Chapter One: I Want to Play Football

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PS: Many friends, perhaps in their haste to read the beginning, may have missed some details. Here, I would like to offer a brief supplementary note, hoping that you will enjoy my book.

First, the protagonist is technically reborn, but the story is closer to the start of a FIFA career mode. That’s why he finds himself at Real Madrid in 2002.

Second, the protagonist is only seventeen, a youth player. In fact, youth players at top clubs are like grains of sand sifted by the tide—those who make it to the end have outlasted countless others.

Finally, I hope everyone will pay attention to the details, as I will not spend too much time on trivial matters. In other words, this is not a simple, formulaic story.

Therefore, if you choose to read at a glance, you may find many parts confusing, which might affect your enjoyment.

One last request: please try to read up to Chapter Ten. If by then you still feel nothing, then I must apologize for not writing the book you wanted to read, though it is truly about the football I love.

Thank you for your patience; I really did put my heart into this.

In 2002, Mo Mo stood before the gates of Real Madrid, luggage in hand, smiling freely.

In his previous life, he never had the chance to play football. By the time the new leader ascended and football began its rapid rise, his own youth had already faded.

Yet fate was kind, granting him the chance to return to 2002 and start everything anew.

Though his height was locked at 170 centimeters, and his birth date matched that of future star Cristiano Ronaldo—November 21, 1985—Mo Mo always had confidence in himself, in his talent and ability. Thus, when choosing his character and team, he did not hesitate to pick Real Madrid, dreaming of being a dashing white knight, dominating the Bernabéu.

Yet fate played a joke on him. Back then, Barcelona had even posted a sign: “If you bring us a youth shorter than 1.80 meters, don’t bother coming in.” Lionel Messi, at 170, had not yet become the Ballon d’Or king; and Mo Mo, choosing Chinese nationality, was naturally dismissed by the proud Real Madrid, who immediately sought to transfer him—they simply did not value him.

In fact, when they told Mo Mo they had decided to loan him to some lower-tier club, he replied with just one sentence:

“If that’s the case, please transfer me. But at least to a second division club.”

There was a statistic in his previous life: very few stars truly emerge from small leagues. Most who become famous debut on a higher platform, on a decent team, because playing in a top league means teammates with great skill, which helps one improve. In lower leagues, surrounded by rougher players, you must slow your own pace, making progress difficult.

Mo Mo’s request was hardly demanding; it was almost exactly what they wanted. At that time, Real Madrid’s squad gleamed with stars—they would hardly notice a Chinese player like Mo Mo.

Goalkeepers:
No. 1 Casillas
No. 13 Cesar
No. 26 Sanchez
No. 30 Codina

Defenders:
No. 2 Salgado
No. 3 Carlos
No. 4 Hierro
No. 6 Helguera
No. 15 Bravo
No. 17 Minambres
No. 22 Pavon
No. 29 Ruben
No. 31 Corrales
No. 32 Boya
No. 35 Angelo
No. 36 Duke
No. 37 Olalla
No. 39 Navas

Midfielders:
No. 5 Zidane
No. 8 McManaman
No. 10 Figo
No. 14 Guti
No. 16 Flavio
No. 19 Cambiasso
No. 20 Celades
No. 21 Solari
No. 24 Makelele

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No. 28 Cabrera
No. 32 Waldo
No. 38 Perez

Forwards:
No. 7 Raul
No. 9 Morientes
No. 11 Ronaldo
No. 12 Tote
No. 18 Portillo
No. 33 Luis Garcia

Mo Mo’s transfer was finalized: Hannover 96 in the German Second Division, a team recently relegated from the top flight. Mo Mo vaguely remembered that Hannover 96 would soon return to the Bundesliga. So be it!

He turned and took one last look at the gates of Real Madrid, clenching his fist. Sooner or later, you will regret today’s decision, he vowed.

Opening his attribute panel, Mo Mo could only sigh.

