Early that morning, after finishing his usual run along the edge of Ouderkerkerplas, Yang Yang returned home to find a striking vehicle parked in front of his apartment building.
A Porsche Cayenne.
The SUV's shallow champagne finish gleamed softly beneath the early sunlight, its imposing frame balanced between muscular aggression and refined sophistication. The front fascia looked ready to devour the road—bold, confident—while the sloping silhouette added a subtle elegance that didn't scream for attention but still turned every head.
At first glance, Yang Yang thought it was a strange blend of contradictions: brute force wrapped in artistic flair. But the longer he looked, the more it grew on him.
The moment he opened the door, he noticed the soft beige leather interiors and an immaculately crafted dashboard, ergonomically contoured down to the smallest detail. It was luxury redefined—not overbearing, but quietly dominant. Porsche, as always, had nailed the balance between opulence and athleticism.
The Cayenne Turbo, he recalled, wasn't just about appearances. This new model, launched just this year, was fitted with a 4.5-liter twin-turbocharged V8 engine, boasting a staggering 521 horsepower. It could sprint from 0 to 100 km/h in just under five seconds—unbelievable for something its size. It came with every premium feature imaginable: adaptive air suspension, variable ride height, dynamic chassis control, a premium Bose sound system, proximity sensors, and more.
All of it was his.
Porsche Netherlands had delivered the SUV the day before, and according to Raiola—who made sure to send Yang Yang a voice message late at night—it wasn't just a gift, but the start of something much bigger.
Yang Yang had signed an exclusive endorsement deal with Porsche for the Cayenne line. During the contract period, he would receive the newest model of the Cayenne each year, completely free of charge. In return, he agreed to drive only the Cayenne in any public appearance and shoot a global promotional campaign once annually.
The price? A guaranteed €5 million per year, net of taxes.
And Yang Yang didn't even have to speak a single word of dialogue in the ads.
Truth be told, he never cared too much about material things. The Fiat Stilo the club had provided him before was fine enough—practical, functional. He barely noticed the difference, especially when all his focus was on training and playing.
But this…
This Cayenne was different.
It wasn't just a car. It was a message.
He hadn't even driven it yet, but the look on people's faces told him everything. The stunned silence from the passersby, the gleam of envy in the eyes of teammates like Maxwell and Vermaelen, and even the slack-jawed awe of McKon—it all struck Yang Yang like a delayed realization.
Perhaps it was true what they said: No man truly dislikes cars. They simply haven't met the right one.
He ran his hand along the edge of the door with a grin, the paint cool under his fingers.
Just then, Vermaelen stepped outside, rubbing his eyes with a mockingly pained expression.
"That thing's stupid beautiful," the Belgian mumbled, his voice filled with exaggerated grief.
Yang Yang laughed.
"I don't disagree."
"But seriously," Vermaelen clutched his stomach dramatically. "I'm dying. Did you bring food or just flex your endorsement money on us?"
Still in high spirits, Yang Yang lifted the breakfast bag in one hand.
"Of course I brought food," he replied. "Even superstars eat."
The two walked back inside, the Cayenne behind them still glinting like a trophy under the morning light.
...
...
Since the departures of Ibrahimović and Van der Vaart, the training ground at De Toekomst hadn't seen a luxury car roll through its gates.
Back in those days, players would casually debate the superiority of the Porsche 911 versus the Audi S4, sometimes even comparing drag stats before training. But that kind of flash had faded. These days, such talk only lived on in the nostalgic banter of senior squad members.
For the newer generation of Ajax players, mornings at De Toekomst always looked the same: a long line of modest Fiats lined up in the player lot—symmetrical, uninspired, and unmistakably average. Fiat, after all, had a partnership deal with Ajax, and while players weren't obligated to drive them, most simply accepted it.
The models offered? Purely practical. Unremarkable hatchbacks, compact sedans—functional for a daily commute, but utterly forgettable. Certainly not the kind of cars you'd dream about as a kid watching the Champions League on TV.
