Mauricio Pochettino reached out, a soft, deliberate smile playing on his lips as he leaned in close. "You played exceptionally well today," he murmured, his voice carry a weight of sincere appreciation.
David Qin caught the look and felt a flicker of confusion. To keep the silence from turning awkward, he reached out and grasped the Argentine's hand. "Thank you."
The rumors were true, then. People always said Guardiola and Pochettino were two sides of the same coin, and here it was: both had a penchant for cornering opposing players after the final whistle to whisper sweet tactical nothings and point out "areas for improvement."
In reality, David was overthinking the critique. Pochettino wasn't there to coach him; he was there to scout him with his own eyes. He looked at his Spurs squad and saw a puzzle with almost every piece in place—a balanced midfield, a rock-solid backline—but they lacked that one explosive edge. They lacked a world-class winger, specifically one who could dominate the left flank.
Pochettino had spent months monitoring Son Heung-min at Leverkusen, convinced the South Korean's profile was the perfect fit for Tottenham. But after seeing David Qin in the flesh, he felt like a man who had been admiring a polished stone only to stumble upon a raw diamond. Imagine it: Harry Kane's all-around mastery, David Qin's razor-sharp dribbling, and Kyle Walker's overlapping thunder. The mental image was so vivid that Pochettino almost had to wipe the corner of his mouth. A Spurs side with that trident wouldn't just be competitive; they would be title contenders. If he could bring silverware to the cabinet at White Hart Lane, he wouldn't just be remembered—they'd build him a statue outside the gates.
Right, he decided. I'm going back to London to tell Daniel Levy we need to break the bank. We're going to war for this kid.
"David, head inside! Don't just stand there catching a chill!" Dieter Hecking barked from the touchline, cutting the moment short.
David looked up at the bright sun, then felt the pleasant breeze. It was a crisp 23°C. He wondered if his manager had finally lost his mind or if old age just made the man perpetually frostbitten. "On my way, Gaffer!" David shouted back, humoring him.
Hecking watched David walk away, then cast a suspicious side-eye at Pochettino. I need to keep these managers at arm's length, he grumbled internally. Every one of them is a shark. Between David and De Bruyne, Wolfsburg held the two most coveted assets in European football. Sometimes, having players this good was more stressful than managing a squad of duds.
Hecking rubbed his temples and headed to the press conference. "Beating Spurs at home is never a small feat," he told the gathered reporters. "In seven days at the Lane, we'll be even sharper. Our goal is the next round. David? His performance was flawless, but you've heard the fans singing his name—I don't need to repeat the obvious. It was a team effort. Kevin, David, Ivan—they all played their part."
Across the hall, the mood was more defiant. "Was this result expected?" a reporter from The Mirror asked, their tone dripping with Premier League elitism.
"I underestimated the individual quality of certain Wolfsburg players," Pochettino admitted, taking the hit with grace. "This loss is on me. But a tie is 180 minutes. Back at the Lane, we'll show who we are. The Europa League is only the beginning for us."
He wasn't bluffing. Pochettino was a man who thrived on "Hard Mode." In 2008, he had taken over an Espanyol side that two previous managers couldn't save from the drop; he dragged them to 10th. At Southampton, he had dismantled City, Chelsea, and Liverpool. He had the pedigree to be cocky.
Back home, David finished his post-match recovery routine and scrolled through the other Europa League results. It was a graveyard of giants. Liverpool had scraped a 1-0 win against Besiktas, Celtic and Inter had fought to a wild 3-3 draw, and Roma had been held 1-1 by Feyenoord.
"Kevin, look at this. Half the big clubs got held," David said, glancing at De Bruyne, who was sprawled on the sofa, giggling at something on his phone. "Winning against Spurs feels even better now."
"Yeah," De Bruyne said, finally looking up. "The pressure was immense today. Honestly, if you hadn't been drawing two or three defenders on the wing, I would have struggled to find a single blade of grass. I owe you one."
David grinned, then shifted gears. "How are things going with Michèle?"
De Bruyne's expression soured slightly. "Fine, I think. But I feel like I have nothing interesting to share. Is my life really that boring?"
"Kevin, you're overthinking it," David said, adopting the tone of a seasoned love guru. "The people who actually care about you don't care if the topic is 'exciting.' They just care that it's you talking to them."
"I suppose," De Bruyne mused. He thought back to Caroline, who used to complain he was dull compared to Thibaut Courtois. He realized now it wasn't a lack of humor; it was a lack of genuine affection. "What about you and Bright?"
"Purely platonic," David said instantly.
