"Your breakfast, Mino."
Yang Yang pushed open the door, arms full with a warm paper bag from the corner bakery. The scent of fresh croissants and coffee filled the hallway.
Raiola was already seated at the small kitchen table, looking completely worn down. His suit jacket was draped over the back of the chair, his shirt wrinkled, and his eyes bloodshot—clearly he hadn't slept.
"Thanks," he muttered hoarsely as he accepted the coffee. "Feels like the whole of European football just went through an earthquake overnight."
Yang Yang sat across from him, quietly peeling back the foil on his sandwich as he listened.
"Florentino's resignation has flipped everything upside down," Raiola continued. "The Galácticos era is finished. Everything tied to that vision—superstar branding, aggressive market moves, the political shield around big players—it's all unraveling. The cleaning process has started already, and right now, Madrid is in complete disarray."
Yang Yang nodded. "That's to be expected. At a club like Real Madrid, the president holds enormous power—he's not just a figurehead. When someone like Florentino steps down so abruptly, chaos is inevitable."
Raiola leaned back, rubbing his temples.
"It's not just internal chaos. Outside the club, there's confusion too. Some people think Florentino's resignation is just theatre—that he's retreating behind the curtain while his key people remain in control. Fernando Martín, Ramón Calderón, José Ángel Sánchez, Butragueño… they're all still there. They could quietly maintain influence."
He paused, eyes scanning Yang Yang's expression.
"But there's another theory. That Florentino's truly had enough. His wife's health has been poor for a while. People close to him have said he's wanted to step back for over two years. This might just be the culmination. A clean exit so the club can finally push forward with clearing out the superstar-heavy squad."
Yang Yang shrugged. He had met Florentino only once, and even then it was formal and strategic. He had no personal read on the man—no emotional attachment either.
"I'm just a player," he said simply. "Where Florentino ends up isn't really my concern."
Raiola's brow furrowed. "Maybe not. But what happens next at Madrid… that does concern you."
Yang Yang looked up.
"Last night, I got another bit of information," Raiola said, voice low.
"What kind?"
"Florentino's departure has opened a power vacuum. And now, members of the Real Madrid presidium—some of whom had faded into the background—are trying to reposition themselves. Fernando Martín was handpicked by Florentino, yes, but his position isn't solid. Some factions want an election this summer. Quietly, they're already maneuvering behind the scenes."
Yang Yang frowned. He had little patience for boardroom politics.
"And these same people," Raiola continued, "are considering using a high-profile signing as leverage—just like in 2000."
Yang Yang blinked. "You mean... like Florentino used Figo?"
"Exactly. Back then, Figo was the golden bullet—shock value and star power rolled into one. It legitimized Florentino's campaign. Now, someone's thinking of doing the same."
"But who?" Yang Yang asked. "It can't be Ronaldinho. Barca would never sell, and he'd never agree to leave for Madrid anyway."
Raiola shook his head. "No, Ronaldinho's out of the question. Barcelona would lock down Camp Nou before they let that happen again."
"So who are they thinking of?"
Raiola took a sip of coffee and leaned forward. "There are two names floating around. One is you—Fernando Martín's camp is still pursuing the strategy Florentino laid out. You'd be the centerpiece of a smooth transition. But another camp is forming in opposition, and they're pushing for someone else—though I haven't confirmed who yet."
Yang Yang sat still for a moment, digesting the implications.
It made sense. If Fernando Martín wanted to continue Florentino's legacy, then keeping Yang Yang in their sights was logical. But for the opposition, aligning themselves with the same transfer target would only boost their rival's credibility. They needed their own symbol, their own weapon.
"And if they made me their target," Yang Yang said slowly, "they'd just be helping Florentino's legacy… and Martín's campaign."
Raiola nodded. "Exactly. That's why they won't touch your name. You've become... politically inconvenient."
Yang Yang let out a small breath through his nose.
So this was where things stood.
He was now a transfer target so high-profile that he had become a bargaining chip in the upcoming Real Madrid presidential race. He was being spoken about in the same strategic tone as Figo, Zidane, Ronaldo... It was surreal.
Should he feel proud?
Or disgusted?
Or simply indifferent?
Before he could make sense of it all, Raiola set down his cup with a grin. "Alright, enough of the scheming and cloak-and-dagger stuff. Let's switch gears—I've got some good news."
Yang Yang stared at Raiola—the ever-grinning Italian agent now sipping coffee with the swagger of a man who had just conquered Wall Street.