Name: Mo Mo
Age: 17
Height: 170 cm / 60 kg
Preferred Foot: Right
Position: Forward
Club: Hannover 96
Maximum for a single attribute: 20

Shooting: 4
Off-the-ball movement: 14
Composure: 18
Technique: 6
Leadership: 1
First touch: 10
Determination: 15
Anticipation: 14
Aggression: 14
Flair: 18
Passing: 3
Heading: 2
Dribbling: 8
Long shots: 2
Vision: 14
Crossing: 2
Teamwork: 1
Work rate: 15
Balance: 8
Strength: 7
Agility: 12
Acceleration: 15
Jumping: 6
Pace: 12
Stamina: 8
Fitness: 9

His stats were, frankly, exasperating. He remembered those wild shots in training, the rough, clumsy technique at his feet. Except for good positioning and those explosive bursts, he seemed to have little else.

Yet this was exactly what Hannover 96’s coach Peter Neururer valued: a forward who could pounce on chances. As for shooting, that could be trained.

Many small clubs had negotiated for Mo Mo’s transfer—after all, a player from Real Madrid, however mediocre, could at least find a footing at their level. Mo Mo recalled his first conversation with Peter Neururer. The coach said a great deal, but Mo Mo asked only one thing:

“I want to play. Will I get to play?”

When Peter Neururer promised he’d start at least half the matches, Mo Mo set his mind on Hannover 96. The club, too, badly needed fresh blood.

In 1992, Hannover 96 surged forward and won the German Cup, saving the club from bankruptcy.

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Hannover 96 knocked out Borussia Dortmund, Bochum, Karlsruhe, Werder Bremen, and Borussia Mönchengladbach to become the first second-division club in German football history to lift the German Cup.

Their hero was goalkeeper Jörg Sievers, who saved two penalties in the semi-final shootout and scored the decisive kick himself. In the final, also decided by penalties, he again made two crucial saves to help his team claim the trophy.

But the club then fell into decline. In the 1996–98 seasons, they even slipped into the third-tier northern league. Their anniversary celebrations coincided with this period, becoming a running joke among rival fans.

Afterward, the club focused on developing young players, and the squad was rejuvenated. Several of those youngsters would later join the German national team (including Gerald Asamoah, Sebastian Kehl, and Fabian Ernst).

In 1998, the team returned to the Bundesliga.

But by 1998, the tireless midfielder Fabian Ernst had moved from Hannover 96 to Hamburg.

In July 1999, the "Buffalo" Asamoah transferred to Schalke 04.

In 2000, Sebastian Kehl moved to Freiburg, and in 2001 transferred to Borussia Dortmund.

Suddenly, the young talents cultivated by Hannover 96 scattered, and the team was relegated once more to the second division. Now, their only forward, Carlmon, born in 1980, was injured.

The league had entered a critical stage. For cash-strapped Hannover 96, good strikers on the market were unaffordable, and ordinary forwards were reluctant to join such a perennially unstable, financially troubled club. Mo Mo’s arrival solved Peter Neururer’s urgent problem.

After a long journey, Mo Mo finally arrived at Hannover 96.

But bad news awaited him: 31-year-old striker Fredi Bobic had joined the club.

Mo Mo was helplessly benched. In four matches, Fredi Bobic scored four goals; with two wins and two draws, Hannover 96 stabilized at the top of the Second Division, and their probability of promotion to the Bundesliga grew.

Now the German media began to focus on Fredi Bobic. With Jancker squandering chance after chance, there was a strong call for Völler to recall Bobic to the national team, questioning, “Why not use such an outstanding striker? Thirty-one is not a problem—Bierhoff was even older in 2000 and 2002!”

Völler, going with the tide, declared that as long as Bobic maintained his form, a national team return was within reach.

Everything seemed to be going well—for everyone except one, whose eyes burned with fire.

Mo Mo, trapped on the bench, waited for his chance to shine.

March 20, 2002: Oberhausen, ranked fifteenth in the Second Division, hosted Hannover 96. Mo Mo finally got his debut opportunity.

Back in September 2001, Oberhausen had conceded twenty goals at Hannover 96’s home ground. Now, facing this challenge, they seemed content to pack the defense and hold out for a draw.

To avoid risking injury to Fredi Bobic, the newly recovered Carlmon started, with Mo Mo as substitute.

