew there was no stopping him. There was no other way; their son had been like this since he was little. Once he set his mind on a path, not even nine oxen could pull him back.
"Be careful, it's too cold today, try not to catch a cold. Come back early." Her words of caution followed Oliver's retreating figure to the door.
"Alright, Mom, I'm off then! Call me if anything comes up." Oliver said before hurrying out.
The wild field near his home was empty. It was enclosed by a half-worn wire fence, the plastic ground was mottled, and a few bare streetlights stood in the corners. This was Oliver's destination, a simple yet sufficiently free place. He put down his heavy equipment. There was no training partner today. Although his father had offered to be his partner, Oliver knew that his father's physical condition was a bit sub-healthy, and even picking up the ball would probably leave him breathless. His junior, Bellingham, lived a bit far from his home, and he didn't want to bother him, so Oliver could only practice by himself. If he practiced alone, shooting and long passes would be too inefficient. Most of the time would be wasted on retrieving the ball, which wasn't worth it.
So, today was for ball control. Ball control was one of Oliver's bread-and-butter skills, and one of the core abilities he had been constantly refining. Even though he had already demonstrated top-tier wing threat at Hoffenheim, he still believed that among the winger attributes, the fundamental basics would always be dribbling and ball control. Oliver warmed up his limbs, performing a few sets of Aikido. Today's chill seemed to bore into his bones, but he didn't care; his blood was already surging.
"1, 2, 3..."
He meticulously arranged the marker cones on the field. This time, he set them up more complexly, no longer just simple straight lines or circles. There were 46 in total. He used the marker cones to simulate the pressing positions of opposing players, setting up several small diamond-shaped pressing zones and incorporating continuous figure-eight routes between the channels. Today's difficulty was a bit higher than his regular training at the Hoffenheim Training Base. He wanted to test his limits.
Oliver began the first type of training: high-frequency alternating foot touches and dribbling through the narrow figure-eight area. On the community field, the damp and cold plastic ground was somewhat slippery, and the ball would sometimes slide a little faster. He lowered his center of gravity, using the more precise instep and toe areas of his feet to control the ball, his ankles locked. The force and direction of each touch were precisely calculated. The ball darted quickly between the marker cones, his body also swaying in small, high-frequency movements.
"The rhythm is too fast, the ground is a bit slippery, my center of gravity isn't stable..."
He stopped, frowning and muttering to himself, the ball resting at his feet. He thought for a moment, and when he started again, he slightly widened his stride, no longer pursuing that extreme small-step frequency. Each step was more solid, and at the moment of touching the ball, the angle of his knee flexion and extension was also slightly adjusted, providing stronger support and instantaneous explosive power to counteract the slipperiness of the ground.
"Hmm... like this... it's smooth now." The ball obediently weaved between his feet, passing through the complex figure-eight formation, leaving extremely narrow channels between the strict standard cones.
Next, he began the second type: in the simulated diamond-shaped pressing zone, dribbling in, then changing direction and accelerating to break free. Oliver first tried to use the outside of his left foot to forcefully push the ball past the imaginary first defensive marker cone, then immediately followed with an inside-foot pull-back with his right foot, dragging the ball sideways one step, and then accelerating through the gap left by the second marker cone. On the first attempt, the space left after the pull-back was too small, and he almost hit the adjacent marker cone. The ball came loose from his control.
Oliver stopped the ball in place with his foot.
"The sideways drag was too small. The explosive power of that pull-back needs to be stronger, try to gain half a body length more space, and the angle of the ball pushed out should also be slightly more to the right..." He silently reviewed.
Starting again, at the moment of the pull-back, his ankle instantly tensed and exerted force, the pushing sensation from his leg clearly felt.
"Swish!"
The ball obediently moved sideways for more than half a meter. He stepped over it, and the path ahead suddenly opened up, easily completing the acceleration and break-free. The marker cones stood quietly, not a single one touched. For the next set, Oliver practiced continuous high-speed dribbling and changes of direction under simulated defensive pressure from the marker cones. He set himself the requirement of dribbling and sprinting fifteen meters from one end of the field, then executing continuous sudden stops and changes of direction to pass through four sets of marker cone arrays arranged in an arc. Between each array, Oliver left only enough space for one person and one ball to barely pass through. Finally, he would follow with a powerful low shot towards a mineral water bottle he had placed in the corner beforehand. This was arguably the most difficult. The first sprint was too fast, and he almost lost control when entering the first arc array.
