Chapter 687 - 612: Glasses Off, the Sheep Becomes a Wolf

Chapter 687: Chapter 612: Glasses Off, the Sheep Becomes a Wolf

Wenzhou’s economy was quite developed, and its urban infrastructure was not bad at all. The city center was free of the usual grime and disarray, and much like major metropolises such as the Capital and Shanghai, it boasted numerous well-planned parks.

Han Zhilu jogged the entire way, finally coming to a stop at a sports park near a residential complex.

Chen Yu got out of the car and followed him, entering a soccer field enclosed by a chain-link fence.

It seemed to be a pay-to-play facility, providing a venue for the city’s soccer enthusiasts to schedule matches.

People were already on the field warming up, and someone called out a greeting to Han Zhilu from a distance.

A few curious young people and old men had gathered on the sidelines. The sudden appearance of Chen Yu’s group, particularly the foreigners among them, was as rare a sight as a giant panda.

However, it didn’t attract the attention of the players on the field.

Even if Han Zhilu completely cut loose, he would never have imagined someone had traveled hundreds of miles just to scout him.

Han Zhilu had already shed his school uniform, swapped into his cleats, and after a few simple stretches, he stepped onto the field.

The jog over had served as his warm-up.

Chen Yu didn’t push his way to the front. He simply sat down on the grass behind the chain-link fence and watched the game.

A curious old man approached and asked Chen Yu what he was doing there.

"I heard there’s a pretty good soccer player around here. I happened to be nearby, so I thought I’d come check it out," Chen Yu explained with a smile.

The old man’s face lit up with understanding, and he instantly lost his investigative curiosity. He nodded and said, "That’s right. See that kid over there? I don’t know his name, but I think he’s a student. Anyway, he’s a hell of a player."

Chen Yu nodded. Once the old man had walked away, he turned to Lune Castelli beside him. "Lune, I don’t watch a lot of soccer. You have a more professional eye than I do. What do you think of him?"

Castelli’s eyes were fixed on Han Zhilu. He mulled it over for a long moment before speaking. "I know too little about him to give an accurate assessment just yet. But he’s different from the other kids I’ve encountered while scouting in China."

"Oh?"

Chen Yu gestured for Castelli to continue.

Castelli pointed at Han Zhilu. "He’s playing midfield. See how he has the ball at his feet, yet his focus is constantly on the overall situation on the field."

"His ability to control the ball shows his fundamentals are solid. But most importantly, he exudes a powerful sense of confidence."

"Chen, confidence is crucial on the field. In our youth academies, we encourage all the kids to express themselves and show off their best skills."

"Confidence in your own skills, confidence in the match itself—these are all critical. But in all my time here, I’ve traveled to many places and seen many young players, and I haven’t seen this kind of confidence in any of them."

Chen Yu gazed thoughtfully at the field.

The match was likely between two amateur teams. They were all adults, probably ordinary office workers, and a few were already middle-aged with burgeoning guts.

Han Zhilu was the youngest one there.

But on the field, Han Zhilu acted like a general, constantly shouting orders at his teammates, men old enough to be his uncles.

At times, he controlled the ball with a leisurely grace, shouting to the players on the left and right flanks before suddenly launching a pass.

At other times, he would take the initiative, dribbling forward, performing step-overs, and then bursting ahead with explosive speed.

He was clearly a class or two faster than anyone else on the field. Often, he could blow past several players on speed alone.

"And what about other aspects?" Chen Yu asked.

Castelli gave a wry smile. "Chen, as I said, I know too little about him. Besides, soccer and basketball are entirely different sports. It’s impossible for us to accurately assess a player’s raw talent."

Chen Yu nodded slightly.

Basketball’s demands on innate talent are so high that it’s paradoxically easier to measure a player’s potential.

You can tell almost at a glance by looking at height, wingspan, and athleticism.

But soccer is different.

Soccer is far more inclusive. With eleven players on the field and ever-changing tactics, it’s difficult to gauge talent simply by whether someone can make it into a professional league.

