According to the staff's instructions, Yang Yang returned to his seat in the Zurich Opera House.
Yet his mind was still spinning, caught in the lingering impressions of his unexpected conversation with Florentino Pérez.
The Real Madrid president had left a deep impression—one that sharply contrasted with the cold, power-driven image painted by the media. He hadn't seemed like the ruthless executive who had unceremoniously dismissed a World Cup–winning manager like Vicente del Bosque or pushed out legends like Fernando Hierro.
Or perhaps… that was just one facet of him.
After all, it was Florentino himself who compared players—living, breathing athletes—to something as clinical as cash flow. The analogy was cold, calculated, almost devoid of sentiment. And yet, wasn't that the very nature of professional football?
Who in this business wasn't calculating?
Clubs didn't sign players without thorough due diligence, agent negotiations, financial forecasting, and image rights considerations. Every player acquisition was an investment—not just in footballing ability, but in branding, merchandising, and market reach.
And on the other side, players didn't transfer without thinking through every angle: playing time, competition, wages, coaching philosophy, lifestyle, and long-term career plans. There was no room for naivety. Passion and loyalty might remain, but they came second to strategy.
Yang Yang clearly remembered the day he signed his contract with Ajax. Johnny Rep, who had personally overseen the final details of the deal, had spoken to him with gravity in his voice: "From the moment you put pen to paper, you don't belong to yourself anymore."
He hadn't understood the full weight of those words at the time.
Now he did.
This—this—was professional football.
And tonight, amid the dazzling lights of Zurich, he'd just received one of the most valuable lessons of his young career—not from a coach, or a match, or even a teammate, but from the quiet, persuasive authority of a man who sat at the highest table in the game.
...
...
"Hi, Yang."
While Yang Yang was still deep in thought, another voice came from beside him. Someone had taken the seat next to his.
Yang Yang looked up and immediately smiled when he saw who it was.
"Kaká," he greeted warmly, quickly standing up.
Kaká smiled, as sunny and approachable as ever. He was dressed in a neat, well-fitted suit, with his usual calm and gentle expression. His presence felt warm—genuine, not manufactured for the cameras.
Even just from sitting next to him, Yang Yang could feel it: this was who Kaká really was.
As Raiola once said, the best kind of player is someone who knows how to stay true to themselves.
Ibrahimović was bold and outspoken—that was who he was at heart. Ronaldinho had a cheerful personality that naturally attracted people, and even his buck teeth, far from a flaw, had become part of his charm. And Kaká, always calm, respectful and polite, made people feel at ease around him. This wasn't branding—it was authenticity.
"It's a pity," Kaká said with a smile. "I thought we had a chance to meet in the round of 16."
He hadn't forgotten that back in Monaco, Yang Yang had jokingly told him that he wanted to meet AC Milan in the Champions League.
But with both Ajax and AC Milan finishing top of their respective groups, such a matchup was now impossible for the next round.
Yang Yang laughed, "It's alright. Even if not in the round of 16, we still have the quarter-finals, the semi-finals... or even the final."
Kaká raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised by the confidence.
"Looks like you're really feeling good about your chances."
"We'll keep beating teams one after another until we meet," Yang Yang said with a smile.
Kaká nodded, accepting the challenge. "Then I'll wait for you up ahead."
The two exchanged smiles, but in both their eyes, there was already a strong sense of competition.
If Yang Yang had spoken lightly in Monaco back in August, today, Kaká was starting to truly regard him as a rival.
After all, in the recently concluded group stage, Shevchenko had scored six goals—four of them in the last game—and now led the scoring charts, tied with Yang Yang. Ronaldinho followed with five goals.
Kaká himself, along with Adriano and Trezeguet, had four each. Eto'o, Henry, and Micoud had three.
But it wasn't just about goals.
Yang Yang also had five assists to go with his six goals—more than anyone else in the group stage.
Many people believed that he was practically carrying Ajax on his own.
That kind of performance made it clear to everyone: Yang Yang wasn't just a talented player, he was a serious contender at the highest level. And his consistency was forcing other top players to pay attention.
Even Kaká could no longer see him as just a rising star—Yang Yang had arrived.
And professional players, especially those at the top, always noticed when someone new entered their orbit.