He stumbled and adjusted, getting past the first three sets. When nearing the fourth set, the most crucial and narrowest channel, at the moment of the speed change and pull-back connection, his body's momentum was too great, his foot tripped, and the ball was blocked by a marker cone. As expected, it failed.
"Hoo... hoo..."
Oliver stood in place, his chest heaving, panting. Sweat was already cold against his forehead and temples in the low temperature. He retrieved the ball, but didn't start immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes and recalled the points of contact and the angles of his body's rotation from before.
"Just now... it seems I pulled the ball back too early, my body's center of gravity wasn't fully shifted back, my right foot landed too stiffly, and my knee was too straight at the moment of pushing off, leading to insufficient cushioning, and the direction was also a bit off..."
He opened his eyes again. Let's try once more. Repeat, fail. Repeat again, fail again... Each time, Oliver would pause at the point of error to think for a moment. Sometimes he adjusted the timing of the change of direction, sometimes he increased the angle of his core rotation to make the change of direction crisper and more decisive, and sometimes he changed the part of his foot used for the final burst of power. In any case, no matter how he changed it, he just needed to find the most suitable method for himself, the one with the highest success rate. Sweat dripped repeatedly, condensing into small puddles on the cold ground. The muscles in his arms and ankles began to clearly feel fatigue and tension, that taut sensation gradually intensifying.
He didn't know how much time had passed. The air was bitingly cold, but a warm current surged ceaselessly within Oliver. With each attempt, he tried to integrate those points of thought into his movements, forming a natural body memory. Finally, this time, the sprint, the cut into the arc array, the continuous changes of direction... His body felt unusually light, the ball seemed to be an extension of his foot, perfectly conforming to every slight adjustment of his ankle and instep. As he passed through the last and narrowest set of obstacles, his body even seemed unbound by the rules of inertia. He finally perfectly replicated that movement:
At the moment Oliver gently pulled the ball with the inside of his right foot, preparing to forcefully squeeze past to the other side, it seemed his body's center of gravity couldn't fully adjust. The narrow channel was about to close. In a flash, his left arm very naturally swung back sharply, his entire upper body like the tip of a whipping lash, his core carrying an astonishingly flexible torsional force! His right shoulder pressed down slightly, and at the same time, the tip of his main kicking foot, which should have been aimed to the front-right, cleverly straightened. Like the tip of a paintbrush, using the outer edge of the upper part of his instep, leveraging the spiral force brought by the arm swing and body twist, he lightly grazed and hooked the rolling ball outwards and backwards!
"Swish!"
A new movement, defying physical intuition and carrying a strange arc, was born! The ball did not bounce out along a standard change of direction path. Instead, in an extremely small space, with that graze and hook from the tip of his outside foot, it drew an unconventional, inwardly curling small semicircle! The ball was as if pulled by a magnet, precisely bypassing the inner heel area of the simulated "defender" marker cone directly in front! Throughout the process, Oliver's arm swing, body twist, and subtle hook of his toe were completed almost in the same millisecond, flowing as smoothly as a sudden flash of knife light. At the same time, his body, due to the inertia of this arm swing, gained more counter-balancing force and sprinting space! Oliver's left foot stepped onto the new path the ball had rolled out on, his center of gravity following precisely!
Phoenix Spin!
This thought, or rather, the name of this movement, flashed through his mind without warning, naturally and spontaneously! His posture was fluid and swift, like the magnificent yet deadly instant tail-flick of the mythical phoenix in flight. This time, it flowed like water, perfectly replicated! Without any delay, he and the ball charged through the final channel. Without any time to think, he hurried a step, facing the mineral water bottle in the corner. His left foot provided a stable support, his right leg swung open at a small but extremely explosive angle, his foot taut like a heavy hammer.
"Thump!"
The soccer ball, like a cannonball, cut a clear straight line, precisely knocking the mineral water bottle flying, where it rolled far away on the ground.