The club had once made room for flamboyance. Zlatan had brought in his 911, Van der Vaart cruised in his S4, and while those cars weren't exorbitant by footballing standards, they were still symbols of status. But in the two years since their departures, no one had dared to raise the bar again.
Yang Yang, the highest-paid player in the squad, had never shown interest in that kind of lifestyle. He trained relentlessly, often running or hitching rides, and when he did eventually get his license, he stuck with a Fiat. If even he wasn't pushing for more, no one else dared.
Sneijder? Not one to flaunt. He bought himself a simple black Volkswagen sedan—practical, dependable, and distinctly unglamorous.
But on this day, everything changed.
As players began trickling into De Toekomst for morning training, a curious glint caught everyone's attention. Parked slightly apart from the fleet of Fiats was a sleek, champagne-colored machine that shimmered under the Dutch morning sun.
"Wait, is that a Cayenne?"
"Who the hell brought that beast?"
"I saw it when I got here. Was already parked."
"Someone's moving up in the world... that has to cost what—40,000?"
"More like 43,000 for the base model."
But then one of the more car-savvy players furrowed his brow.
"No, this isn't the base. Look at the intake grille. The standard Cayenne has a narrow trapezoid. This one? Double-stacked, long trapezoids—meaner, more muscular. And those lines on the bonnet? Definitely not stock."
The more they observed, the clearer it became: this wasn't your average Cayenne.
It was a monster.
"That's not the mid-range either. The grille's all wrong for it."
"Then it's the Turbo?"
A few of them hurried to the rear badge.
"Wait a minute... there's an 'S' after Turbo."
"You're kidding."
"I read about it in AutoBild. That's the new Cayenne Turbo S. Flagship model. Not even officially released in some markets yet. Starts at €150,000, but with all the options—adaptive suspension, upgraded exhaust, ceramic brakes, custom interior—it breaks €200,000 easy."
A stunned silence fell over the group.
Even Ibra's old 911 and Van der Vaart's Audi S4 didn't come close to that price tag.
And then, as if to confirm the mystery, Maxwell, Maicon, and a few others walked in. Immediately, they were pounced on.
"You guys know whose it is?"
Maicon grinned like he'd been waiting for the question all morning.
"It's Yang Yang's. Porsche sent it over yesterday. Full sponsorship."
The reaction was explosive.
A free Cayenne Turbo S? Worth over €200,000? Just handed over? It was madness.
Sure, Yang Yang was Ajax's top star and maybe even the most exciting talent in European football this season. But this? This was next-level.
"Goddamn," one of the defenders muttered, half-joking. "If I had Yang's stats, I bet they'd throw in a yacht too."
Maxwell laughed, "If any of you scored 38 goals in the Eredivisie and dumped Real Madrid out of Europe, they'd probably gift you an entire dealership."
Then, his tone shifted mockingly serious. "But come on, guys. Look at Yang. Luxury car, at training before all of you, probably already hit the gym. And here we are, standing around talking cars."
A few chuckled, sheepishly looking at the ground.
"And what about you, Maxwell?"
He shrugged coolly. "I admit it. I'm not working like him. But hey, I don't mind reaping the rewards. I say we demand he hosts dinner tonight—fair is fair."
Cheers erupted.
As the group dispersed to warm up, Yang Yang arrived, climbing the stairs with calm energy. Maxwell sidled up beside him like a sly fox.
"Just saying," he started casually, "that car of yours… not everyone here knows how to drive like a rally champion. Imagine someone scraping it in the parking lot."
Yang Yang glanced at him. "Maxwell…"
"Me? Never. I'm your brother. But these guys? Reckless. You should really think about protecting that beauty."
"What's your angle?"
Maxwell flashed a grin. "Dinner. You pay. We celebrate Madrid's execution."
Yang Yang laughed. "That's all? Done. You guys better pick a decent place this time."
Maxwell raised both hands in victory while the rest of the squad whooped and whistled.