For instance, some strikers make a living by being big and tall, using their keen instincts to poach goals. Others rely on powerful physiques and sheer speed to launch brutal assaults on the defense.

Then there are those who rely on skill, on dribbling, or even on their acting ability to draw fouls.

And that’s just the forwards.

Midfielders and defenders each have their own specialties. A midfielder might not be fast and might have a terrible physique, but if he has a great football mind and can deliver a perfect pass, that’s a talent too—one that can secure him a place in a professional league.

Soccer is incredibly inclusive; with the right development, players of all shapes and sizes can find their niche on the field.

Castelli continued, "Chen, Mourinho’s philosophy is sound. He’s a proven winner, after all. So, you don’t need to worry about the kid’s raw talent. Just focus on whether he’s the type of player you need."

Chen Yu didn’t respond, his eyes still on the game.

’Castelli’s right. It’s not about picking the best player, but the most suitable one.’

’The best isn’t always the best fit for my needs.’

The pace of the match wasn’t fast. If Han Zhilu’s team was Team A, then they were completely dominating Team B.

The skill level in an amateur match is limited. Having a midfielder who can orchestrate the team and run simple tactical plays provides a massive boost in quality.

The half ended with Team A leading 3-1.

The two teams stopped for a break, amicably gathering to chat. They were clearly old acquaintances.

Just then, Han Zhilu suddenly strode across the field, heading straight for Chen Yu.

He stopped in front of Chen Yu, looking at him through the fence, and called out, "Dr. Chen, you’ve watched for a half. What do you think?"

Chen Yu froze.

’The kid spotted me long ago. And he even knows who I am.’

’Most importantly, he seems to know why I’m here.’

As if guessing Chen Yu’s thoughts, Han Zhilu continued, "Dr. Chen, as you can see, I haven’t completely given up on soccer. Outside of my studies, I’ve always kept up with football news. So I know who you are, and I know why you’ve come to China."

"Sports Weekly has written about what you’re trying to do in great detail. It’s been analyzed countless times."

"So I’ll ask again: after watching for half the game, what do you think?"

Chen Yu was starting to understand.

And from just this short exchange, Chen Yu was already forming a mental picture of Han Zhilu.

’He must be an extremely intelligent and mature kid. His speech, his thought process... they’re just like an adult’s.’

’Most importantly, he’s got guts and self-confidence.’

"Dr. Chen, you still haven’t answered my question," Han Zhilu pressed.

Chen Yu snapped out of his thoughts, got to his feet, and said, "Based on your performance in the first half, you don’t meet my requirements."

The style Chen Yu envisioned was similar to the United States Team: simple ball control, focusing on speed and physical play.

In the first half, however, Han Zhilu had mostly demonstrated his control, his ability to read the game, and his tactical awareness.

He was a cerebral player.

His frame, on the other hand, still looked a bit slight.

He even wore glasses, giving him a bookish, gentle air.

Han Zhilu was visibly taken aback. A flash of disappointment crossed his face before he quickly suppressed it. He bit his lip and countered, "Then what kind of player do you need me to be?"

Chen Yu crossed his arms and thought for a moment. A name came to mind.

"For the attacking midfielder position you’re playing, I need a player like Nedved. I assume you know who he is?"

Han Zhilu nodded. The 2003 Golden Ball Award winner, the absolute core of the Zebra Legion—of course he knew him.

"I understand."

Han Zhilu turned to leave, but then he did something Chen Yu hadn’t expected.

The kid took off his glasses.

With the glasses off—and maybe it was just an illusion—his entire demeanor seemed to shift in an instant.

If before he had resembled a docile little lamb, now, with his glasses off and his eyes narrowed to slits, his features combined to project a sudden, ruthless intensity.

He had gone from a lamb to a wolf.

The next moment, he pulled off his sweatshirt, followed by his long-sleeved undershirt.

It was nearly December. Although Wenzhou’s weather was relatively mild, there was a distinct chill in the air.

In this weather, he actually went shirtless.

And then, to Chen Yu’s surprise, beneath the loose-fitting clothes, Han Zhilu revealed a clearly defined six-pack.