"I've locked down another sponsorship deal for you," Raiola said, his face practically glowing. "Contract to be signed in the next few days."
"Another one?" Yang Yang raised an eyebrow.
That was fast.
In his experience, Raiola wasn't exactly known for his finesse in commercial negotiations. When had he suddenly branched out into this side of the business?
"Yep. And this one isn't small either—it's big," Raiola replied proudly.
"How big?" Yang Yang asked. It was his own money, after all. Curiosity was only natural.
"Take a guess," Raiola teased, rocking back in his chair.
"Three million?"
The Italian agent clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "Come on, don't insult me. That figure doesn't even scratch the surface."
"Three and a half? Four?"
Raiola shook his head, smugly.
"Five million?" Yang Yang asked, genuinely surprised this time.
Raiola crossed his arms over his chest, nodding with theatrical satisfaction, as if awaiting applause for his masterstroke.
But instead of admiration, Yang Yang gave him a skeptical look.
The moment deflated Raiola's grin.
"You don't believe me?" he asked, wounded. "Is that really the reputation I've earned with you?"
Yang Yang smirked but didn't answer.
"Alright, alright," Raiola sighed, waving his hands. "I'll admit it—the deal's worth five million euros. But I'm not claiming genius. It's not because of my brilliance. The brand is desperate, the competition's fierce, and the Chinese market is on fire."
"Which brand?" Yang Yang asked, now fully intrigued.
"Porsche."
"Porsche?" Yang Yang blinked. "As in the sports car Porsche?"
He immediately recalled how, not long ago, Ibrahimović had nearly starved himself to buy a Porsche 911. It was an elite brand in Europe—luxury, performance, and image all in one package.
Raiola nodded. "Don't look so shocked. The way your country's economy has been booming, every multinational company wants a piece of the Chinese market. Right now, you're a walking golden key. You open doors."
Yang Yang leaned back, absorbing the weight of that. He'd always known he had commercial value, but five million euros for a single endorsement? That exceeded anything he'd imagined. Especially considering he still drove the modest Fiat Ajax had assigned him when he joined.
"In fact, I was leaning toward BMW or Mercedes-Benz initially. Both were highly interested. But Porsche moved faster and more aggressively," Raiola added.
Yang Yang gave a half-smile. "You do realize I barely know how to drive, right?"
"That doesn't matter. You'll look good next to the car, and that's what sells," Raiola replied with a laugh. "Besides, the timing couldn't be better. The World Cup is right around the corner, and you know how deep the connection is between car marketing and football."
Yang Yang nodded slowly. He remembered the 2002 campaign vividly—Kia Maxima had bombarded Chinese viewers with relentless ads during the national team's historic World Cup run. It had worked.
"And now," Raiola continued, "every car brand wants their turn. You're the ideal face: young, talented, and already a national icon. The major companies are all knocking."
Yang Yang scratched his head. "Still… five million? Isn't that excessive?"
Raiola fixed him with a firm look. "You're underestimating your own commercial value."
He stood up and began gesturing in midair as if sketching numbers.
"Porsche's giving you the Cayenne series for this campaign. According to their internal projections, they expect to sell about 2,000 units in China in 2006. If we divide the five million euros sponsorship evenly, it breaks down to €2,500 per car."
Yang Yang remained quiet.
"Each Cayenne sells for somewhere between €80,000 and €120,000. That's over a million and a half yuan per vehicle. €2,500 per unit is a small marketing cost when you consider the profile boost your face will bring."
Raiola leaned in. "And that's before calculating the actual sales increase your endorsement could generate. Porsche believes your campaign could bump sales by 50%. That's 3,000 units."
He finally sat down again, pleased with his delivery.
"So you see, it's not outrageous. Porsche has done the math. They're investing in the long game. Between 2003 and now, Cayenne sales in China have doubled every year. From just 138 units in 2003, to 309 in 2004, then 625 in 2005. This year? They're projecting 2,000. China is their future."
Yang Yang couldn't deny the logic. The numbers didn't lie.
For a moment, he imagined himself on giant LED billboards along the streets of Shanghai, Beijing, or Guangzhou, standing beside a gleaming Cayenne in a tailored suit. It was surreal.
He chuckled softly.
"I need to tell the national team guys," he muttered. "Play hard. Represent well. Backed by a country like ours, even if the salaries in Europe are lower, the brand power can more than make up for it."
Raiola nodded. "Exactly."
