Chapter Three: The First Launch

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Congratulations to the host for activating the Player Training System. After each match, the host will receive a large number of training points, which can be distributed to desired attributes at the end of the game. Even during regular training, a small amount of training points can be earned. Here are the ways to earn training points:

Starting a match will grant training points based on performance and the level of the competition. Coming off the bench guarantees a steady 100 training points. Not being included in the eighteen-man squad yields no points.

One hour of regular training earns exclusive training points for the chosen skill. Practicing shooting will grant shooting training points, which can reduce the number of points required to improve shooting through other methods.

Player Training System

Position Training: Mastery – Proficient – Average – Struggling – Inept – Incapable

Habit Training is divided into: Shooting – Positioning – Technique – Passing – Defense – Set Pieces – Other

Ability Training: Physical – Overall – Offense – Defense – Midfield – Set Pieces – Goalkeeping

Name: Mo Mo

Age: 17

Height/Weight: 170cm / 60kg

Number: 37

Preferred Foot: Right

Position: Forward (Inept)

Club: Hannover 96 (Listed for Transfer)

Interested Clubs: None

Maximum value for a single attribute: 20

Shooting: 5

Off-the-ball Movement: 14

Composure: 18

Technique: 6

Leadership: 1

First Touch: 10

Determination: 15

Anticipation: 14

Aggression: 14

Creativity: 18

Passing: 3

Heading: 2

Ball Control: 8

Long Shots: 2

Vision: 14

Crossing: 2

Teamwork: 1

Work Rate: 15

Balance: 8

Strength: 7

Agility: 12

Acceleration: 15

Jumping: 6

Speed: 12

Stamina: 9

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Physique: 10

Defensive Attributes (Not Activated)

Remaining Training Points: 3,687

Without hesitation, Mo Mo immediately spent over 900 attribute points to upgrade Forward (Inept) to Forward (Struggling), then used all remaining points to further upgrade to Forward (Average).

Mo Mo was never one to settle for less. He had played football manager games before and simply couldn't stand seeing the word "Inept" next to Forward!

At this point, he felt a pang of frustration—it was time to find an agent. Had he had an agent when Real Madrid swept him out, at least he could have fought for a better number, and perhaps this Player Training System would have activated earlier.

But all of that could be left behind for now. What mattered was going to Saarbrücken, claiming victory, proving himself. In the next transfer window, surely a team would extend an olive branch to him.

Time flew, and in the blink of an eye, it was April 5, 2002. In just a few days, Mo Mo had thrown himself into shooting practice, but the experience points he gained only raised his shooting attribute to 6.6.

Yes, in Training Mode, each click only fills a small segment, and it takes five clicks to improve an attribute by one point. But that was fine—Mo Mo firmly believed he would score in this match.

“Come on, kid! You can do it.”

This was the blessing Freddy Bobic gave Mo Mo before his departure. Everyone thought Freddy Bobic was difficult to get along with, but in truth, he was only cold toward those who didn’t understand him. Once you truly got to know him, you’d find he was a great guy.

Hannover’s club colors were black, white, and green, yet the team played in blue kits. The old Hannover BV wore red kits. After the merger, black, white, and green became the club’s main colors, but the team continued to play in red, earning them the nickname “The Reds” (Die Roten in German). The third kit finally adopted the club’s primary colors.

Now, at Saarbrücken’s home stadium, Mo Mo wore the black, white, and green kit, and felt deeply satisfied. No matter what, it was a uniform that truly belonged to him, with his name and the number 37—MOMO—printed on it.

After the handshake and exchange of pennants, Mo Mo stood next to another big, burly teammate. In truth, he didn’t know most of the squad very well, but everyone knew Mo Mo—after all, it was nearly impossible to miss a goal from that close, and rumor had it some clubs were considering buying Mo Mo as a defender.

Mo Mo understood the basic rules. He passed the ball to the burly teammate and turned to run into the opposition half. The truth was, upgrading his positional ability wasn’t useless; in the last match, Mo Mo had wandered aimlessly, unsure what to do. This time, though, he had a vague idea.

With an off-the-ball movement score of 14, Mo Mo could always find good space or positioning, but with no one passing him the ball, it was all for nothing!

“Pass it to me! Pass it! Big Guy, over here!”

After some time, Mo Mo couldn’t hold back and shouted. The one with the ball was the same big, burly teammate from the kickoff, who looked irritated, passed the ball to a nearby player, and yelled,

“My name is Dole! Not ‘Big Guy’!”

Mo Mo, seeing that the ball wasn’t passed to him and that Dole was arguing instead, shouted back,

“Alright, Dole! Next time, remember to pass it to me!”

But this brief exchange changed nothing. Mo Mo was frustrated. He kept making runs into open space, always finding gaps, but no one would pass to him. Mo Mo was convinced that if only someone would play him the ball, he could score.