Truthfully, this was something Yang Yang had started to understand more deeply over the past two years. Being the captain wasn't just about leading on the pitch. It was about creating bonds, building unity, being the central spoke in the wheel. These team meals—monthly, sometimes more—were nothing in terms of cost, but priceless in influence.
He'd learned well.
Winning a match was one thing. Building a winning team was another.
And a captain who couldn't bring people together wasn't really a captain at all.
Van Basten had once said it best: "Help the team, and the team will help you."
The players began heading into drills, laughter and banter still echoing across the pitch.
Yang Yang joined them with a smile, but his mind was already elsewhere.
Today at noon, the draw for the Champions League quarterfinals would be held.
And tomorrow—De Topper, the Dutch national derby: Ajax vs. PSV Eindhoven at the Amsterdam Arena.
...
...
Unlike in previous years, the UEFA Champions League quarter-final draw was not held at UEFA headquarters in Nyon, Switzerland. For the first time, it moved to the host city of that year's final—Paris, France. Specifically, it took place at the historic Hôtel de Ville, the Paris City Hall, a symbolic and grand venue to match the occasion.
The draw began promptly at 12:00 noon and was broadcast live to a global audience. Football fans, journalists, club officials, and players all held their breath as they awaited the matchups that would shape the road to the Stade de France.
At the Milanello training center in northern Italy, the players of AC Milan gathered in the team lounge, eyes fixed on the television screen. Kaka sat among his teammates, quiet and composed, his fingers interlocked as he leaned slightly forward in his seat. Around him, there was the usual banter, speculation, and confident declarations from teammates, but Kaka stayed reserved, mentally focused on a different thought.
Would they be drawn against Ajax?
That question lingered in his mind.
AC Milan, under Carlo Ancelotti, were widely considered one of the strongest sides left in the tournament. Technically sharp, tactically mature, and boasting experience in every department, they had reached the final in 2003 and 2005, winning the former and losing the latter only on penalties to Liverpool.
But Ajax, with Yang Yang's explosive rise and Ronald Koeman's steady hand, had become a team no one wanted to draw—not because they were unbeatable, but because they were unpredictable and fearless.
According to the draw format, the quarterfinals were an open draw—no seedings, no country protection. Any of the eight clubs could be matched with any other.
In a recent interview, Milan's vice-president Adriano Galliani admitted that while they weren't afraid of anyone, they had their preferences. "We would've liked to avoid Inter," he said with a smirk. "But they've already gone out, so that's one less worry."
Galliani was more candid about Juventus. "They are a solid team under Capello—hard to break down—but we beat them 3-1 in the league. So, we respect them, but we don't fear them."
Indeed, Fabio Capello's Juventus had built a reputation for defensive discipline over spectacle. With a midfield anchored by the formidable pairing of Patrick Vieira and Emerson, they relied more on structure and resilience than fluid attacking play. Capello's "1-0" pragmatism had drawn criticism from the media for being dull, but it was undeniably effective.
In contrast, AC Milan boasted flair and firepower. With Pirlo orchestrating the midfield, Shevchenko and Inzaghi up front, and the likes of Kaka, Seedorf, and Cafu supplying attacking depth, Milan were built to play with ambition.
Still, one name kept recurring in hushed tones—Barcelona.
Frank Rijkaard's Barcelona were arguably the most dynamic attacking team in Europe that season. Ronaldinho, Eto'o, Deco, and a rising Messi had made the Catalans a feared side. They played with energy, creativity, and positional fluidity. Few teams in the draw wanted to face them over two legs.
That left Ajax as the wildcard.
Not the strongest on paper, but extremely well-organized, confident, and featuring perhaps the most in-form attacker of the competition in Yang Yang. His nine goals had stunned Europe, including a hat-trick at the Bernabéu that sent Real Madrid crashing out and triggered a club-wide crisis.
Kaka couldn't forget it.
Despite AC Milan's pedigree, he knew firsthand how form and belief could change everything in a knockout tie.
