Unconventional Center

Chapter 49: Maybe I Shouldn’t Play Soccer After All

At He Qingyuan’s home, the head coach silently pulled out his phone: “Hey, Old Xu, hey, let’s have some fun. Here’s the thing—I’d like to ask you for a favor. See if you can find footage of the latest Segunda División matches. Valent… Yeah, I’ve been watching them too…” At Nirvana Headquarters, Liu Huai'an took out his phone intending to call Xiao Luo, but upon reflection, he realized it was probably afternoon in Valencia right now. Xiao Dong might be taking a nap, so he decided to draft a text message instead and fill in the details after the show ended. “Xiao Dong: Happy New Year. Wishing you… Aside from extending my New Year’s greetings, I’m mainly writing to report on the premiere results of our first episode of *The Soccer Magnifier*. Thanks to the hard work and collaborative efforts of our entire staff, working long hours, the first episode of *The Soccer Magnifier* has achieved initial success. The show has received overwhelmingly positive feedback so far. The specific figures are: clicks (blank), views (blank)…” In Chu Yang’s rental apartment in Valencia, Old Chu glanced at Young Chu, then rubbed his chin. This son of his was quite a force to be reckoned with, and Old Chu was feeling a bit of pressure. For the first time, he truly sensed that his position as the head of the household seemed to be under real threat. Fortunately, since Chu Yang had chosen a different path from his own, Old Chu still felt a sense of pride. With the father excelling in scholarship and the son in martial arts, it would make for a fine family tale if word got out. If Chu Yang knew what his old man was thinking, he’d surely tell him, “You’re rejoicing too soon.” “By the way, Dad,” Chu Yu said, “Chu Yang wrote this commentary.” “Huh?” The Chus and Shen Qianwei were hearing this for the first time and were a bit taken aback. Their eyes lit up, and they saw things as clearly as a mirror. While the show’s market performance was still uncertain, from an entertainment standpoint, it was absolutely top-notch—and the commentary played a major part in that. Shen Qianwei took it in stride; she knew Chu Cheng was a reclusive scholar with a certain reputation, so it made sense that his son, Chu Yang, would possess exceptional literary talent. But the looks Chu Cheng and Mei Yun gave Chu Yang were a bit peculiar. Didn’t they know exactly what kind of person their son was? A guy who, when writing an exam essay, would scare his Chinese teacher so much that she’d come to their home for a visit—could he really write something like “With a wave of my sleeve, I take not even a wisp of cloud with me”? Mei Yun thought about it for a moment. It was a good thing her son was making progress. Even though he currently made his living with his feet and his writing skills were practically irrelevant, she still felt he deserved some encouragement—what if, one day, he accidentally became a great literary figure? “Not bad, you’ve made progress. Keep it up.” Mei Yun offered her initial approval of Little Chu’s abilities. According to the Chu family tradition, at this point, to prevent Chu Yang from getting a big head, Chu Cheng was supposed to step in and pour cold water on the situation. He solemnly accepted this sacred mission and said with a serious expression, “Progress, my foot! The language is hollow and devoid of substance. It may seem ornate, but it’s really just a blind pile-up of flowery words. In a word: pretentious!” Old Chu spoke with great fervor, then took a leisurely sip of tea before adding, “Don’t go telling people you’re my son—I can’t afford to be disgraced like that.” “Right, right, Father, your criticism is spot on. I’ll take it to heart, keep working hard, and never give up on my studies. I’ll strive to one day be able to proudly tell others that I’m the son of the renowned literary figure Comrade Chu Cheng—so as not to disappoint the literary genes you’ve passed down to me, and to carry forward the Chu family’s literary spirit, loyalty, courage, and integrity.” Chu Cheng did have some self-awareness. Calling himself a “famous literary figure” was fine for private banter behind closed doors, but in front of outsiders, it was a bit… well, awkward. So he cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “To acknowledge one’s mistakes and correct them is the greatest virtue. Your