...
...
Soon after Kaka took his seat, other players began arriving at the venue.
Among them were Real Madrid's icons Ronaldo, Zidane, and Raúl—all entering with a casual grace that drew immediate attention from fans and media alike.
Yang Yang, naturally, seized the opportunity to greet them. He was particularly eager to meet Ronaldo, his childhood idol. It wasn't just fan admiration; it was respect born from countless hours studying the Brazilian's highlights, mimicking his movements in the training system, and chasing that same elegance and explosiveness in his own game.
Interestingly, sitting on Yang Yang's other side that evening was Liverpool captain Steven Gerrard. Yang Yang recalled that during the UEFA ceremony in Monaco back in August, Gerrard and Kaka had sat directly in front of him. Now, it felt as if they had come full circle—rivals, contenders, and mutual witnesses to each other's rise.
Once the awards ceremony officially began, it opened with the FIFA Fair Play Award. This year's honor was given to the youth football community of Iquitos, Peru, a nod to the remarkable efforts made during the FIFA U-17 World Championship held there. It was a reminder that the beauty of football lay not only in the spotlight but also in its grassroots.
Next came the presentation of the FIFA Interactive World Cup, won by Chris Bullard, the champion of the second edition held in London. Yang Yang couldn't help but smile at how far gaming had come. FIFA was clearly moving with the times—acknowledging virtual football alongside the real thing.
Between each award, the organizers inserted transition performances to maintain the evening's rhythm. One highlight was a special presentation by the Zurich Ballet: When Football Meets Dance. Their elegant movements blended football's dynamism with ballet's precision, earning widespread applause and momentarily turning the grand opera house into a theatre of movement.
For Yang Yang, the performance sparked memories of Su Ye.
She had studied ballet since childhood and had spent over a decade training at the Central Ballet Academy. That foundation had shaped her—her posture, her poise, even her voice. And yet, despite all this, Yang Yang had never once seen her perform.
He made a quiet promise to himself: if ever the opportunity arose, he would make time to see her dance.
After the interlude, the FIFA Presidential Award was presented to former Swedish referee Anders Frisk. Frisk had infamously been forced into early retirement after facing threats following his controversial officiating of the Champions League clash between Chelsea and Barcelona in 2005. During that match, he was accused—without conclusive evidence—of having spoken to Frank Rijkaard at halftime. The British press had crucified him. Many in attendance felt this award served as both recognition of his integrity and a pointed rebuke to José Mourinho and the culture of inflammatory criticism.
Then came the FIFA Women's World Player of the Year, awarded to Germany's Birgit Prinz. She topped the vote ahead of Brazil's rising superstar Marta and U.S. midfielder Shannon Boxx. For those following women's football, it was no surprise. Prinz had once again dominated the international stage with remarkable consistency.
Brazil was awarded Team of the Year, and Ghana received the Most Improved National Team honor, both based on FIFA's end-of-year rankings—unsurprising to anyone familiar with their form in 2005.
Finally, the climax of the night arrived: World Player of the Year.
There was no suspense. Ronaldinho, with 956 points, comfortably finished ahead of Frank Lampard (306) and Samuel Eto'o (190). The Brazilian genius, who had dazzled for Barcelona with mesmerizing flair and relentless creativity, was now officially recognized as the best player in the world.
Yang Yang, sitting alongside Gerrard and Kaka, couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and motivation.
The applause echoed around the opera house as Ronaldinho took the stage, smiling broadly in his now-signature style. Flashbulbs erupted across the venue. It was everything a footballer could dream of.
And yet, Yang Yang's mind remained grounded.
The final rankings were revealed shortly after. He had finished 10th in the world with 68 points—just edging out Didier Drogba, who had 65, and narrowly trailing Paolo Maldini in ninth, who had 76.
Both Gerrard and Kaka had broken the 100-point mark, finishing 7th and 8th respectively.
Further down the list, Ibrahimović, Yang Yang's teammate and friend, was ranked 15th, Robinho came in 18th, and Manchester United's Wayne Rooney and Cristiano Ronaldo followed in 20th and 21st. Arjen Robben, Chelsea's explosive winger, rounded out the top 30 at 26th.
Yang Yang had no complaints about his position.
