The sky over Munich was deep and silent, dotted with a few dim stars. The floodlights over the main field were already off, but on one of the side pitches, a few lamps still glowed faintly — perfect.
Qin Ming quietly pushed open the dormitory door, his backpack slung over one shoulder, a pair of well-worn boots inside.Højbjerg leaned against the wall, whispering, "The staff leaves at ten. You've got maybe an hour before someone notices."
"More than enough." Qin Ming smiled. "Thanks, brother."
Højbjerg shook his head. "You're insane, you know that?"
"Maybe. But sometimes you have to be insane to get noticed."
With that, Qin Ming slipped into the night.
The artificial turf glistened faintly under the lights. The cool breeze carried the scent of freshly cut grass — familiar, comforting, alive.Qin Ming stepped onto the pitch, took a deep breath, and dropped the ball in front of him.
The moment his foot touched it, something inside him clicked.
It was… different.
His first touch felt natural, smooth — like the ball wasn't an object anymore, but part of his body. He nudged it forward with the inside of his foot, flicked it back with his heel, spun around, and caught it again on his thigh.
"Whoa…" he whispered, grinning.
He didn't even need to think; his body just knew what to do.That rhythm, that flow — it was pure Ronaldinho.
He started dribbling casually, one step, then another, letting the ball roll and weave between his feet. His body swayed side to side, fluid and unpredictable.Even without an audience, it was like he was dancing — a one-man carnival under the Munich night sky.
Suddenly, the system's voice echoed in his head:
[Skill Extraction Available.]Extract skill from template?Options:① Elastico (Flip-Flap)② No-Look Pass③ Sombrero Flick
Qin Ming's eyes lit up."Obviously… option one."
[Skill Extraction: Elastico — Success!]
A flash of light coursed through his body, settling into his right foot like a spark.
He could feel it — that familiar, exaggerated feint that had broken countless defenders' ankles. He took the ball again, rolled it left, snapped his ankle, and whipped it right in one seamless motion.
The swish of the movement was crisp, sharp — clean.
The ball shot forward, spinning past an imaginary defender.
He tried again. Faster this time. Roll left, snap right.And again. And again.
Each time, smoother than the last.Until finally, even he had to laugh out loud.
"Ha! If only those old Bayern guys could see this."
But someone was seeing it.
At the edge of the pitch, a shadow stood quietly, arms crossed.
A man in a gray hoodie, his face half-hidden — but the bald head glinted under the faint light.Erik Ten Hag.
He had returned to the base late to review some footage — and spotted movement on the surveillance feed.Now, he watched silently as the boy he had written off danced across the turf, moving like water, like light, like… magic.
The ball obeyed him completely, never straying, never hesitating.That wasn't luck — that was skill. Real skill.
Ten Hag's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
On the field, Qin Ming decided to take it up a notch.He set the ball down thirty meters from goal, took a few steps back, and ran forward.
As his right foot struck, his body naturally shifted — a little flick of the hip, a graceful arc — Bang!
The ball soared, spinning beautifully through the cool night air and curling right into the top corner.
The clap of it hitting the net echoed across the empty field.
For a second, Qin Ming just stood there, stunned.Then he laughed — loud, free, wild.He spread his arms wide, looking up at the stars.
"This is it… This is what football should feel like!"
At that moment, the system chimed again:
[Mission Complete: Prove Yourself!]Reward: +5% Template Fusion (70%)Skill Proficiency: Elastico +10]
A surge of energy pulsed through his limbs. His muscles tensed, his vision sharpened — the world felt even clearer, more alive.
Behind him, Ten Hag finally spoke, his voice low but firm.
"Qin."
The laughter froze in Qin Ming's throat.He turned slowly, and sure enough — there was that unmistakable bald head.
"C-coach," he said awkwardly, scratching his neck. "I was just… warming up?"
Ten Hag stepped closer, his gaze steady."For someone banned from training, you seem quite... motivated."
Qin Ming opened his mouth, but Ten Hag raised a hand.
"Don't bother explaining. I saw it."
Qin Ming blinked. "Saw… what?"
Ten Hag's lips pressed into a thin line. "That goal."
There was silence for a moment.
Then — to Qin Ming's utter disbelief — the corner of Ten Hag's mouth twitched upward. Just barely, but enough to notice.
"Tomorrow morning," Ten Hag said. "Be on the training pitch."
Qin Ming stared. "Wait… you're lifting the ban?"
"Don't make me regret it," Ten Hag replied, already turning to leave.Then he paused. Without looking back, he added, "If you can play like that in a real match, I might just change my plans."
And with that, he walked off into the night.
Qin Ming stood frozen for a moment.Then, as realization hit, he broke into a grin.
"Looks like the show's just getting started."