Chapter Thirty-One: My Chinese Team Can Win the Championship Too. (Filling in the Gap)

P.S. I am still typing this on my phone. Thanks to Xia Cai for the tip. For one fleeting instant, I thought of spinach in summer. Watermark ad test. Watermark ad test. And let me say this as well: I have been nursing this abandoned plot for a very long time. Aren’t you all stunned?

This was the second time someone had come in person to invite Momo, though the result of the previous attempt had not been very pleasant, to put it mildly.

But Mourinho was different. In fact, one could say the two men shared many things in common.

Momo had been cast out by Real Madrid without ever playing a single official match for them, and at Hannover 96 he had been overlooked, only to be discovered by 1860 Munich. As for Mourinho? He too had been undervalued at Barcelona, and even after he later made his name, people still mocked him as nothing more than a translator. After a brief spell at Benfica, he was hired by Porto as head coach in 2002.

Most important of all, their personalities matched very well. Or rather, three? Four?

Momo, Mino, Ibrahimovic, Mourinho. The four of them were all anything but obedient souls. Mourinho, after all, was a famous master of the war of words.

"Kid, you should meet him. I think his personality suits yours. Haven’t you noticed how arrogant you are?"

Listening to Mino, Momo thought about it and had to admit it was true. He carried a touch of pride without even realizing it. With his system and his rebirth, he had every reason to be an unshakable starter.

In fact, whenever Momo stepped onto the pitch, he never doubted for a second that he might lose. The ones who refused to play him were the ones with something wrong in their heads.

Just as Ibrahimovic would later say:

"Wherever I go, if Zlatan gets sick, it is a big event."

To be honest, 1860 Munich had neither the tradition of champions nor the money. Just look at their squad. If you turned the clock back five years, it would still have been first-rate. But now?

There was no great hope of playing in the Champions League next season. Come on. That was the Champions League. Momo very much wanted to show himself on that stage.

In the end, the two of them did meet, at Momo’s home. Mourinho had taken the initiative and come personally, as arrogant as ever, as if he were already preparing to make a great charge.

When the door opened, Momo and Mourinho faced each other. Mourinho’s first words were:

"I want the Champions League title."

Momo replied:

"If I’m the one who plays."

The two men smiled at each other, looking perfectly harmonious. Yet the scenes playing in their minds were entirely different.

Mourinho was thinking:

"Kid, be grateful. A top-class coach is going to lead you to a Champions League victory."

Momo was thinking:

"Heh, Mourinho, you do have an eye for talent. When the time comes, I’ll show you a Champions League trophy."

It had to be said that 1860 Munich’s recent defensive tactics had truly broken Momo’s heart, especially the last match, when they had actually made him defend.

Most importantly, after the press conference, when the fans were waving signs reading "traitor" all over the place, why would he be afraid? If there was no room for him here, there would be another place that welcomed him.

Mourinho, in truth, was also a strict coach, but he knew how to make the best use of every man’s talent. He was a little like Zhuge Liang from the age of the Three Kingdoms: he loved to provoke people, to rouse them until they were roaring for blood, itching to go out and slaughter the opposition.

This time, Mourinho was actually very confident. He knew Momo was the same sort of man as himself, someone who could not resist the lure of a title, a wildly self-assured "madman."

And madmen often did things unbecoming of their age or station, and often accomplished feats no one expected. Mourinho did not feel he was lowering himself by coming here. He considered it a good deed.

Porto would win under his leadership. Whether in the league or the Champions League, and when that happened, he would cast Porto aside and seek a higher stage.

Now, Momo’s character had caught his eye, and Momo’s ability matched what he wanted, so why not take him along? After all, with Porto’s reputation as a selling club, he could be sure that most of the players who formed the core of his eventual Champions League triumph would eventually be sold off anyway.

This line of thinking gave Mourinho a very "one man rises, and everyone around him rises with him" kind of feeling. Just how arrogant could he be? He was still a complete newcomer in the coaching world, after all.

He was just like Momo in that respect, only one had spent all his time as an assistant coach, while the other had, before Momo’s rebirth, been lingering at Real Madrid all along.

In fact, even the domestic media probably could never have imagined how Porto had suddenly appeared in the picture. And Momo, as things stood now, was very likely to choose Porto after all.

"Aren’t you going to say something to me? Like giving me half the matches?"

Momo could no longer hold back and finally spoke. He had long admired Mourinho from afar.

"Is that necessary? The fact that I’m here is the best sincerity I can show."

At that, Momo said Mourinho deserved nine points, with one left over, just in case his pride swelled too much.

"I’m not going this season."

Seeing how confident Mourinho looked, Momo still could not help saying it.

"Oh? What a regrettable choice."

Mourinho’s expression did not change, as though it were Momo who stood to lose by not coming.

"Hey, tell me, how do I know you can even get into the Champions League qualifiers?"

Momo was starting to lose patience. He asked the question deliberately, trying to test him. He did not want to see Mourinho being so smug.

"Kid, are you doubting me? Do you know what people think when I go to any club?"

"They should think not about what excellent strikers or top players I have, but that they now have a top-class coach."

Those deep, intense eyes seemed almost ready to bulge out of their sockets. Momo felt as if he were looking at his younger self just as he first entered the game, though in truth he had not been in it all that long himself.

"Fine. When you win the league title, I’ll go with you to take the Champions League crown."

Hearing Momo’s words, Mourinho finally came back to himself. So this brat was trying to provoke him, was he?

"Your team still has last season’s Bundesliga top scorer. If you don’t win the Bundesliga scoring title, even if you beg me, I still won’t take you."

At that, Momo instantly smiled. In the original timeline, a Bochum striker and Bayern Munich’s Miroslav Klose would share the Golden Boot this season, with 21 goals.

"Easy. If I don’t win the Bundesliga Golden Boot, I won’t go and make a fool of myself. Who knows, I might even hand you the Asian Footballer of the Year, the Golden Boy award, or whatever else."

Mourinho also laughed. World Footballer of the Year? So that was what Momo meant. He really was arrogant, really could boast. He might even get along with Hao Haidong.

"Then this year I’ll show you the Portuguese Cup, the league title, and the UEFA Cup all at once."

Good heavens, Mourinho was not afraid of biting off more than he could chew. If he had qualified for the Champions League this year, would he be taking that too?

"Is that all? The Ballon d’Or? For all I know, I’ll even take the Ballon d’Or too!"

All right, Mourinho was completely at a loss for words now. The Ballon d’Or! What more could he possibly say?

"Then if there’s a World Cup, I’ll bring you the World Cup trophy too!"

Mourinho could be said to be furious by now. But Momo liked nothing more than seeing Mourinho furious.

"Give me Brazil, and I can lead Brazil to the title too."

Mourinho stared wide-eyed at Momo, seeming at a loss for words. In the end, he still said it:

"Give me China, and I can win the title with China too."