The draw was moments away. The cameras panned across the dignitaries in Paris, the bowls filled with club names prepared for fate to decide.
Kaka leaned back slightly, took a breath, and waited.
Would Ajax appear next to Milan?
He wasn't nervous. But he was curious—curious to see whether destiny had another battle in store between two players who symbolized football's future.
...
The draw ceremony was officially conducted under the supervision of UEFA CEO Lars-Christer Olsson. For the occasion, UEFA had invited a distinguished group of guests, with France's 1998 World Cup-winning centre-back Laurent Blanc serving as the guest of honour to oversee the draw.
Alongside Blanc stood legends of the competition. Real Madrid icon Francisco Gento, the only player in history to win six European Cups, carried the trophy into the venue. Accompanying him was Jamie Carragher, last season's Champions League-winning captain with Liverpool. Together, they symbolically handed the iconic silver trophy to Olsson, who in turn passed it to the Mayor of Paris, Bertrand Delanoë, to mark the beginning of the trophy's public display in the French capital leading up to the final.
The ceremony was being broadcast live to millions of viewers across Europe and beyond. The television cameras briefly focused on several club delegates seated in the audience. Notably, AC Milan's Vice-President Adriano Galliani was present, leaning forward in anticipation, flanked by members of Milan's technical team.
The draw began swiftly.
The first pairing out of the bowls was from the top half of the bracket: Benfica, the last remaining Portuguese team, were drawn against FC Barcelona. There was an audible murmur across the hall, followed by approving nods from the Barcelona delegation. For Rijkaard's in-form squad—boasting Ronaldinho, Eto'o, and Deco—this was seen as a favourable draw. Benfica, while impressive in eliminating Liverpool, would be heavy underdogs against La Liga's most potent attacking side.
Next, from the bottom half, came Olympique Lyonnais versus Villarreal.
It was a balanced and intriguing fixture. Lyon had steamrolled PSV Eindhoven in the previous round, showcasing the same attacking verve and midfield dominance they had demonstrated all season in Ligue 1. Villarreal, meanwhile, had survived a gritty tie against Rangers, advancing on away goals. This matchup had the air of a chess match—two technically sound, tactically clever teams with contrasting styles.
Now only four teams remained: Ajax, Arsenal, Juventus, and AC Milan.
There was a collective tension, not only in the room but in every television lounge, club boardroom, and training ground across Europe. Whichever way the balls fell, there would be fireworks.
Of the four, Ajax were seen as the least likely to lift the trophy. Young, vibrant, and tactically bold under Ronald Koeman, they had impressed by knocking out Real Madrid, but their defensive fragility remained a concern. Arsenal, Juventus, and AC Milan all represented powerhouses with deep squads and European pedigree.
Laurent Blanc reached into the bowl and carefully pulled out the third ball of the top half.
He opened the slip of paper slowly.
"Ajax."
The name rang through the loudspeakers.
The camera panned to Ajax's representatives. There was no visible reaction. Composed. Focused. Koeman had made it clear before the draw that it didn't matter who they got; they were already in uncharted waters.
Now the question was—who would their opponent be?
Three balls remained: Arsenal, Juventus, and AC Milan.
The real tension was just beginning.
...
...
Amsterdam, Netherlands.
Yang Yang didn't go for his usual afternoon nap. Instead, he stayed in the players' lounge at De Toekomst, eyes fixed on the large flat-screen television where the Champions League quarter-final draw was being broadcast live from Paris.
He wasn't alone. A number of Ajax teammates, some staff, and even a few youth players had gathered, the tension in the room growing with every ball pulled from the bowl.
The moment UEFA CEO Lars-Christer Olsson announced Ajax's name for the third slot in the top half of the bracket, a noticeable chill ran through the room. Conversations halted. Chairs creaked as players leaned forward. The draw had just become real.
Now, only three opponents remained: Arsenal, Juventus, and AC Milan.
All three were giants in their own right. And to be honest, none of them were favourable.