But in the back of Yang Yang's mind, something else tugged at him.
Wealth brought comfort. And comfort, if he wasn't careful, could bring complacency.
More money meant more distractions. More temptations. And it was easy to lose sight of why he'd started in the first place.
He clenched his fists subtly beneath the table.
Born in hardship. Perish in peace. That's what the old saying taught.
He couldn't afford to lose his edge.
...
...
When Yang Yang arrived at De Toekomst, Ajax's training complex, he immediately noticed the stares.
Everywhere he walked—through the locker room hallway, past the staff offices, onto the pitch—people were glancing at him with a mix of curiosity and awkward amusement. The energy was hard to miss.
He let out a soft sigh, lips curling into a helpless smile.
It was inevitable. The media storm over the past week had been relentless. Every tabloid and sports page had hyped the idea that Yang Yang was already on his way to Real Madrid, as if the contract had already been signed behind closed doors.
And now, with Florentino Pérez stepping down, everyone at Ajax was looking at him with that same unspoken question in their eyes.
So… what happens now?
"They're not gloating," came a familiar voice behind him, "they're just worried about you."
Yang Yang turned to see Winston Bogarde, his fitness coach and one of the few he genuinely respected.
"This morning alone," Bogarde continued, chuckling, "at least five different people came up to me and asked what was going on with you and Real Madrid. I told them the truth—that you haven't agreed to anything—but no one believes me. The media's got them completely spun."
Yang Yang nodded slowly. That helpless feeling again.
In an age overflowing with information, clarity had become a rarity. Everyone was exposed to the same flood of headlines, rumors, and spin—but few could tell what was real anymore.
It wasn't just in the Netherlands. It was the same everywhere across European football, and likely the whole world. The more connected people became, the more lost they seemed in the noise.
"Tell me honestly," Bogarde asked, his tone suddenly more casual, "is there a club you actually want to join?"
Yang Yang hesitated, then shook his head.
"No," he said simply.
Bogarde raised an eyebrow. "Come on. Everyone's got a dream club."
Yang Yang let out a dry laugh. "Not me. I don't have a team I grew up loving. Sure, I admired Van Basten and Ronaldo—both of them—but that doesn't mean I'm chasing their old teams."
"So… Milan or Inter doesn't have a special pull?"
"Not really," Yang Yang said honestly. "Liking a player is one thing. Making a career decision is another. If I start mixing emotion with professionalism, it's only going to cloud my judgment."
Bogarde nodded slowly, impressed by the maturity in the reply.
It was true.
Too often, fans believed that players made moves out of love for a club. The truth was much colder. Transfers were about timing, development, wages, exposure, trophies—and stability. All those fairy-tale declarations players gave at press conferences—"I've dreamed of playing for this club since I was a child"—were, more often than not, polite PR lines.
Take Real Madrid, for instance.
How many players had said they were lifelong Madridistas before signing a contract?
Plenty.
But if Real Madrid suddenly spiraled into mediocrity—dropping into the mid-table in La Liga year after year—how many of those same players would still be dreaming of joining?
The answer was clear: almost none.
It wasn't that their admiration was fake. It was that ambition always came first. Players want to compete at the highest level. No one wants to sacrifice their peak years out of sentiment.
Even legends like Raúl and Maldini—icons of loyalty—had the good fortune of spending their careers at clubs that remained global giants. If Milan or Madrid had fallen off the map during their primes, even they might have been tempted.
Of course, those two did stay. And for that, their professionalism and loyalty deserved full respect.
Yang Yang reflected on his own journey. A few years ago, he was just another teenager watching matches on TV, barely understanding the inner workings of the football world. But after two or three years inside the system—seeing players come and go, agents negotiating behind closed doors, clubs making cold decisions—his perspective had changed.
He had grown. He had learned.
And he had learned to be realistic.
Sometimes, leaving was inevitable. Sometimes, parting ways at the right time was better than clinging on too long. In football, like in life, not all stories had poetic endings.
"Sometimes," Yang Yang murmured to himself, "the best outcome is knowing when to walk away."
...
...
The weekend following the unforgettable night against Real Madrid, Ajax returned to Eredivisie action for Matchday 26.
They made the trip east to Almelo, where they faced newly promoted Heracles at the intimate Polman Stadion. Though modest in size, the stadium was packed and noisy, with the home crowd eager to see their team pull off an upset.
Despite the emotional toll of midweek, Ronald Koeman showed no signs of complacency. He sent out a strong starting eleven. Yang Yang, back at the heart of the attack, was starting his 24th league match of the season.
