Unconventional Center

Chapter 17: The Great Demon King

With no defenders in front of him, Chu Yang no longer needed to worry about dribbling technique; he simply pushed the ball forward and gave chase. Just two more steps and he’d be in the penalty area. The entire crowd sprang to their feet, and a chorus of gasps suddenly filled the air. No. 4 suddenly slid in from behind, showing absolutely no intention of pulling back his foot. It was a tackle aimed directly at him. Chu Yang instinctively sensed danger and quickly jumped upward. Although he dodged No. 4’s cleats, he was still tripped and fell to the ground. “Foul! That’s a malicious foul! Chu didn’t have the ball—that’s a suspension-worthy play!” The fans on the sidelines were also up in arms. “Damn Meyari people! You don’t deserve to play soccer!” “Poor Chu, I hope he’s okay.” “That butcher—he should go play that ugly soccer from England or Italy.” Mei Yun and Chu Yu’s hearts sank; mother and daughter found their hands clasped together without realizing it. They breathed a sigh of relief when they saw Chu Yang get back to his feet, seemingly unharmed. “Beep!” A sharp whistle sounded. The referee ran over, reached into his pocket, and held up a red card high in the air. No. 4 glared fiercely at Chu Yang, muttered a curse under his breath, and, ignoring the referee, walked straight off the field. The other Ameyari players wanted to plead with the referee, but seeing No. 4’s reaction, they simply accepted their fate. “Chu, are you okay?” Mo Ya was the first to reach him, looking worriedly at Chu Yang’s foot. “I’m fine, just got tripped,” Chu Yang said, shaking out his leg. “That’s good.” “Chu seems fine—thank goodness,” said Milk. “Valencia has earned a free kick just outside the box. Now it’s up to Cesc.” “Damn it!” Brady kicked a water bottle on the sideline hard, drawing a disapproving glance from the fourth official. He quickly turned his attention back to the field, pretending not to know anything, but the Valencia fans weren’t about to let him off the hook—a wave of piercing boos surged toward him. “Move over a bit to the left—someone stand here,” Ameyari’s goalkeeper directed his teammates as they formed the wall. “Ibaka, you don’t need to join the wall. Stay with that player from China, No. 9—watch out for his follow-up shot.” Ibaka, who was about to take his place in the wall, walked dejectedly toward Chu Yang. To be honest, he was a little intimidated by Chu Yang. But Chu Yang welcomed him warmly. “Hey, buddy, nice to see you again.” “All right, Ping-Pong Boy, don’t talk to me, or I can’t guarantee I won’t punch you right in that handsome face of yours.” “Oh, even though you’re complimenting my good looks, that still hurts my feelings. I felt like we hit it off right away and wanted to be friends with you.” Ibaka wouldn’t believe that for a second. He fixed his gaze on Mo Ya, who was preparing to take the free throw, and tried to ignore Chu Yang. But the moment he turned his back, Chu Yang vanished, leaving Ibaka with no choice but to chase after him with a headache as Chu Yang kept changing positions. Mo Ya set the ball, took a few steps back, and waited for the referee’s whistle, breathing slightly heavily. This was his best spot on the court; under normal circumstances, he’d have at least a 30 percent chance of scoring directly from here, but things were different now. He was too exhausted. Valencia’s offense relied almost entirely on him to initiate plays, and that explosive move he’d just made in the paint had severely drained his stamina. “I’ll just have to try a pass,” Mo Ya thought to himself. “Chu should be okay, right?” He was always the one to take the team’s free kicks, and they hadn’t specifically practiced any free-kick tactics. If they were going to try a combination play, they’d have to rely on the chemistry between teammates or the striker’s individual skill. Naturally, there was no such thing as chemistry between Chu Yang and Mo Ya, but when it came to ability, Chu Yang was certainly trustworthy. Mo Ya took a run-up and curled the ball into the air. The ball sailed over the wall, but it didn’t look like a great shot; it began to drop limply several meters before reaching the goal. The Ameyari players all breathed a sigh of relief, but Ibaka suddenly jolted to his feet. He turned to look and saw that the “Ping-Pong” kid had already taken two steps forward. “Cesc’s free kick was terrible—wait! Chu! He’s chasing the ball! That’s not a shot—it’s a pass!” The ball was dropping toward the front left corner of the six-yard box. Chu Yang was chasing it from the right side of the six-yard box, while the goalkeeper dived toward the ball. Judging by the speed, it looked like Chu Yang would reach it first. Everyone else was half a second too slow to start running toward the ball, but it was clearly too late. The ball dropped. Chu Yang jumped, turned, swung his leg, and gently flicked the ball with the back of his heel just below the center—the ball bounced up again, sailed over the goalkeeper’s head, and landed in the net. Da Fengxian’s “scorpion kick” shone for the first time at Mestalla Stadium; the entire stadium seemed to fall into an eerie silence for two seconds before suddenly erupting in cheers. Chu Yang spread his arms wide, tilted his head back slightly, and, mimicking Da Fengxian’s “I’m just that badass” expression after scoring, walked toward the stands. Once again, Mo Ya was the first to rush over, and without a word, he jumped straight onto Chu Yang’s back. “Damn it, Cesc, get the hell off me right now. I don’t like men.” Mo Ya roared with laughter. After jumping down, he grabbed Chu Yang by the neck from behind, shook him violently, and shouted, “Damn it, Chu, are you God? Only God could score a goal like that.” “Screw God, I’m going to be the Great Demon King,” Chu Yang said, shaking himself free from his grip. “The Great Demon King who rules the world of soccer. How about that? Doesn’t that sound awesome?” “Cool? No, that’s childish! Only elementary school kids would think a title like that is cool. I have to say, Cai Chu, you’ve got a childlike spirit.” “Pfft! You just don’t get it!” “What an incredible goal! Chu sent the ball into Ameyari’s net with a move that looked just like a roundhouse kick. Let’s take a look at how graceful that was. Oh, and just like before, he didn’t even glance at the goal. Is this the trendy way to celebrate this year? Or is it just a thing from China? Díaz, what do you think of this goal?” “That was great—just as beautiful as that goal I scored back in the Europe Championship.” “Hahaha, are you talking about that lousy backheel goal of yours? Haven’t I told you before that your celebration back then was absolutely hideous? All right, all right, I know you’re going to say times have changed, but let’s get back to this goal. I bet the audience is dying to know what kind of rating a goal like this would get from professionals like you?” “Rating? Well, forget about those nine goals. I’m declaring it: I’m now a fan of Yang Chu.” “No, no, no—it’s Chu Yang. ‘Chu’ is the surname, and ‘Yang’ is the given name. Names in China are different from ours. Hey, Díaz, don’t give me that adoring look. I’m no expert on Chinese culture; I just did my homework. I knew Chu was going to be a big deal. As the Chinese say, he’s destined for greatness. See, I may not play as well as you, but when it comes to foresight, you’re way behind me.” ”