The option of facing Arsenal again brought mixed feelings. The two sides had already played twice in the group stage, with Ajax winning the first leg 2–1 in Amsterdam and drawing the second. On paper, that might suggest an advantage, but anyone who had actually played those matches knew better. Arsenal hadn't used their strongest lineup in Amsterdam, and their second-half performance in London was dominant. If drawn again, the English side would come in better prepared, more aggressive, and likely fielding their strongest eleven. It would be an entirely different challenge.
Juventus, though—now that was a team nobody wanted to face. Not only were they masters of defensive discipline, but they also boasted two former Ajax players in their ranks: Zlatan Ibrahimović and Hatem Trabelsi. Both were familiar with the Ajax style, and both would be extra motivated. The Bianconeri's midfield was a wall: Vieira and Emerson sitting deep, with Nedvěd and Camoranesi operating wide. It was a brutal, physical, and experienced core. Ajax's youthful midfield, for all its talent, would struggle to hold its ground in that kind of warzone. It could easily resemble last season's second-leg collapse in Turin.
Still, Yang Yang didn't shy away from that idea.
In fact, part of him wanted Juventus.
Last year, I couldn't break through their backline. I want to see if I've truly grown.
But above all, his heart quietly pulled toward one team in particular.
AC Milan.
Not just because of their rich history, or their elegant football, but because of personal reasons—reasons that still lingered deep inside.
Two years ago, in that very same stadium, AC Milan had dismantled Ajax. Yang Yang had only been watching from the sidelines then, just promoted to the senior team, still a relative unknown. But that night, the Rossoneri's midfield—Pirlo, Seedorf, Gattuso—had dominated proceedings. Kaka was electric. Ajax couldn't cope.
Now, things were different.
Yang Yang was no longer a spectator.
Let it be Milan, he thought to himself, eyes never leaving the screen. Let's see how far we've come.
...
As Laurent Blanc drew the next ball from the glass bowl, all eyes at De Toekomst were glued to the television. The Ajax players leaned in, tension creeping into their posture. For a brief moment, the lounge fell silent.
Yang Yang, too, felt a flicker of unease. This draw would shape the road ahead in Europe—it could define their season. Still, he kept his composure. Smiling, he looked around and tried to calm the room.
"Don't be nervous," he said, his voice steady. "No matter who we draw, we just have to beat them."
His confidence had a soothing effect. A few players chuckled, the tension easing, if only slightly.
On screen, Blanc passed the small ball to UEFA CEO Lars-Christer Olsson. The Swede opened it, glanced at the paper, and read the name aloud.
"AC Milan!"
There was an audible reaction—both in Paris and in the Ajax lounge. A quiet gasp, some murmurs, even a few nods of recognition.
That confirmed the last tie by default: Arsenal would face Juventus.
No further draws were needed, except to determine which team would host the first leg.
Ajax versus AC Milan.
Yang Yang's expression changed—his calm smile faded, replaced by something sharper. He stood up slowly, eyes still on the screen.
"We got what we wanted," he said quietly, almost to himself.
Sneijder rose too, nodding. "It's been two years. Time to settle it."
Maxwell and De Jong exchanged glances and joined in with faint smirks of agreement.
Back in early September, Yang Yang had invited a few teammates—Sneijder, Maxwell, Heitinga, and De Jong—to dine at Shenji Chinese Restaurant in Almere. Over plates of red-cooked pork and steamed fish, he'd told them outright: "If we reach round of 16, I want AC Milan." It wasn't bravado. It was a grudge.
Two years ago, Milan had beat Ajax in the group stage. Yang Yang had been there—but on the stands, still waiting for his breakthrough. Watching helplessly.
Now things were different.
Now he was Ajax's leader, its captain, its number 11—and its symbol.
"This time, we play them our way," he said firmly. "They beat us two years ago. Now we alsos have to beat them."
"Yes!" Sneijder agreed with fire in his eyes. "Two years of frustration—we've waited long enough!"
