After leaving Paris Saint-Germain, Oliver stayed in a hotel in Paris for three days. During these three days, he barely left his room, spending most of his time studying the system that had suddenly appeared. The system was more diverse than he had imagined; the training module could simulate any scenario, from basic passing and receiving to high-intensity matches, and even simulate the defensive habits of specific players. He tried it a few times, and each time he trained until he was exhausted in the system space, but the results were surprisingly good.
Besides this, the most useful function was: [Skill Evolution Application]
For example, Oliver now had dribbling attributes infinitely close to Di Maria's. With this attribute, he could not only easily perform the complex moves Di Maria could. He could also gradually comprehend dribbling moves and methods suitable for himself. In other words, as long as you activate this skill, you can develop new skills based on it. Such a function was also quite reasonable, after all, not every team had top star players. The system could not guarantee that the host could quickly complete star interaction to obtain skills, so it provided this function for the system host to improve themselves.
The system also gave him a very practical newcomer reward at the end: [Five Major Leagues Language Mastery]
Oliver initially didn't take it seriously until he found that he could understand the news on the Spanish channel playing on the hotel TV without any hindrance, and could even directly read Italian fashion magazines. On the morning of the fourth day, his phone vibrated; it was his father's call.
"Son," Oliver's Father's voice sounded a bit tired but excited.
"There are a few trial opportunities, listen to them."
"Hey, Dad, I'm listening, go ahead."
Oliver put his phone on speaker and placed it on the bed, continuing to stretch while listening to the call.
"Eibar and Leganes in La Liga, both are relegation teams, their lineups are average, but they can guarantee playing time." Oliver's Father paused. "On the Bundesliga side, there's Freiburg and Hoffenheim."
When he heard "Hoffenheim," Oliver Thorne's movements paused. "Hoffenheim? The one that finished fourth in the Bundesliga last season?"
"Yes," Oliver's Father's voice was tinged with a smile, "They just got Champions League qualification, and their head coach, Nagelsmann, is only 29 years old, a typical young coach. I heard he's very good at developing young players."
Oliver sat up straight. He, of course, knew Nagelsmann. Everyone in Europe was talking about this young coach, saying that the Hoffenheim he led played the most modern attacking football.
"Why would they be interested in me?" Oliver asked.
"Their scouts watched your game footage from Paris U19 and felt that your technical characteristics suited their system, your football IQ was good, and you had potential for development, so they were willing to give you a trial opportunity." Olivers Father paused.
"But the trial competition will be very fierce, you need to be prepared for that. They need to strengthen their squad for the Champions League this summer, and many competitors will show up on the trial day."
Oliver didn't answer immediately. He walked to the window, looking at the streets of Paris in the early morning. A bus slowly drove by, with huge posters of Mbappé and Neymar printed on its side; they were Paris Saint-Germain's promotional images for next season.
"Dad, I've decided. I want to go to Hoffenheim," he said. Silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds.
"Are you sure? Freiburg promised more playing time, but for Hoffenheim… even if you pass the trial, you'll start from the bench or even the youth team," Oliver's Father replied.
"I know," Oliver Thorne said, "but Nagelsmann is worth taking a gamble on." Oliver's Father replied decisively: "Alright, I'll contact the club to arrange the trial now."
After hanging up the phone, Oliver Thorne let out a long breath. He walked to the mirror and looked at himself: a handsome and standard Asian face, black hair, deep-set eyes, a high nose bridge, and features that looked good at first glance and even more refined upon closer inspection. In football terms, this face was called a "superstar look." Two hours later, a text message from Oliver's Father arrived: "Hoffenheim replied quickly. The trial is set for half a month from now. Oh, by the way, is your German okay?"
Oliver stared at the message for two seconds, suddenly realizing a problem: how should he explain his sudden ability to speak German? He hesitated for a moment and replied: "I can speak German. I had German teammates in the Paris youth academy, and I learned from them."
After sending the message, he himself felt the excuse was a bit far-fetched, but Olivers Father didn't ask further, only replying with a thumbs-up emoji. Oliver threw his phone onto the bed and walked to the window. The sky over Paris was a clear blue, and sunlight sparkled on the Seine River.
A few days ago, when his contract was terminated, he felt as if he had been abandoned by the whole world; now, he suddenly had a new direction. He took a deep breath, turned around, and began to pack his luggage. The trial was in half a month, and he needed to arrive in Germany early to adapt to the venue. Oliver's suitcase still contained the Paris Saint-Germain training uniform. He hesitated for a moment, then finally shoved it into the bottom layer. If nothing unexpected happened, this red, white, and blue jersey was destined to have no connection with him in this life.
...
The next afternoon, as Oliver walked out of Stuttgart Airport dragging his suitcase, he saw his father waving to him from afar at the exit. Olivers Father was wearing a dark blue casual suit, sunglasses, his hair meticulously combed, and holding a cup of coffee, looking exactly like a businessman on vacation.
"Oh, isn't this our Paris Saint-Germain legend?" Upon seeing his son, Oliver's Father smiled and took his son's luggage. "So, tell me, son, were the Air France flight attendants pretty?"