Heracles lined up defensively, stacking the midfield and back line to contain Ajax's fluid passing game. But the visitors quickly found their rhythm.
In the 23rd minute, Wesley Sneijder received the ball just inside the Heracles half. Spotting a diagonal run from Angelos Charisteas, he lofted a precise through ball behind the defense. The Greek forward brought it down smoothly and calmly slotted past the keeper.
1–0 Ajax.
Heracles responded by sitting even deeper, clogging space in front of their area. But their low block still couldn't contain Yang Yang.
In the 36th minute, Yaya Touré broke through pressure and drove forward, shrugging off two markers before releasing a pass into the right-hand channel. Yang Yang timed his movement to perfection, darted in behind the back line, and finished with clinical precision at the near post.
2–0 Ajax.
That goal marked Yang Yang's 35th in the Eredivisie this season, scored in just 24 appearances. It pushed him past his own record from last season—and brought him within two goals of the iconic 37-goal mark set by Marco van Basten, one of Ajax's greatest legends.
Ajax's dominance continued. Just two minutes later, Yang Yang drew in two defenders on the flank before slipping a disguised pass through the gap. Steven Pienaar ghosted into the box and buried a low shot into the far corner.
3–0.
With the match under control, Koeman opted to protect his star man. Yang Yang was subbed off in the 60th minute to a strong ovation from the away fans.
The fourth goal came ten minutes later, when Sneijder delivered a sharp corner to the near post. John Heitinga attacked it with perfect timing, crashing a header into the back of the net.
Final score: 4–0 Ajax.
It was another comprehensive performance by the league leaders—and another decisive showing from Yang Yang, whose goal tally now had all of Dutch football talking.
After the match, the spotlight fell squarely on Yang Yang's scoring record.
In just 24 Eredivisie appearances, the Chinese forward had scored 35 goals, pulling within striking distance of Van Basten's legendary 37-goal campaign—and with six matches still remaining.
Second in the scoring charts was Klaas-Jan Huntelaar, with 24. The gap spoke volumes.
When asked about chasing Van Basten's record, Yang Yang remained humble.
"I don't think I'm in a position to compare myself to Marco," he told reporters. "He was world-class, and he proved himself not just here, but in Italy and on the biggest international stages. I still have a lot to prove."
"But I'll keep doing my job. I want to help Ajax win. If more goals come, I'll be happy. But breaking records isn't my focus."
Later that evening, Marco van Basten—now manager of the Dutch national team—spoke to NOS.
"I called Yang after the match," he said. "I congratulated him on his performances, but I also reminded him to stay grounded. The league isn't over. He still has the Dutch Cup and Champions League. He needs to maintain this level."
"I told him not to compare with others. Compare with yourself. Try to be better than yesterday. If he does that, he'll achieve miracles."
"And surpassing me? That should just be the beginning."
With eight matches remaining, and Ajax set to face just three major challenge AZ Alkmaar, PSV and Feyenoord and that at home—the schedule appeared favorable. With Ajax in top form and Yang Yang at the peak of his powers, murmurs had already begun.
Not just of surpassing Van Basten.
But of something greater—the 41-goal club record, and even the Eredivisie's all-time single-season scoring record: 43 goals.
If Yang Yang stayed fit, Dutch football history might soon have a new name at the top.
...
...
A week later, Ajax returned to the Amsterdam Arena to host another newly promoted side, Sparta Rotterdam, in Matchday 27 of the Eredivisie.
There was little time for complacency. With the second leg of the Champions League Round of 16 against Real Madrid looming in midweek, Ronald Koeman made it clear to the squad: start strong, get the job done early, then manage the tempo.
Ajax did just that.
Only five minutes after kickoff, Maxwell and Steven Pienaar combined on the left wing with a slick one-two that opened space down the channel. Pienaar slipped the ball to the top of the box, where Wesley Sneijder arrived late and smashed a low volley past the Sparta goalkeeper.
1–0 Ajax.
Just ten minutes later, Thomas Vermaelen stepped up from the back line and launched a long diagonal pass to Sneijder, catching Sparta off guard. Sneijder didn't hesitate—he unleashed a fierce drive from just outside the area.
2–0.
Sparta were shell-shocked. All their attention was on Yang Yang, but it was Sneijder who was running the show early on. The Dutch midfielder, enjoying his most productive scoring season yet, was thriving in Koeman's aggressive, vertical system. Like Pienaar, Charisteas, and Yaya Touré, he had benefited from Ajax's free-flowing attacking football. The whole squad was rising.