mother and I are both very pleased that you fully recognize your shortcomings. As for the rest, do what you can—don’t push yourself too hard. Hmm, don’t push yourself too hard.” Xiao Luo and Shen Qianwei exchanged glances, feeling like they wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Damn it, I’ve just been hit with a dose of family-drama fluff—I miss home. By this point, *Absolute Rising Star* had been airing for over twenty minutes. As the show neared its end, they began airing Ugo’s top ten career goals. Thrilling music blared, instantly capturing their attention, and the comment stream exploded once more. “So intense!” “It really is intense—and this goal is only number ten? The editor’s an idiot.” “You idiot up there—they were clearly talking about the music.” “Please share the background music—it’s absolutely mind-blowing.” “Please share all the music from this video, especially those two French songs and this background track.” Chu Yu wrapped her arms around her mother’s, the corners of her mouth curving slightly, and said nonchalantly, “Mom, actually, I sang those two songs.” Mei Yun didn’t even glance at her as she said, “I figured it out ages ago. With you, you actually thought you could keep that from me? I was wondering why you’ve been acting so mysterious lately—turns out you were off recording songs.” “Huh?” Chu Yu murmured. “Mother, you really do have a keen ear—I’m truly impressed. Oh, and I forgot to mention—both songs were written by Ayang. Yeah, this piece of music, too.” “Hmm?” Mei Yun had long suspected that the two French songs were Chu Yang’s work, but she hadn’t expected the music to be his as well. She hesitated for a moment before saying softly, “Son, how about we give up soccer? You see, you can’t let talent go to waste.” Before Chu Yang could answer, Xiao Luo grew anxious. Chu Yang was the team’s top striker right now—how could he possibly go off and pursue music? It would be a complete waste of his talent! “Auntie, I think it’s the greatest luck when a person’s career aligns with their passion. Look, Chu Yang loves soccer, he’s good at it, and he can make money playing it. Being a soccer player is practically his destiny—don’t you agree?” “How can you compare the two? Playing soccer is so dangerous, and compared to his musical talent, his talent for soccer is just average.” Xiao Luo had intended to say a few more words to dispel Mei Yun’s dangerous thoughts, but she was suddenly struck by a massive blow—Mei Yun’s last sentence echoed in her ears. His talent for soccer is too ordinary… Too ordinary… Shen Qianwei looked at Xiao Luo’s expression—one that seemed to say, “A million wild horses are galloping through my mind”—and at first just covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. But in the end, she couldn’t hold back any longer and collapsed onto Chu Yu, laughing uncontrollably. “Sister Shen, what’s wrong?” “Nothing,” Shen Qianwei said, feeling like she hadn’t laughed so heartily in ages. “Do you guys know what Aluo’s biggest dream is?” The four members of the Chu family got it instantly. “Oh,” the four of them said in unison, drawing out the word with perfect harmony—a perfect demonstration of the strong cohesion and unity of a harmonious family. “Soccer?” “That’s right. His biggest dream is to become a soccer player. But he’s been turned down after a few tryouts—the reasons were phrased politely and thoroughly explained. But after summarizing it all, despite their long-winded explanations, it really boils down to four words,” Shen Qianwei ignored Xiao Luo’s various glances and facial expressions, delivering a clean, decisive blow to his pride. “He lacks talent.” Only then did Mei Yun realize just how much emotional trauma her offhand remark had caused this promising young man. She quickly tried to make amends: “Xiao Xiao, Auntie was just joking. Actually, Chu Yang has a very high talent for soccer—it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call him a genius. You have good taste… Oh, wait, no, I mean… Oh, well, anyway, that’s what I meant.” She suddenly realized that calling Chu Yang a genius sounded a bit like bragging—it was far too boastful. Xiao Luo looked at Mei Yun with a pitiful expression. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but it seemed as though she could read eight characters in his eyes. “Auntie, please spare me. I just want to die.”