For a teenager playing in the Eredivisie, merely breaking into the top ten was a remarkable milestone. Yet this achievement didn't lead to complacency—it motivated him.
Because he knew the truth: this wasn't enough.
The year ahead, 2006, would be a World Cup year, and that alone gave players from powerhouse nations an enormous advantage. Yang Yang, being from China, knew very well that his national team wouldn't go far. The most realistic target was simply to record China's first World Cup win.
That wouldn't be enough to elevate his standing in the next FIFA vote.
So he needed to double his efforts at the club level. He needed to be exceptional—not just consistently good, but unignorable. That was the only way to close the gap.
Not just for the awards, but for what came next.
Because the better he performed, the stronger his bargaining power would be when the time came to negotiate his next transfer.
And now, with Real Madrid circling, that moment felt closer than ever.
...
...
After the awards ceremony, FIFA—as per tradition—hosted a banquet at a nearby five-star hotel to honor the guests.
Yang Yang joined several players at one of the long tables, continuing his earlier conversations with Kaka and Gerrard. Soon, Arjen Robben and Ibrahimović joined in, and the table grew livelier with each passing minute.
The room was full of laughter, clinking glasses, and stories shared among the elite of world football.
It wasn't until well past midnight that the banquet came to a close and the guests slowly returned to their rooms.
For Yang Yang, the entire evening had been an eye-opening experience.
From the surreal red carpet to the live award broadcast, from chatting with legends like Ronaldo and Zidane to the unexpected and profound conversation with Florentino Pérez—every moment had left an impression. But it was more than just memories. It had expanded his understanding of professional football on a deeper level.
He thought back to his days in Almere's youth system, when his only window into the football world came through newspapers and TV. Even now, despite being in the upper tiers of the football pyramid, he realized he was still only seeing part of the whole.
The higher you climb, the more you understand. The wider your field of vision becomes.
And the more you see, the more you're compelled to keep pushing forward.
There is always someone better. Always a bigger challenge. That was what Yang Yang now chased—not just greatness, but the constant stretch of his own limits.
Back at the hotel, he walked with Ibrahimović before they eventually went their separate ways. The Swede returned to his suite with Helena, while Yang Yang opened the door to find Raiola still wide awake, waiting for him.
The moment Raiola laid eyes on him, he grinned like a proud father.
"Magnificent! You looked incredible on that red carpet!" he beamed, clearly pleased with how the investment in the stylist had paid off.
But Yang Yang wasted no time with pleasantries. He went straight to the point.
"Florentino told me Real Madrid wants to sign me."
Raiola froze for half a second before springing to his feet, eyes wide.
"Wait—what?! Real Madrid wants you? He said that to you directly?"
Yang Yang nodded.
There had been rumors before—whispers in the media, speculation by pundits—but nothing concrete. Now, it was different. This had come directly from the president of Real Madrid. There was no room for doubt.
"Did you agree?" Raiola asked quickly, visibly energized.
Yang Yang stayed calm. "No. I didn't say yes. He asked me to think about it."
"You should say yes! What are you waiting for? This is Real Madrid! How many players on earth get this chance?" Raiola could hardly contain his excitement.
It was understandable. For an agent, placing a player at Real Madrid was a crowning achievement. It meant prestige, leverage, and enormous visibility. And for a player, it could be life-changing.
Yang Yang understood that. He also knew the old saying: "If you miss this train, it may never return."
But he wasn't rushing.
"Real Madrid is... unstable right now," Yang Yang replied, brows slightly furrowed.
Raiola's enthusiasm cooled, and reality settled back in.
The Galácticos project was faltering. Despite a squad brimming with superstars, the team had underperformed in recent years. Their 2004–05 Champions League run had ended early, and this season they had been second-best to Lyon in the group stage.
Just before this ceremony, they'd suffered a humiliating 3–0 Clásico defeat to Barcelona at the Santiago Bernabéu. Ronaldinho scored twice—and in a moment that went viral worldwide, even the Madridistas stood up and applauded the Brazilian maestro.
That moment symbolized just how far Real Madrid had fallen.
Worse, the team's structure had become bloated with aging stars who no longer had the hunger or sharpness they once possessed. Many were living on reputation, but still occupying central roles in the team.
