"I assure you, sir, if we lose just one more of the remaining three games, I'll leave with those two 'damned' Chinese guys!"

Adrianse watched Zhang Jun and Yang Pan training on the field. He didn't tell them about his argument with the boss, not wanting to dampen their confidence. Horns, that old fat man, was useless at everything else, but he was a master of fabricating stories.

The team had lost again, and the atmosphere wasn't good. It was best not to let the players know about this, especially since they had a very, very difficult game next week.

Although Adrianse had witnessed Zhang Jun and Yang Pan's prowess in the just-concluded three games, he still hadn't allowed them to participate, not even including them in the 16-man roster. He considered that their teamwork with their teammates was still lacking, and they had never experienced a minute of professional soccer. If he rashly sent them onto the field, he might ruin them. The pressure and pace of professional soccer weren't as simple as some people imagined. The deafening cheers and boos from the stands, the opponents' malicious gazes, the media's excessive praise or criticism, the financial interests behind soccer… he didn't know if these two Chinese teenagers could withstand it.

What troubled him most now was the rash promise he had made to the boss: he would resign if they lost a single game. And their next league opponent was none other than PSV Eindhoven, currently ranked second, one of the traditional top three, and it was an away game. How easy would it be not to lose? Could he bear such enormous pressure alone? If they lost the game next Saturday, it wouldn't matter if he left, but it would affect the professional futures of Zhang Jun and Yang Pan!

Why had he mentioned their names in the first place? Was it because he had been angered by that damned fat man? A moment of impulsiveness, yet he had jeopardized the futures of two promising stars. Was he being too cruel?

"I never thought I'd be the one to force myself onto the gambling table, Rice…" Adrianse shook his head and smiled bitterly.

Saturday, October 3, 2002, the weather in the Netherlands was fine. This day was designated by FIFA as an international match day. On these days, when there were no major cup qualifiers, countries would hold friendly matches, classified as Grade A events and included in FIFA's ranking calculations.

International match days were specifically for national teams, and therefore opposed by many clubs. According to regulations, players participating in friendlies within the same continent had to report to their national team no later than 24 hours before the game, while those crossing continents were allowed up to 48 hours. After the game, players within the same continent had to report back to their clubs within 24 hours, while those crossing continents were allowed to extend it to 48 hours. As for the final stages of major tournaments, national team players were required to report to their national teams 14 days in advance. Long journeys, physical fatigue, and the risk of injury were all headaches for club owners. Why should their players work hard and travel long distances for a trivial friendly match, and risk injury?

However, a small club like Volendam had no such worries at all. There wasn't a single active international player in the team, so there was no conflict of interest with the national team. Therefore, this Saturday, Adrianse announced a two-day break to allow the players, who had been on edge, to relax. But he himself couldn't relax. He had to worry about the next away game against PSV Eindhoven.

The forwards were undoubtedly the "source of all evils" and had to be replaced, but Adrianse was holding onto two cards and hesitant to play them. Zhang Jun and Yang Pan had no professional match experience, and if their performance against a strong opponent was a failure, their careers would be almost over. Imagine that fat man's face… Just as they were making progress, they would fall at the starting line. Such a blow would be too great, and even Adrianse didn't dare to take the risk!

While Adrianse was racking his brains over whether or not to use Zhang Jun and Yang Pan, the two of them were watching a game in the Dutch capital with their teammates.

The Amsterdam Arena, Ajax's home stadium, which could hold 51,342 people, was packed. Everywhere you looked in the stands was orange, passionate, and unrestrained orange. Before the game even started, the Dutch fans' performance began. They sang Queen's classic song "We Will Rock You," pushing the atmosphere in the stadium to its first climax. This song had resonated in every stadium where the Netherlands played during the 2000 European Championship. It truly resembled the style of Dutch soccer: total attack and total defense, passionate and unrestrained, arrogant and uninhibited, full of momentum.

Although Zhang Jun and Yang Pan had seen PSV Eindhoven's memorial match at the Philips Stadion, PSV Eindhoven's home stadium, the difference between 30,000 and 50,000 people was still significant.

Their teammates, who were also professional players, were no different from the fans in the stands at this time. They specifically wore orange Dutch home jerseys and joined all the fans in creating waves, cheering, and singing loudly. At this moment, they were fans, Dutch fans.

Looking at the enthusiastic fans around him, Zhang Jun even began to mourn for the visiting team, Iceland, in his heart. Playing in this atmosphere, any visiting team would probably be unable to perform normally. Was this what they called "home advantage"? Zhang Jun couldn't help but think of the Shenyang Wulihe Stadium on October 7th of the previous year. It was probably the same feeling. The fans were the twelfth player on the field.