“Brilliant! Hard to believe a Hannover 96 player would make such a rookie mistake!”

In that instant, Saarbrücken, desperate to avoid relegation, seized the ball and launched a furious attack. The defenders, who had been lazily passing at the back, were caught off guard and made a passing error. On the counter, they failed to mark their men, allowing Saarbrücken to slip a through ball between two center-backs, and their striker calmly slotted it home. The goalkeeper could only watch as it rolled into the net.

Saarbrücken led 1-0. For a team in 17th place to be leading was a surprise, especially considering that even back in November 2001, failing to beat them at home was already an upset. Could Saarbrücken, the league’s bottom-feeders, pull off another shock?

Hannover 96 had lined up in a 1-1-4-4, but their lone forward seemed to have no chemistry with the rest of the team.

Once again, Mo Mo sprinted into space, full of hope, waiting for Dole to play him the ball. But Dole chose to dribble, only to be clumsily blocked out wide by Saarbrücken’s parked bus. Mo Mo, furious, ran over and shouted at Dole,

“Why didn’t you pass? I was in a better position! I’m the striker—you should have given it to me!”

The cameras caught this, as did the commentators and scouts in the stands. No one knew exactly what Mo Mo was yelling, but it was clear he was angry about his teammate’s selfishness. To be fair, Dole had drawn most of the defense, and a simple square ball would have left Mo Mo one-on-one with the keeper.

“Pass to you? So you can blast it over the stands?”

Dole glared back, both men squared up as if ready to come to blows—a rare sight, an open row on the pitch. Peter Neururer looked furious on the sidelines—was this a reflection of his lack of leadership, letting his players fight in front of everyone?

“I’ll score, Dole! I will! I’ll score so many goals!”

Mo Mo’s voice was indignant but full of confidence. Teammates came over to pull them apart—some he knew, some he didn’t, even a Saarbrücken player stepped in to break it up. It was the talk of the football world.

“Ha! You? Score?”

Dole sneered. At that moment, the referee came over and issued a stern warning to both, showing restraint but leaving Mo Mo still seething.

It reminded him of Pirlo. When Pirlo started out, no one would pass him the ball; so he made a bold choice—he started pressing his own teammates, winning the ball off them to get it at his feet.

Mo Mo was ready to do the same. He had only a few games left. As Peter Neururer had said, Mo Mo wasn’t playing for Hannover 96 now, but for himself—to catch the eye of a better team.

At the 37th minute, Mo Mo kept his eyes on Dole. Dole made a provocative gesture at him, but just then, under pressure from Saarbrücken, another Hannover 96 player sent a low ball toward Dole, who was being tightly marked by a Saarbrücken defender. In a panic, Dole cleared it, and Mo Mo’s eyes lit up.

With 14 anticipation, he could sense exactly where the ball would drop, and his 14 off-the-ball movement always pulled him into space. The clearance wasn’t strong—Mo Mo needed only a few steps to reach the ball.

“Oh my! The feuding players are still glaring at each other—wait! Saarbrücken’s pressing, Dole with a timely clearance—no, it’s a cross—there’s number 37, MOMO!”

The commentator, intrigued by the on-pitch dispute, was caught off guard as the dynamics shifted suddenly: the rivals had just combined for a decent pass.

“What acceleration! Number 37 MOMO is on the ball—no offside! He’s through! But his speed…wait, what’s this?”

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Mo Mo’s acceleration of 15 allowed him to hurtle past the last defender. This was a great ball; perhaps, spurred by the earlier spat, Saarbrücken’s defensive line had pushed up, almost to the halfway line. Mo Mo slowed as he approached the ball, allowing the chasing defenders to catch up.

Just as in his first appearance, Mo Mo knocked the ball forward, paused, then burst ahead, opening up space again. One-on-one, about to enter the box, the goalkeeper didn’t come out—Mo Mo’s angle for a shot wasn’t ideal.

Mo Mo nudged the ball further toward the penalty spot, still outside the box. The Saarbrücken keeper finally rushed out, but his acceleration and speed, by the standards of a 20-point scale, weren’t more than 8. Mo Mo, at 15 acceleration and 12 speed, left him in the dust.

The Saarbrücken keeper must have realized that Mo Mo would reach the ball first. Sure enough, in just a few seconds, Mo Mo got there before him, and the keeper lunged toward Mo Mo.

“Saarbrücken’s keeper is coming out, number 37 MOMO seems out of time to shoot—wait, what’s this?”

As the keeper dived, Mo Mo poked the ball with his toe. A powerful blow sent him sprawling to the turf, but his eyes never left the goal—the ball rolled into the net. Goal!