"Yes!!! It worked!"
Oliver roared, letting out a heavy breath, the hot air condensing into a large cloud of white mist in the cold air. He didn't celebrate immediately. Instead, he stopped, bent over, supporting himself with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily.
"Hoo... hoo... Hiss... So tired..."
His calf, at the very moment of pushing off after the final burst of power, sent a subtle but clear, heart-stopping, twitching sensation, stretched to its limit. His calf was on the verge of cramping.
"Today... I absolutely can't train anymore. This is it." Oliver gasped, immediately freezing in place, not daring to make any more movements.
His sweat-soaked training undershirt clung to his back, chilling him to the bone. He slowly, extremely slowly, moved his body, not daring to take a single forceful step, carefully moving his ankles. After quite a while, that terrifying feeling of being on the verge of cramping slowly receded, leaving only the soreness of deep fatigue. He dragged his sore and aching legs, slowly retrieving the distant ball, and then picked up the mineral water bottle that had rolled to the wire fence, putting it back in its original place. In that short time, the wind blowing on his sweat-soaked hair made his scalp tingle with cold. Just as he was rubbing the stiff muscles in the back of his calf, relaxing his guard, a system prompt silently appeared in his mind:
[Host has continuously trained beyond limits, completing high-difficulty ball control drills under extreme physical load. Spirit and will are highly concentrated, achievement unlocked.
Unlocked personal exclusive dribbling skill: Phoenix Spin.
[Skill Description: Phoenix Spin
Player Oliver's exclusive ball control and evasion skill.
The core of this movement lies in using an arm swing to drive the upper body's rotation, forming a powerful torque during high-speed dribbling or local confrontation, supplemented by the instantaneous burst of power from the supporting foot's push-off and core stability. Simultaneously, with the non-dominant foot, the tip of the outside instep subtly scrapes a specific part of the ball, changing the ball's trajectory in a small space.
The overall movement is small in amplitude, the rhythm is unpredictable and elusive, instantly changing the direction of movement and the trajectory of the center of gravity, resembling the sweep of a Phoenix's tail, making it extremely difficult to predict and intercept.
Requires high coordination, strong core explosive power, and extremely delicate control over ball feel.]
[Ball Control attribute increased: S → S+]
The text remained stable in his consciousness for a few seconds, then slowly faded away. Oliver let out another long sigh. He raised a hand to wipe the sweat that had re-emerged on his forehead, his gaze falling on the mineral water bottle still slightly trembling in the distance. Oliver felt no wild joy, only a heavy sense of accomplishment.
"It really wasn't easy..." he murmured softly.
There was a lot contained in that sigh. Back then, when Oliver first arrived at Hoffenheim, the system-replicated S-rank ball control attribute of Di Maria gave him a very high starting point for his ball control. But that was a skill honed by a top player like Di Maria after years of immersion on the field. To take even a tiny step forward from that foundation required day-in and day-out accumulation, physical refinement, and an almost harsh understanding of every single detail. So, from the very beginning of the new season in August until today, practicing alone in the cold winter break, a full half-year of continuous tempering, countless dialogues with the ball, with himself, and with his body. Only today did he finally break open a crack in that seemingly insurmountable wall, stepping onto that tiny "+" sign.
Oliver wearily bent down and began to pick up the scattered marker cones. Each red and yellow plastic disc was cold and slippery. After tidying up, he put the three soccer balls back into the mesh bag. The field was empty, leaving only the evening chill and the sweat stains he had left behind. Although the cramping crisis in the back of his calves had receded, the deep sense of fatigue still remained. He picked up the heavy mesh bag and water bottle, stomped his somewhat numb feet, and exhaled dense clouds of white breath into the cold wind. Today's gains were significant. Although he was tired, it was well worth it.
Oliver casually pulled out his phone and sent a message home:
"Mom, I'm done practicing. I'm coming back now. Tonight, I want to eat the mixed vegetable salad Dad makes."
Soon, Shuwen replied: "Okay, your Dad is making the cold dishes now. Be careful on your way back."
Shuwen also took a picture of Jules making the cold dishes and sent it to her son.
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