The appearance of the Dutch team reignited the atmosphere. As the familiar orange jerseys appeared on the green field, the fans waved their arms and created waves. The Amsterdam Arena, covered in orange, resembled a volcano with boiling lava, ready to erupt at any moment.

Davids' appearance excited Keizer, who was next to Zhang Jun. He shouted Davids' name along with all the fans. The Juventus and Dutch national team's main defensive midfielder still had his dreadlocks tied behind his head, wearing black-rimmed glasses. Hearing the fans' shouts, he raised his hands and greeted them.

"Do you like Davids?" Zhang Jun asked Keizer, who had finally quieted down, curiously.

"Yeah, he's my idol…" Keizer said with reverence, "And my goal!"

Zhang Jun thought carefully. During training, apart from their physiques being different, their playing styles were indeed very similar. Both had very aggressive tackling styles, confronting enemies head-on, running tirelessly, and full of fighting spirit.

Kluivert, Van Nistelrooy, Frank de Boer, Cocu, Overmars, Van der Sar, Stam… these names all caused small-scale eruptions in the Amsterdam Arena volcano.

But when the Icelandic team appeared, all they received were boos. Even Buys, who was on the side, booed along. These boos from the fans didn't all represent dissatisfaction with someone, but rather to put psychological pressure on the visiting team, which could also ensure the home team's victory. These fanatical fans were truly creatures of strong likes and dislikes. As long as they were opponents of the team they supported, they would hate them madly, boo them, and use every means to put psychological pressure on them and increase the difficulty of playing.

The game ultimately ended with the Dutch team defeating Iceland 3-0. Zhang Jun didn't have a deep impression of the game itself, but the atmosphere inside the Amsterdam Arena made it hard for him to forget. The fanatical fans, the overwhelming orange, the stands seemed to tremble with every roaring cheer. Although he was just an observer, Zhang Jun was deeply moved by this atmosphere and felt his blood boiling.

When Kluivert scored the third goal for the Netherlands, all 50,000 fans in the stadium shouted his name madly. Zhang Jun, however, lowered his head and clenched his fists: This is soccer! This is the stage I've been dreaming of!

"Ann! Bring three more barrels of beer!"

A large fat man shouted loudly from the back, full of energy. More and more people were gathering in front of him. This afternoon's friendly match between Germany and the Czech Republic was the highlight of today's international match day, and therefore attracted many people.

A tall Chinese young man carried a large barrel out. He placed the wine under the bar and turned to go back into the back room. On every match day, this small bar was always crowded, and An Ke was especially busy. Usually, it was a gathering place for Dortmund fans. Whenever there was a Dortmund game, there was no shortage of people. On days without league matches, the national team was naturally their common object of support.

The game began, and the fans' attention turned to the television broadcast. Each held a heavy beer mug but didn't take a sip. An Ke could finally rest for a while. He chose a corner, leaned against the wall, and also looked at the television. As the game progressed, he would sigh or cheer along with the others, appearing to be a loyal German fan.

When Kahn saved a nearly certain goal from Czech forward Jan Koller, it was met with cheers. The world's number one goalkeeper's performance was truly amazing! Kahn jumped up from the ground and demonstratively waved his fist at Koller and the Czech players. Germany, playing at home, was being suppressed by the Czech Republic, which was indeed very uncomfortable.

Amid the cheers, An Ke looked at Kahn waving his fist. As the captain and spiritual leader of the German national team, his performance on the field could indeed inspire his teammates. An Ke looked down at his hands again. He was studying and working part-time in a bar in Germany. His parents had spent a lot of money to send him abroad, and he still needed to find ways to earn part of his living expenses. He hadn't touched soccer in a long time. His hands must be rusty, right? Looking at his hands, covered with calluses from carrying things, An Ke suddenly missed the days when he played soccer and messed around with Zhang Jun, Yang Pan, Ren Yudi, and Kaka in high school, in this noisy bar.

It was very difficult for a Chinese teenager to study abroad. His parents had done everything they could to send him abroad, hoping that he would return home after graduation and have a better life than his parents. Studying, working, living… would he gradually drift away from soccer, from youth, until one day he completely forgot?

There were too many possibilities for tomorrow. An Ke didn't know which one awaited him.

In the remaining week of training, Adrianse was constantly monitoring Zhang Jun and Yang Pan's training performance and condition. Over the past two weeks, their cooperation with their teammates had initially developed a tacit understanding, which was a good sign. But he still didn't dare to put them in the starting eleven. It was the first time in his coaching career that he had encountered such indecision. There was no doubt about their potential. If they could take the first step well, their future would be unquestionable. But that first step, how easy would it be to take? Gambling with the entire future of two promising stars, such a big gamble made even the experienced Adrianse's hands tremble, hesitant.

Finally, after training the day before the game, Adrianse told the two of them that they were on the 16-man roster--which meant they had a chance to play tomorrow!