The dressing room was fractured, and speculation over Florentino Pérez's future as club president was swirling.
Yang Yang was only 19. He was still on the rise, still sharpening his edge. Would it make sense to step into such chaos?
Raiola, now seated again, sighed and rubbed his temple.
"Yeah. It's not exactly an ideal time," he admitted. "When the squad is bloated with egos and fading stars, it's hard for a young player to thrive—especially one from outside Spain."
Yang Yang nodded.
"I didn't say no. But I didn't say yes either," he clarified. "Florentino said he sees me and Robinho as the faces of Real Madrid for the next decade. If that's true, then he needs to show me real sincerity."
"At the very least, I need to know I'd be a starter. If I'm going there to sit on the bench, forget it."
He was firm. Not arrogant—just realistic.
He had turned down offers before for that same reason. He hadn't left Ajax last summer precisely because he didn't want to be a rotation player at a bigger club. If he made that choice now, it would contradict everything he stood for.
Raiola leaned back, his expression a blend of pride and respect.
"You're right," he said at last. "If they want you as a pillar of their future, they need to treat you like one. Let them make the first real move."
Yang Yang said nothing more.
...
...
The night passed in Zurich, and the following morning, Yang Yang was awakened by a phone call from Su Ye back in China.
Her voice came through the receiver full of energy, excitement, and teasing warmth.
"Yang Yang! You were all over the news this morning! The major websites, every sports page, entertainment page, even mainstream headlines are talking about you! And wait—don't get too full of yourself—but the girls in our dorm... they've gone crazy. Everyone's saying how handsome and elegant you looked last night. Your suit, your hairstyle—everything! You've got taste, they said. Even the TV news is replaying clips. The fashion magazines will be next. You've become public property now!"
Yang Yang chuckled, leaning back against the hotel pillows, basking in her words but more in the sound of her voice.
"And here I thought they just wanted to talk football." He laughed. "Turns out they all want to soak me, huh?"
Su Ye couldn't help but laugh out loud at the slang, half amused, half embarrassed.
"I'm serious," she said through the giggles. "You're officially a national heartthrob."
"Well," Yang Yang said, playing along with mock seriousness, "you might want to inform your roommates that I've already been caught—by someone who tied a hand rope around my wrist, remember?"
The line went quiet for a moment, just the sound of their breathing, before Su Ye's voice softened.
"I saw it last night, you kissing the bracelet after the goal. You... you looked amazing, Yang Yang."
There was a pause again, and then she added, trying to keep things light, "But don't get too cocky. I'm still watching you."
"Of course," Yang Yang said. "But just to be clear, if anyone else does want to join the queue, they'll have to wait behind you. You've already signed the captain's contract."
Su Ye laughed again. "Captain of the harem now? Should I start introducing you to some of the school's finest?"
"I mean, I've heard the legends," Yang Yang joked. "That your campus is overflowing with beautiful women. But... I already found my queen."
Su Ye didn't respond immediately, but her quiet breath through the line said everything. Finally, she whispered, "Good answer."
He didn't know why, but Yang Yang found himself speaking more than usual with Su Ye.
Their conversation flowed effortlessly, full of shared jokes and warmth. There seemed to be no end to the things they could talk about.
After breakfast, FIFA staff escorted him to the airport, and he boarded his return flight to Amsterdam.
At noon that very day, over in Nyon, Switzerland, UEFA held the draw for the UEFA Champions League Round of 16 at its headquarters.
When the matchups were announced, Yang Yang was stunned.
Ajax had drawn Real Madrid.
He couldn't tell whether it was fate playing a trick on him after that unexpected conversation with Florentino the night before, or simply a coincidence, but either way, a strange fire stirred inside him. Something beyond nerves—an urgency, a deep motivation.
He especially wanted to perform in those two matches—to prove himself.
It reminded him of players like Samuel Eto'o, who always played with fire when facing Real Madrid after being released by them, or Fernando Morientes, who scored against them while on loan at Monaco in 2004. There was something visceral about proving yourself to the very club that overlooked you—or wanted you.
But Yang Yang's case was slightly different. He wasn't trying to avenge a rejection. He was trying to earn an invitation.