"Dad... that's enough, alright? Paris Saint-Germain legend, huh? Your son is unemployed now, he doesn't even have the qualifications to stay at a Paris Saint-Germain guesthouse." Oliver Thorne couldn't help but feel a bit flustered after his father's teasing.
"Unemployed?" Olivers Father deliberately widened his eyes in exaggeration, "Who said that? My son clearly made a proactive job change, from a rich club to a Champions League newcomer. This is called a great transfer, and the Bundesliga this season is about to have a grand finale."
"Pfft... Hahahahaha..."
Oliver couldn't help but burst out laughing. From childhood to adulthood, his father could always make bad things sound fun with a few words. In Oliver Thorne's impression, his father had always been very optimistic. Getting into the rented Mercedes, Olivers Father set the navigation and said: "Dad rented a small villa for you near the Hoffenheim Training Base, with a private football field, and it's even real grass. It's just a bit expensive; two weeks' rent costs me several months of golf club fees."
He glanced at his son out of the corner of his eye: "If you don't pass the trial, boy, when you go back to England, you'll spend all day sending emails to foreigners at your dad's trading company, alright?"
"No, I don't like sitting in an office sending spam emails to others. I'd rather go to a restaurant and wash dishes for my mom."
The father and son chatted happily. The car drove onto the highway, and the scenery outside the window gradually changed from urban to pastoral. Oliver's Father suddenly became serious: "Seriously, during this preparation period, do you want me to hire a temporary coach for you? I know an old German man who used to coach the Stuttgart youth team."
Oliver Thorne shook his head: "No need to spend money, Dad. I haven't forgotten the Paris training system."
Oliver's Father shrugged and said: "Alright, but you've been a bit strange lately, son."
He took advantage of a red light to turn and examine his son. "I'm just curious, you didn't cry when Paris terminated your contract, and now you look so confident."
Oliver's heart skipped a beat, but his expression remained calm: "What, is it only normal to cry and whine?"
"Not exactly," the green light turned on, and Olivers Father restarted the car, "it just feels like you've suddenly grown up, but it might also be my illusion, after all, you even speak German now. Is Paris youth academy really that amazing?"
"Of course," Oliver Thorne said without changing his expression, "Our team had Germans, Spaniards, Brazilians, it was like the United Nations every day, so speaking German is normal."
Olivers Father laughed heartily: "Alright, then when we get to the restaurant, you order for me in German. If you order wrong, you'll eat my leftovers."
...
Upon arriving at the villa, the environment was even better than expected. Although the private training field wasn't large, the grass was neatly mowed and well-maintained, and there were several brand-new training poles nearby, indicating that the original owner cherished this field. Oliver eagerly changed into his training uniform as soon as he put down his luggage, while Oliver's Father leisurely lay under the parasol, opening his laptop to deal with trade emails. The father and son were each busy with their own tasks.
"Need a practice partner, big star?" Olivers Father asked without looking up, "Although my football skills are limited to the community League, I'm still qualified to be a human wall."
"Dad, save your old back. My mom still needs it," Oliver Thorne teased.
"Hey, you little rascal..." Olivers Father got up, laughing and making to kick Oliver Thorne. In the following days, Oliver Thorne's life was as regular as a Robot. He woke up at 6:30 AM for a morning run, had basic technical training in the morning, and focused on polishing the three system-replicated skills in the afternoon. In the evening, he returned to his room early, watched match footage, and then added extra training in the system space before going to sleep.
Di Maria's dribbling attribute gave him wings. Previously, when performing complex dribbling moves, the ball would always bounce away a bit, but now he could stick the ball to his feet like a magnet. He could even perform many difficult freestyle football moves.
Cavani's "Matador's Stab" shot was even more incisive; in training, eight out of ten shots would blast into the corners of the goal, occasionally even hitting the top corner.
What surprised him most was Verratti's dribbling. Although the current match rate was not high, it was already enough for him to weave through tight spaces, and as training continued, this skill's match rate would get better and better. On the evening of the seventh day, Olivers Father held his phone, recording, and watched his son continuously dribble past three training dummies outside the penalty area before unleashing a powerful shot and scoring, unable to resist whistling:
"Goodness, your Paris youth academy is all this strong? You're playing like this, and you still got released?"
Oliver's Father was unaware that his son only gained these abilities after being released by Paris Saint-Germain. Oliver wiped his sweat and said nonchalantly: "Who knows? Anyway, it's their loss for not using me."
"Show-off," Oliver's Father put away his phone, "But seriously, your training state these past two days... it's like you're a different person. You were never this decisive with your shots before."
Oliver's heart stirred. He, of course, knew the reason, but he couldn't explain it to his father, so he gave another answer:
"Maybe it's because... I have nothing left to lose now?"
Oliver's Father was stunned for a moment, then smiled and ruffled his son's hair: "Good boy, with that mindset, Hoffenheim will definitely want you."
After dinner, Oliver returned to his room early. The system interface unfolded before his eyes, clearly showing the match rates of the three skills:
[Di Maria - Dribbling: 100%]
[Cavani - Matador's Stab: 100%]
[Verratti - Dribbling: 70%]
He took a deep breath and closed the system interface.
Outside the window, the Hoffenheim night sky was dotted with stars. The official trial was tomorrow, but he felt surprisingly calm.