“My word! It’s in! Number 37 MOMO, as the keeper came out, poked the ball home! Goal! Wait, the whistle’s gone, a penalty? That’s not entirely unreasonable, but the ball went in! Did the referee just make things worse? What if they miss the penalty—how ironic would that be?”

The commentator’s tone was tinged with amusement. The referee’s decision stunned Mo Mo, who had been about to celebrate. A penalty? Dole and the others surrounded the referee to argue, but the call stood. Discussion turned to who would take the spot kick.

“Mo Mo, you take it!”

Dole looked at Mo Mo, his tone much improved from before. In football, real ability always earns respect. Mo Mo accepted without hesitation, cradled the ball at the penalty spot, and took a deep breath. As the referee signaled, Mo Mo focused on the goal, recalling Freddy Bobic’s advice.

“Instep shots are accurate but lack power—best for close-range shots and penalties.”

So, an instep shot it would be. He drew a deep breath, took his run-up, turned his body, twisted his waist, swung his leg, put in the effort—everything by the book. Only, as the ball left his foot, it seemed like someone tossing you a feather; for the Saarbrücken keeper, it was no challenge at all. He caught it easily.

“My word, is that how he takes penalties? He’s just passing it, isn’t he?”

The commentator was incredulous. Mo Mo’s penalty was truly poor. Dole came over, clapped his shoulder, and said,

“Keep practicing. That was awful.”

Mo Mo turned, frowning, a little confused.

“Penalties are supposed to be struck with the instep, aren’t they?”

Dole was speechless, shook his head, and jogged back to his half, ready for the goal kick. Was that an instep shot? The posture was fine, but at the last moment, he used his toe to scoop the ball up. Years later, Robben once took a penalty that way and was famously booted off by Neuer, to the laughter of all.

For the rest of the match, Mo Mo kept finding space, but couldn’t control the ball. The Saarbrücken players had begun to take the Chinese youngster seriously—whenever someone passed him the ball, they’d always steal it away, from behind or the side. After several failed attempts, Bill stopped passing to Mo Mo.

Mo Mo was just seventeen, barely 170cm tall. Compared to the Saarbrücken defenders, all at least 180, he looked like a child.

The fourth official raised the board—one minute of stoppage time. Mo Mo looked dejected, and so did Bill. After finally paying attention to Mo Mo, Bill had discovered that the Chinese kid always found the right space, but just couldn’t keep the ball.

With the first half in stoppage time, Bill glanced around. He’d refused to pass to Mo Mo five or six times already—couldn’t the kid see he was being marked out of the game? But there was no one else in a better position. Bill shook his head, gritted his teeth, and played a through ball.

The Saarbrücken defender relaxed; the Chinese kid had been abandoned by his own teammates, which meant his marking had worked. Just then, he saw the yellow-skinned boy turn and flash him a smile. He was momentarily thrown, then watched the boy slip past. What was the point? You got past me, so what?

“A lovely through ball! That’s Hannover’s number 21, Bill, with the pass—number 37 MOMO has finally shaken off his marker. What a unique dribbling style!”

Mo Mo breathed a sigh of relief for finally losing that clingy defender. Now, now! Suddenly, he sensed someone nearby—a Saarbrücken full-back had tracked over. If he kept running, he’d be forced into a dead end.

Mo Mo tried to accelerate, but with only 8 in ball control, he struggled. At that moment, his 14 vision spotted Bill, racing forward in support.

He couldn’t shake the defender, and a pass now would be easily cut out—his 14 anticipation told him that clearly. There was only one option.

He nudged the ball forward again, then executed a sudden stop. The Saarbrücken full-back overran him by several steps. Mo Mo’s 8 balance made him wobble to keep his footing, but his 12 agility let him turn quickly and play the ball.

Dole was sprinting, desperate, wondering if the Chinese lad would see him. Just then, Mo Mo pulled off a beautiful stop and lofted a high cross. The other two defenders had vacated their positions, leaving Bill in a perfect pocket of space—except the cross was dreadful.

Dole struggled to control the ball, and by the time he managed, the Saarbrücken players had closed in. Forced to shoot hurriedly, his attempt flew well off target.

The halftime whistle blew. Dole stomped over and punched Mo Mo on the arm.

“If you’d played that cross better, we’d be level by now.”

Mo Mo glared right back.

“If you’d passed to me sooner, we’d already be ahead.”

The two locked eyes, then suddenly both burst out laughing. Bill clapped Mo Mo on the shoulder.

“Alright, Chinese kid, I’ll trust you in the second half.”

Mo Mo nodded fiercely. He had no desire to languish in the lower leagues forever. He wanted those clubs that tossed him out like trash to regret it. No matter what, he had to score in the second half—just one goal would do. Mo Mo was certain there were scouts in the stands today.