Five substitutes, excluding one goalkeeper, Adrianse actually brought two forwards. This could be considered a manifestation of his inner struggle.

Back home, Zhang Jun and Yang Pan suppressed the excitement in their hearts and had dinner as usual. After dinner, they returned to their rooms to review their Dutch. It was as if tomorrow was just a normal training day.

Li Yan sat on the sofa, listlessly flipping through the newspapers he had brought from China for his friend. His friend passed in front of him for a while, then stood in front of him showing off his full set of gear: a red and white PSV Eindhoven jersey, a red PSV Eindhoven scarf. His friend spun around in front of him: "How is it?"

"Brother! You've walked back and forth in front of me seventeen times, spun around ten times, and asked 'How is it?' eleven times! Please, spare me!" Li Yan threw down the newspaper and said in a pleading tone. "Isn't it just a regular Eredivisie game? Is it worth being so happy?"

"Hehe! PSV Eindhoven is my favorite team. How can I not support them at a home game? Their opponent is the bottom team (bottom team: because in the army's march, the squad leader often walks in the front, and the deputy squad leader walks in the back. Later, the word "deputy squad leader" was quoted in competitive sports, meaning the last place) Volendam, the chance of winning is 100%! Besides, you've been here for almost a week, and your vacation is about to end. I haven't taken you to see a regular European professional league game yet!"

Li Yan said, "It's not like I haven't seen it on TV…" But his friend interrupted him, "TV? It's a world away, can it compare to watching the game live?"

"Well, I've seen a lot of games live too. I'm a soccer reporter…" Li Yan could feel his heart fluttering, and he licked his lips.

"Ha! Can the Chinese Jia-A League compare to European professional leagues? You're a reporter who specializes in covering domestic soccer, don't think I don't know!"

Li Yan didn't say anything. Wang Hua was right. He was indeed a reporter at *Titan Sports* who was responsible for covering the Chinese Jia-A League. And those Jia-A stands that were almost half empty in almost every game couldn't compare to the Eredivisie. He, this domestic reporter, seemed to only be able to envy the international reporters. He had studied Italian, hoping to become a reporter in Serie A. As a result, the Chinese Jia-A League was short of people, and he, this newcomer, was placed on the domestic soccer beat by the editor-in-chief under the guise of "training young people." This "training" lasted for three years, and he became an expert in domestic coverage. As he spent more time in this line of work, he learned more about the shady secrets of domestic soccer, and he became increasingly disgusted with this environment. He was able to persevere entirely because he had an extremely responsible and conscientious heart, and his work ethic kept him going for three years. Unfortunately, the league he reported on with his professional ethics didn't have much professional ethics. Ideal and reality collided time and time again, and this once arrogant young man who had stepped into this field with thousands of passions for soccer and boundless hope for Chinese soccer seemed to have aged ten years in an instant. Three years were worth more than thirty years! Passion faded, hope turned into bubbles, and all that remained was numbness and inertia.

Thinking about the few spectators at the Jia-A games, and then thinking about Serie A and the Premier League on TV, the fans' songs in the stands were clearly transmitted through the airwaves.

Maybe going there could really bring back the long-lost passion. Li Yan thought this, raised his head, and Wang Hua came over again, spinning around in front of him: "How is it?"

The lights went out, and Zhang Jun, lying in bed, felt nervous. He hadn't felt nervous when he heard from Wang Bo that he and Yang Pan would be on the bench for tomorrow's game. But now, in the quiet of the night, Zhang Jun truly felt nervous, a nervousness that his body couldn't control. The sound of the clock ticking on the bedside table had even become an unbearable noise.

Zhang Jun turned over again, facing Yang Pan's bed. Yang Pan was lying on his side, with his back to him.

Zhang Jun hesitated for a long time, and finally asked in a low voice, "Yang Pan, are you nervous?"

But the answer he received was a soft snore--Yang Pan was already asleep.

Zhang Jun looked at Yang Pan's back in disappointment. Wasn't he really nervous? He was always so nonchalant. He really envied him.

His parents didn't know that he had been selected for the 16-man roster, and they wouldn't be able to see the game either. Otherwise, they would definitely be proud of their son, right? Thinking about the past ten years, his parents had never stopped him from playing soccer, unlike Yang Pan's parents, who had initially strongly opposed their son playing soccer. He could have today, he really should thank his parents… He would call home twice a week from now on…

And Sophie, her role was the biggest reason he could persevere all the way. She ignited his desire to play soccer, she made him face his inner desires, she had been by his side all along, through three years of high school and one year of college… Now he couldn't share his happiness with her, it was really a pity. He really wanted her by his side, to hear her excited screams, to see her happy smile…

The second hand of the clock was still ticking non-stop, but Zhang Jun didn't turn over again. He had already fallen asleep…