"Right. She's beautiful, kind, and your biggest fan. And you have no thoughts?" De Bruyne teased, his introverted shell cracking to reveal a streak of mischief.
"We've barely spent any time together. I'm not into fast-food romance, Kevin. It's empty." David yawned and stretched. "By the way, I'm probably sitting out the Werder Bremen game. The training load is catching up. You'll have to carry the load, Ginger Peeler."
David had been pushing his limits in secret, a regimen so intense it had worried the Wolfsburg medical staff. But every dynamic test showed his metrics were actually improving. They chalked it up to freakish recovery; David knew it was the System. Late that night, he pulled up his status interface.
Host: David Qin
Height: 183cm / Weight: 76kg
Template: Ronaldinho Gaucho(83% Integration)
The Magician Touch: 84%
Dribbling Artistry: 81%
3D Spatial Awareness: 77%
Devilish Finesse Shot: 82%
Precision Power Strike: 68%
Overhead Kick: 58%
Injury Detection: Minor inflammation of ACL, hamstring strain (Grade 1).
Treatment: 8 Points. / Remaining Points: 63.
He spent the points instantly. A warmth spread through his legs, knitting muscle and soothing the ache. He wanted to master the power strike next, the kind that stayed hit, and he was hungry for that iconic Ronaldinho bicycle kick. He needed core strength and flexibility that defied physics.
While David slept, the world's sports desks were buzzing. The Guardian was mourning Arsenal's "suicidal" 1-3 loss to Monaco. The Sun was stirring the pot, debating whether LeBron James or Kobe Bryant deserved the top spot in the century's rankings—a debate that even Raheem Sterling weighed in on. Marca hailed Cristiano Ronaldo's hot streak against Schalke, while Mundo Deportivo celebrated Luis Suárez's brace against Man City, declaring Barcelona's return to the summit of Europe under Messi's 8.9-rated masterclass.
And in Germany, Bild ran a headline that made David smile: "The Green Magician: David Qin Dances Past Walker to Sink Spurs."
In China, Alain Perrin watched the Arsenal highlights and sighed. He knew his mentor, Arsène Wenger, was under fire. #WENGEROUT was trending. "The fans don't deserve him," Perrin muttered. He switched to the Wolfsburg replay, obsessed with the details. "He's improved again," Perrin whispered, a proud smile touching his lips. Every step David took toward stardom made Perrin's own job as National Team manager easier.
With the World Cup qualifiers drawing near, Perrin was already planning. He'd heard from his translator that the White Horse Temple was a place of good fortune; he planned to visit and burn some incense—a bit of local superstition to ensure China skipped the play-offs and went straight to the big stage.
While his teammates traveled to Bremen, David remained at the base, relishing the solitude. He was hitting a plateau; progress had slowed from a gallop to a crawl. It was time to build. He didn't want to become a tank like Lukaku, but he needed the explosive core that allowed Ronaldinho to shrug off defenders while mid-dribble.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound of ball meeting leather echoed through the empty training ground. A lone figure wove through a forest of cones at breakneck speed. People thought Ronaldinho was all natural magic and no work. They were wrong. To maintain that level of control at high speed requires a foundation of reinforced concrete. David felt every stitch of the ball's leather through his boots, tuning his nervous system to the sphere until it felt like an extension of his own body.
By the time he finished, he checked his phone.
"Wolfsburg 4-2 Werder Bremen: De Bruyne secures a hat-trick of assists!"
"Kevin is on fire," David muttered. The European assist king title was practically De Bruyne's to lose. But what about the Golden Boot? Whether it was the Bundesliga or the Europa League, David wanted a trophy. He checked the Bayern scores. A 4-1 win over Köln. Robben, Lewandowski, Ribéry—all scoring. "The Golden Boot in this league is a nightmare," he grumbled.
He wasn't the only one worrying. In Munich, Pep Guardiola was staring at a screen. Bayern had been held by Shakhtar in the Champions League, and he could feel the pressure mounting. His team looked unstoppable against the bottom half of the table, but they lacked a certain... unpredictability in the biggest moments.
And Wolfsburg were hounding him. Wolfsburg! A team of teenagers and veterans. If he lost the league to Dieter Hecking, the Bayern board would have his head. In truth, Pep felt like a prisoner in Munich. His idealism was being crushed by the pragmatism of the hierarchy. He looked at the Wolfsburg lineup on his monitor, his eyes lingering on David Qin and Kevin De Bruyne.
To Pep, they represented the perfect marriage: Absolute Logic and Absolute Instinct. He tried to imagine what would happen if those two played together at their absolute peak in his system. His brilliant head couldn't even process the ceiling of such a duo. It wouldn't just be winning football. It would be art.
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