He not only wanted to show his ability. He wanted to knock them out.
Because without advancing, how could Ajax hope to meet the real titans of Europe like AC Milan?
Ajax's original goal for this Champions League campaign was modest: reach the knockout stage. And they had done it. Mission complete.
But Yang Yang didn't think that way anymore.
He believed this Ajax squad, young and hungry, could push further. Winning the tournament might be unrealistic—the stars had aligned for their 2004 miracle—but to go as far as possible, to leave everything on the pitch, to finish without regrets… that was the goal now.
The rest of the draw was no less dramatic:
Chelsea vs. Barcelona
Werder Bremen vs. Juventus
Bayern Munich vs. AC Milan
PSV vs. Lyon
Arsenal vs. Inter Milan
Benfica vs. Liverpool
Rangers vs. Villarreal
In that company, drawing Real Madrid wasn't the worst outcome. But it wasn't good either.
Drawing Chelsea would've been a death sentence.
When Yang Yang returned to De Toekomst that afternoon, the mood in the dressing room echoed his own mixed feelings. No one took Real Madrid lightly—not because they were dominant now, but because they were dangerous in a different way. Their recent form hadn't impressed, but their squad still read like a fantasy draft of elite talent.
The days that followed saw media coverage of the FIFA World Player of the Year ceremony still making waves across Europe.
Yang Yang's formal attire, handpicked by a top stylist and curated by Raiola, received rave reviews. He was even named among the Top 10 Best-Dressed Male Athletes in Europe by several major fashion magazines.
Raiola basked in the glory like a peacock.
"All that money on tailoring and hair product didn't go to waste!" he proudly announced.
Ibrahimović, however, didn't fare as well. He ended up on a Worst-Dressed list—his long hair once again the culprit—and the Swedish striker was so furious he called Yang Yang immediately.
"Did you bribe them?!"
Yang Yang only laughed, "Some people are just naturally handsome. You have to accept your fate."
Ibrahimović nearly had a meltdown.
But Yang Yang didn't dwell on these distractions.
That was all behind him now.
Back in Amsterdam, he returned to the only rhythm that mattered—discipline, training, consistency.
...
...
December 22nd, Round of 16 – KNVB Cup
Ajax traveled south to Eindhoven for a cup fixture—not against giants PSV, but their local neighbors, FC Eindhoven. Despite sharing a name, the difference in class between the two sides was unmistakable.
Just four minutes after kickoff, Ajax made their superiority clear. Nicklas Bendtner latched onto a sharp low cross from Filipe Luís and finished with composure to give the visitors the lead.
That opener unleashed a flurry.
In the 14th minute, Pienaar weaved through two defenders before sliding in a pass that Wesley Sneijder buried from the edge of the box. Two minutes later, Yaya Touré won the ball high and fed Charles Charisteas for a powerful finish inside the near post. By the 19th, Ajax were already up 4–0, with Maxwell curling in a delightful effort after an overlapping run.
With such a commanding lead and winter fatigue setting in, Ajax began to ease off the throttle. Though still dominant, they allowed the hosts some breathing space—partly out of sportsmanship, partly to conserve energy for the congested schedule ahead.
After the interval, Ajax resumed their composure and struck again in the 62nd minute through substitute Nourdin Boukhari, who finished off a swift counterattack initiated by Maduro and Babel.
To their credit, FC Eindhoven responded almost immediately. A fast transition caught Ajax's back line a step slow, and striker Tony Maes slotted past Stekelenburg to make it 5–1. A small consolation, but one their fans celebrated proudly.
The game turned into a relaxed affair in the final stages, with neither side exerting full pressure. But Ajax weren't finished.
In the 81st minute, Ron Vlaar rose highest during a corner to nod in Ajax's sixth goal of the night. The scoreboard read 6–1 at the final whistle, a result that reaffirmed Ajax's depth even without their captain and talisman.
Yang Yang had stayed behind in Amsterdam to continue his individualized training regimen at De Toekomst. As the match wasn't broadcast live, he didn't even learn the result until after wrapping up his post-training pool recovery session.
Shortly after, his phone buzzed. It was Raiola, and the Italian agent's voice came through in an ecstatic burst.
"Good news—great news!" he yelled, not bothering with a greeting.