By the 63rd minute, with Hannover still unable to score, Carlmon, desperate for results, was injured in an aerial duel. Mo Mo knew instantly—his moment had come!

Sure enough, Peter Neururer hurriedly sent him on. Mo Mo punched the air fiercely, which annoyed some teammates. Every position, every team, is competitive—but was his display too much?

Mo Mo didn’t care. He wanted to play, to score! He was desperate to run free on the pitch.

He barely listened to Peter Neururer’s instructions. All he thought was: If I play, if I score, I’ll be a guaranteed starter!

Yet once on the pitch, reality was different: his teammates refused to pass to him, endlessly shuttling the ball between midfield and defense. They simply didn’t trust Mo Mo; after all, he hadn’t even trained with them properly.

Everyone’s focus was still on helping Fredi Bobic settle into the lineup.

As for Peter Neururer, he might as well have forgotten the Chinese kid altogether. China? Aren’t they supposed to play table tennis?

So Mo Mo stood alone on the field, not touching the ball even once by the 88th minute.

Soon, in September 2002, Cristiano Ronaldo would score twice in his Primeira Liga debut. And Mo Mo? He could barely get a touch.

For a seventeen-year-old, just stepping onto the pitch was an achievement. Ronaldo’s record—three goals and six assists in twenty-five matches—was already excellent.

Peter Neururer had no expectations for Mo Mo, merely giving him a taste of real competition, fulfilling his promise of playing time. And now?

As stoppage time began, the fourth official raised the board: three minutes. Mo Mo saw it. Maybe Ronaldo’s debut stats were great, but Mo Mo had a lifetime’s memory to draw on—he wanted to play, to play!

Opportunities favor the prepared. Oberhausen, surprisingly, launched an attack in the dying moments, but failed to trouble Hannover 96—a team with the fewest goals conceded in the Second Division.

A defender’s clearance drew a beautiful arc across the sky—yes, beautiful, for Mo Mo saw hope. With an anticipation stat of 14, he perfectly judged the ball’s landing; with off-the-ball movement of 14, he wasn’t far from the spot.

The defender, already impatient with this yellow-skinned kid who hadn’t touched the ball all game, didn’t consider him a threat.

But what happened next made his heart race. With an acceleration of 15, Mo Mo easily left the defender behind, startling the crowd, the relaxed Peter Neururer, and the regretful Oberhausen coach—one in anticipation, the other in alarm.

“My God! What am I seeing? Are Hannover 96 and Oberhausen teaming up to give our few remaining spectators a little surprise?”

The commentator’s voice brimmed with excitement—the match had been dull since the 63rd minute, especially with the newly subbed-in striker seemingly useless.

“He’s so quick off the mark! He just left the nonchalant defender several meters behind—uh, what’s this?”

The commentator sounded amazed. Mo Mo’s first touch of 10 wasn’t enough to control the long ball perfectly; defenders swarmed in, but his acceleration of 15 allowed him to break free for another touch.

“I’ve never seen dribbling like this!”

The commentator could hardly suppress a laugh. Mo Mo’s style really was odd: one kick to send the ball ahead, a pause, then a sudden sprint—like a child playing tag with adults, like magnets repelling each other. Even Peter Neururer rubbed his forehead, dismissing it as rookie nerves.

But Mo Mo was calm. He didn’t want to dribble like this, but he truly couldn’t run with the ball well. Plus, carrying the ball made him slow—his pace was a meager 12, easily outpaced by defenders without the ball. So he had to stop, then spring forward like a coiled spring, relying on his burst.

“He’s nearly into the box—oh! The goalkeeper’s out! My God, what am I seeing!”

Another prod forward, and the Oberhausen goalkeeper charged out. As he dove, all he saw was a foot striking the ball from behind, then a figure leaping over his head. He reached out, grasping for something, but caught nothing!

“Beautiful! Beautiful! Who is this? I’m starting to get interested—is he Japanese? Korean? I think I see a—uh, what?”

Regardless of the commentator’s words, Mo Mo’s eyes were filled with excitement. He had leapt past the onrushing keeper—his acceleration serving him well again. Now at the penalty spot, Peter Neururer was already cheering. Mo Mo raised his foot and struck with all his might!