Unconventional Center

Chapter 29: A Defying-Heaven Curve

The spot where the foul occurred is a bit far from the goal. Even if he tried a direct shot, it would be a stretch—a gamble that would be a complete waste of the opportunity. Valencia’s other midfielder, Garcia, was a powerful shooter, but unfortunately, his set-piece accuracy was just as poor as Mo Ya’s open-play shooting, so Leonesa’s defensive wall was set up rather haphazardly. Chu Yang and Mo Ya both walked up to the penalty spot. Everyone assumed they were discussing tactics, and the Leonesa head coach even called his fullback over to the sideline, instructing him solemnly: “Have Sanz and Isaac mark that number 9 together. I don’t want him to touch the ball—not even for a second.” “Got it, Coach.” The fullback was a bit dismissive—that guy everyone was hyping up to the heavens was really nothing special; he figured he wouldn’t be much worse than him if he played as a forward himself. But since the coach was taking it so seriously, he had no choice but to run over and relay the instructions with equal seriousness. “Cesc, you did that on purpose, didn’t you? You sneaky bastard.” “Hey, man, I was just helping you out, and that guy really did commit a foul. You’re so ungrateful.” “Alright, I owe you one.” This was the first time Chu Yang had faced such targeted defense; it seemed pretty difficult to break the deadlock using conventional methods in this match, so this free kick was indeed his best chance. “Hey, what are you two talking about? Do you need me to help out?” Garcia approached Mo Ya and Chu Yang, asking curiously. “Help?” Mo Ya gave him a strange look and nodded. “It looks like we really do need it.” “Oh? What do you need me to do? Draw the defenders away or act as a decoy?” He’d love to take the kick himself, but he knew his place. One of them was the captain and the team’s top star, while the other was the owner’s hometown friend and the team’s current leading scorer—this wasn’t his call. “Um, neither,” Mo Ya said, embarrassed that he’d read too much into it. “You’ll be helping us out a lot just by stepping aside a bit when Chu takes the shot.” “Uh-huh, okay… huh?” Garcia hadn’t quite caught on. “Chu? Take a shot?” “Right.” “Oh, I get it,” Garcia thought Mo Ya was referring to a set-piece play—Mo Ya passing to Chu Yang, who would then take the shot. That was the plan everyone had in mind. He silently chided himself for misinterpreting it earlier and joked, “I actually thought you said Chu was going to take the shot himself.” Mo Ya gave a mischievous smile, thinking to himself, Your hearing’s still pretty sharp. Seeing that the wall was almost fully formed but Chu Yang still showed no sign of stepping back, the referee quickly reminded him, “Are you ready?” Chu Yang and Mo Ya exchanged a glance, nodding to each other like underground party members making contact, then Mo Ya stepped to one side while Chu Yang moved back. “Huh? What’s going on?” Milk, who was broadcasting live from the scene, voiced the fans’ confusion. “Chu hasn’t stepped away; instead, he and Cesc are standing on either side of the ball. Oh, wait—that’s not quite right. Cesc is standing on one side of the ball, just like he usually does when preparing for a free kick, while Chu has stepped back behind the ball—and quite a distance away. This makes him look more like a defender. What on earth is going on?” “You still don’t get it?” Ugo, sitting next to him, said. “Chu is taking the kick.” “Chu?” Milk’s voice suddenly rose. “A penalty kick? A free kick? Are you kidding me, Díaz?” The crowd at the stadium and viewers watching the live broadcast were equally stunned, and even from the Valencia bench came a chorus of “What are they doing?” The camera zoomed in on Valencia’s head coach, Mr. Marco Greiser. He appeared remarkably calm, with an air of “I’ve got this all under control”—though who knows if he wasn’t cursing those two unpredictable players under his breath. Everyone was baffled. Most assumed that Chu Yang was just putting on a show—a smoke-and-mirrors act—and that Mo Ya would actually take the kick, with Garcia, who’d just been discussing the play with them, stepping up to take the shot. Only Cayo, who’d witnessed Chu Yang’s free-kick skills alongside Mo Ya, was smirking to himself, feeling a mix of elation and frustration—as if to say, “Everyone else is deluded, but I alone am awake;but I can’t tell you—and even if I did, you wouldn’t believe me,” a mix of elation and frustration that he was struggling to contain. Chu Yang took a deep breath; in truth, he wasn’t entirely confident either. He had studied Roberto Carlos’s free-kick technique, and now that he was taking the kick from this distance, his mind naturally drifted to that world-shocking, super-curved shot Carlos had scored at the Four Nations Invitational. But scoring that free kick must have involved a huge element of luck—the kicker’s form and mindset, the wind speed and direction on the field, the positioning of the opposing wall and the goalkeeper, and so on. The perfect alignment of time, place, and circumstances was essential; even if Carlos himself took a hundred more shots, he probably wouldn’t score many, and even if he did, he likely wouldn’t be able to replicate such an exaggerated trajectory. Even with the system’s help to “cheat,” while Chu Yang could almost always perfectly replicate Carlos’s best free-kick technique, he could only produce that terrifying curve during practice when he was exceptionally lucky. The whistle blew. Mo Ya remained rooted to the spot as Chu Yang began his run-up, and a wave of gasps swept through the stands. “Oh my God, it really is Chu taking the free kick! It’s over thirty meters from the goal. Oh, he’s taking a really long run-up, and his form looks strange. Could this be a feint? Is Cesc actually going to take the kick?” Milk spoke quickly, but Chu Yang moved even faster. Just as Milk had said, his run-up was unlike anything anyone had ever seen—at least to the people of this world. Fans from Chu Yang’s previous life, however, were well-acquainted with this technique; even on amateur fields, many players imitated this run-up, which looked incredibly stylish. First, he took rapid, tiny steps in place; when his footwork reached its maximum frequency, he suddenly surged toward the ball. Just as his speed peaked, he arrived right in front of it and struck it fiercely with his left foot. Chu Yang knew he wasn’t particularly fast, but right now he felt as if he were flying. Every cell in his body seemed to be cheering with excitement, and every muscle unleashed explosive power—as if he could kick right through a mountain standing in his way. Okay, that’s all nonsense. In reality, Chu Yang had simply mustered every ounce of strength he had and, at the peak of his speed, kicked the ball fiercely with his left foot. Mo Ya, standing nearby, could even clearly hear the thunderous crack as his foot struck the ball. Propelled by the force of his left foot, Chu Yang’s entire body leaped several dozen centimeters into the air; he twisted halfway around before landing back on the ground. The soccer ball soared into the air, slicing through the air like a bolt of lightning that could change direction, bypassing the wall of defenders, and flying into the left side of the goal as everyone watched in stunned silence. The net billowed high, and the goalkeeper looked completely dumbfounded.