Chapter Four: The Meeting

In truth, Mo Mo was quite curious about Bora Milutinović. After leading the Chinese team to their first ever World Cup appearance, Milutinović chose to step away at the height of success. Many said he was simply afraid, while others believed he had just relied on luck in the final qualifying round. Yet regardless of what people said, he accomplished what no one before him had managed. Moreover, his approach to handling the locker room relationships had its own unique merits—there were certainly aspects worth learning from, compared to his successors. But now, as the crucial moment arrived for the World Cup squad of twenty-three, how would Bora Milutinović treat Mo Mo, a player who had essentially bought his way onto the team?

It should be noted that Bora Milutinović was the only coach to have led four different national teams to the Round of 16 in consecutive World Cups—a truly miraculous feat. This time, he had also miraculously guided China past all formidable opponents and into the World Cup.

“All right, Mo Mo, this is as far as I go. Go in by yourself,” Yang Chen said quietly, as if afraid to disturb those inside. Mo Mo nodded, and Yang Chen walked off alone.

Mo Mo had imagined countless possibilities for Milutinović’s appearance, but when he finally saw him, he realized all his guesses had been futile. His hair appeared ancient—a strange term, ancient—because one could hardly distinguish whether it was white or golden, perhaps both. His face was marked by deep grooves, as if carved by an axe, and his lips seemed nearly the same color as his skin.

For a moment, Mo Mo even thought Milutinović had no lips at all. When Milutinović saw Mo Mo arrive, he smiled, and Mo Mo’s first impression was: his teeth are so white! The second impression was: he looks even older in person. Yet this was unmistakably Bora Milutinović.

“Coach, you wanted to see me?” Mo Mo addressed him respectfully. No matter what people might say afterwards, Milutinović had truly led China into the World Cup for the first time, genuinely elevated the level of Chinese football, and managed the locker room dynamics with real skill.

“Yes,” Milutinović replied. His words didn’t match the persona Mo Mo had expected; he thought the coach would be more talkative. For a while, Milutinović said nothing, and neither did Mo Mo. The two sat quietly in the office, one seated, one standing.

“You must be wondering why I called you here, right?” Just as Mo Mo was about to break the silence, Milutinović spoke, allowing Mo Mo to breathe a sigh of relief. Damn it! Mo Mo would rather play a grueling 120-minute World Cup match than endure such a roundabout conversation. Since arriving at the training base, he’d felt uneasy.

Mo Mo always sensed that people here spoke in double meanings, always hiding their true selves, so everyone who entered eventually had no choice but to go along. Of course, perhaps Hao Haidong was an exception, and maybe Mo Mo himself would be someday.

“I don’t know what I can do, honestly. I don’t think I’ll be much help to the team.” Mo Mo had wanted to ask outright if it was because of Mino Raiola’s arrangements, but the words changed before he could speak them.

“No, you are useful,” Milutinović said, though his feelings were complicated. For this World Cup, Hao Haidong was thirty-three, Yang Chen nearly thirty, and Su Maozhen on the verge of retirement. On paper, the team didn’t lack forwards, but in reality, it did.

The World Cup? Milutinović was a seasoned veteran. He knew well how intense it was, especially in terms of physical demands. Hao Haidong, Yang Chen, and Su Maozhen were all prone to injuries.

Under these circumstances, Mo Mo’s appearance was actually quite welcome for Milutinović. After all, this was China, where connections mattered. Without the right connections, even Mino Raiola’s money couldn’t open doors here.

“You mean I might get a chance to play in the World Cup?” Mo Mo’s voice betrayed his excitement. He’d thought he would be like Wayne Rooney, going to the World Cup just for the experience, with no real chance to play. Yet the coach’s words suggested otherwise!

“Go and prepare,” Milutinović said with a faint smile, shaking his head and saying no more. But Mo Mo was already thrilled, because at this moment a message flashed in his mind.

Congratulations to the host on joining the national team and gaining the coach’s recognition. You now earn an additional 8 training points per hour.

What did this mean? Previously, in a week with no matches, he’d earn about 80 training points just from practice. Now, earning 8 points per hour meant that ten hours would equal the highest weekly gain he’d ever gotten! Why waste time? Off to train!

Mo Mo nodded vigorously, said goodbye, and dashed out of the office. Every minute and second mattered now. He regretted not knowing sooner—if only he’d been aware of this opportunity! It was already the nineteenth. If Mo Mo’s memory was correct, the match was on June 4th. With meals, sleep, meetings, and travel, his time was already whittled down to almost nothing.

As for slacking off, Mo Mo scoffed at the idea. He had a training time tracker in his mind that counted by the hour; his current sprint didn’t count, since it clearly stated only time spent on the training field would be recorded.

“Hey, little hometown! Why are you running so fast?” came a distant shout. Mo Mo turned to see Fan Zhiyi, with Hao Haidong nearby. Just then, another message appeared in Mo Mo’s mind.

Congratulations to the host for discovering enough teammates for 1-on-1 training or a scrimmage. 1-on-1 training yields 9 points per hour, a scrimmage yields 150 points per match.

Mo Mo’s mouth twitched, then he turned to Fan Zhiyi and Hao Haidong, flashing a broad smile.

“Seniors, shall we have a training match?”

Fan Zhiyi was momentarily stunned. After qualifying for the World Cup, aside from routine drills, they’d done little else. Everyone was so familiar—training matches? What if someone got injured?

If Fan Zhiyi was reluctant, Hao Haidong was enthusiastic. He responded,

“What’s wrong? Chickening out? We still rely on our forwards to win, right? You don’t even have any forwards—how can you play a friendly?”

In the official Chinese squad, there were only three forwards (excluding Mo Mo), who clustered around Hao Haidong as a little group.

“Ha! Who says so? I’ve got my little hometown right here!” Fan Zhiyi, who never backed down, especially not to Hao Haidong, was instantly fired up. If he refused, it’d look like he was afraid of Hao Haidong!

“Let’s play! Dare you?” Hao Haidong was aggressive, determined to break through Fan Zhiyi’s defense. Whenever the two met in league matches, the media hyped it up, their rivalry was legendary.

“Hey, bring it on! But I doubt you can find enough people!” Fan Zhiyi never gave in, especially not to Hao Haidong. Besides, he’d heard about Mo Mo scoring several goals and two hat-tricks in the second division. As long as his defense was solid, victory was possible. Let’s see if Hao Haidong dared to boast.

“Not enough people? I just don’t always bring my crowd along like you!” Though Hao Haidong was a lone wolf, he was one of the team’s pillars and loved to chat. So while he had few friends, those he did have were loyal—finding eleven players would be no trouble.

sparks flew between Hao Haidong and Fan Zhiyi. After countless league encounters, were they still not done?

Hao Haidong’s eyes burned with battle spirit: just wait, Fan Zhiyi, I’ll tear through your lousy defense!

Fan Zhiyi’s gaze seemed aflame: Hao Haidong, you’re all talk—I won’t let you score a single goal!

“So when do we start?” Mo Mo interjected. Time was precious—no wasting it.

“I’m ready anytime! Just waiting on Hao Haidong,” Fan Zhiyi replied confidently; his teammates were nearby.

“Give me half an hour at most, I’ll make a few calls,” Hao Haidong responded calmly. Fan Zhiyi didn’t retort; he needed to find Su Maozhen—he didn’t trust Mo Mo alone as a striker. While everyone went to gather teammates, Milutinović, listening to his staff’s reports, smiled.

Since qualifying for the World Cup, everyone had become a bit complacent under the media’s praise. Milutinović had no good solution for that! But this Mo Mo—he was really something. In one move, he’d revitalized the entire national team.