According to the draw, Ajax would play the first leg at home in Amsterdam, with the return fixture at the San Siro. A slight advantage, perhaps—but it would still come down to performance on the pitch.
The room began to buzz with energy. What started as tension had transformed into purpose.
Yang Yang clenched his fist.
Kaka… finally.
He didn't know it, but over 1,000 kilometers away, at Milanello, Kaka had stood up in front of the television at almost the same moment.
Upon hearing Ajax drawn against AC Milan, the Brazilian smiled faintly and looked toward the sky beyond the window.
So it's you again.
He turned toward his teammates and spoke softly.
"They didn't have you two years ago, and I still beat them. Now you're here, Yang Yang… Let's see if it makes a difference."
...
...
The results of the Champions League quarter-final draw sent shockwaves across Europe.
Predictably, accusations of a "rigged draw" resurfaced.
The logic behind the controversy was simple: Ajax and AC Milan had been the most talked-about teams in the tournament so far.
AC Milan had just dispatched Bayern Munich 5–2 on aggregate—a commanding performance that caught the attention of analysts and fans alike. Bayern, no minor side in Europe, were beaten decisively both tactically and physically. The Rossoneri controlled both legs, particularly at San Siro, where they demonstrated sharp ball retention and attacking precision.
But AC Milan's flaws were evident too.
Their defense remained a persistent question mark. Goalkeeper Dida, after two standout seasons, had shown signs of decline—his form this campaign inconsistent at best. Left-back continued to be a vulnerable area, with neither Serginho nor Jankulovski offering stability. Even the heart of their defense, with Maldini often needing to cover for Nesta's shifting partners, lacked the steel of Milan's earlier golden era.
As for Ajax, their path to the last eight had arguably been even more impressive.
They topped a group that included Arsenal, and in the round of 16, they dismantled Real Madrid 4–1 on aggregate. No other team had delivered such a clear and composed result against the Galacticos in recent memory. Yang Yang's hat-trick at the Santiago Bernabéu became the defining image of the round.
Yet Ajax also had a known vulnerability: defense. From Maicon to Vermaelen and Stekelenburg, the back line was more talented going forward than it was reliable at the back. Their attacking play—led by Yang Yang, Sneijder, and the revitalized Yaya Touré—masked that flaw with sheer aggression and tempo.
Both clubs, therefore, came into the quarter-final clash with high-powered offenses and questionable defensive setups. It had all the makings of an end-to-end, high-scoring tie.
But when pundits weighed both sides, consensus favored Milan. Their midfield trio of Pirlo, Gattuso, and Seedorf offered a balance Ajax had yet to match. Their experience in late-stage Champions League ties was also an edge—few Ajax players had been this far before, whereas Milan's roster brimmed with veterans who had won it all.
Still, Galliani's post-draw comments stirred controversy.
"Ajax is a tricky opponent," Milan's vice-president told the press in Paris. "They have quality, especially in the final third, and a striker who's been lighting up Europe. Their manager knows how to get the best out of a young squad."
He paused and added, "That said, our real challenge lies beyond the quarterfinals. If we reach the semis, we'll likely face Barcelona. Right now, they're the strongest team in the competition."
Those remarks didn't sit well in the Netherlands.
Dutch media immediately criticized Galliani's arrogance. To speak of Barcelona before facing Ajax, they argued, was disrespectful to a club that had just dismantled Real Madrid over two legs.
Ronald Koeman responded with calm defiance.
"We're not among Europe's elite right now, and we accept that," said the Ajax manager at the club's daily press conference. "But anyone who thinks we're going to roll over hasn't been paying attention."
A day before Ajax's Eredivisie showdown against PSV Eindhoven, Yang Yang faced the media as part of his club obligations. The atmosphere was electric, with Dutch reporters eager to hear his thoughts on the upcoming tie.
"We're not here to play a supporting role in someone else's fairytale," Yang Yang said, his tone firm and composed. "If any team thinks they can overlook us, we'll make sure they regret it on the pitch."