After the quick two-goal burst, Sparta tried to regroup. They pulled players back, attempting to close the gaps between their midfield and defense. But Ajax controlled every blade of grass. It was just a matter of time.
In the 40th minute, Pienaar picked up the ball again on the left and danced past his marker before threading a sharp pass into the box. Yang Yang made his signature blindside run, slipping in behind the defenders at the perfect moment. With one touch, he opened his body and swept the finish low across goal into the far corner.
3–0 Ajax.
That was Yang Yang's 36th league goal of the season, putting him just one behind Marco van Basten's long-standing Ajax record of 37 goals in a single Eredivisie campaign.
Koeman, mindful of what was ahead, had spoken to Yang Yang before the match. He would play only an hour—no more. At halftime, he reminded him again: no need to chase the game, stay sharp, save your legs.
And Yang Yang listened—at least in principle.
In the second half, he slowed down his pressing, drifted into space more than he darted into it, and generally let the game come to him. But when the ball did come, instinct took over.
In the 53rd minute, Ajax earned a corner. Charisteas won the initial header, nodding it back across the face of goal. Vermaelen, still up from the back, pounced and smashed it in from close range.
4–0 Ajax.
Sparta collapsed.
Just three minutes later, Charisteas turned provider again, slipping an elegant pass into the six-yard box. Yang Yang found himself completely unmarked. He didn't even look up—he simply lifted the ball with his left foot and guided it into the top corner.
5–0.
That strike meant one thing.
Yang Yang had equaled Marco van Basten's Eredivisie single-season record of 37 goals, achieved in just 25 league appearances.
There was no wild celebration. No shirt pulled off. No running to the fans. He simply raised an arm and smiled faintly, standing in place, letting the crowd carry the moment.
But the crowd—the entire Amsterdam Arena—rose to its feet and roared. Flags waved. Banners unfurled. The loudspeakers didn't need to announce anything. Everyone knew.
And then, only six minutes later, came the moment that would be replayed across Dutch television that night.
Ajax intercepted a pass in midfield. Sneijder surged forward and slipped a clever through ball behind the last defender. Yang Yang drifted into the space, not sprinting, just gliding.
One touch to settle. One soft push past the keeper.
6–0.
Goal number 38.
With that strike, Yang Yang officially surpassed Van Basten, becoming Ajax's new single-season Eredivisie goal record holder.
The arena erupted. The fans chanted his name. Reporters in the press box jotted down history.
On the sidelines, Koeman gave a long exhale and turned to the bench.
It was time.
Yang Yang was substituted immediately afterward. As he walked toward the touchline, the crowd stood again. Even Sparta's defenders gave him a nod of respect.
"I tried to take it easy," Yang Yang told Koeman with a wry smile. "But if the ball's there, I can't ignore it."
Koeman just laughed quietly, shaking his head. He couldn't fault him. With the way Ajax were playing, it was nearly impossible not to score.
On the bench, Ruud Krol muttered something under his breath.
"This stupid kid scores for fun and acts like it's an accident," he grumbled. "And he's still pretending to be modest."
But deep down, even Krol was impressed.
Yang Yang's positioning was razor-sharp. He didn't just chase the ball—he sensed where it would arrive. His timing, anticipation, and reading of the game made him untouchable. Ryan Babel, who came on as his replacement, made intelligent runs, but lacked the same predatory instinct. Ajax never came close to scoring again after Yang Yang left the field.
When the final whistle blew, Ajax had secured a 6–0 victory—their most complete performance in weeks.
The scoreline wasn't the headline.
The story was Yang Yang.
His fifth hat trick of the season. 38 league goals in 25 appearances. A broken record. A new chapter in Ajax history.
Across the Netherlands, papers ran headlines that night:
"A New King in Amsterdam."
"Yang Yang Surpasses Van Basten."
"The Future is Now."
And while Ajax continued to lead the Eredivisie, another subplot was beginning to build.
Huntelaar, too, had bagged a hat trick this round, bringing his tally to 27 goals for Heerenveen—a remarkable achievement in a team far less dominant.
Rumors had already begun swirling that Ajax were looking at Huntelaar as a possible successor—if Yang Yang left in the summer.
But for now, that wasn't Yang Yang's concern.
Real Madrid was coming.
And Ajax had a score to settle.