After confirming that his physical transformation had left his appearance intact, Qin Ming turned his internal focus toward the nature of his new template.
In the history of football, two superstars stand apart, not just for their skill, but because they possess the rarest of traits: they have almost no "haters." They are Marco van Basten and Ronaldinho. The reverence for Van Basten stems from the tragedy of his "unfinished masterpiece"—a career cut short at its absolute zenith.
Then, there is Ronaldinho. Objectively, Ronaldinho's off-pitch life was a mess. He was a regular at nightclubs, a lover of the party life, and his career eventually declined due to a lack of discipline. Yet, despite the chaos, the global football community refuses to turn on him. While giants like Pelé and Maradona faced harsh criticism for their personal lives, Ronaldinho remains the world's "eternal favorite."
The reason is simple: Ronaldinho was a child who never grew up. When he played, he didn't look like a professional athlete under pressure; he looked like a boy playing in the street for the sheer joy of the game. He reminded every fan of why they started playing in the first place.
Whenever he stepped onto the pitch, he was grinning. It was a sincere, infectious smile that made it impossible to stay angry at him. Even if he humiliated a defender with a series of nutmegs, they didn't feel insulted; they felt they were witnessing magic. His style was rooted in a pure, childhood love for the ball—the very essence of football.
In his small dormitory room, Qin Ming pulled a football from under his bed.
Thump. Tap. Flick.
The sounds were crisp as the ball danced between his feet, his thighs, and his shoulders. He could feel it now—the legendary "ball feel." He was experiencing the game again for the first time. Reluctantly, he put the ball down and began to map out his future.
Returning to the Chinese Super League was out of the question. He belonged in the Top Five European leagues. A specific memory surfaced: a headline from his previous life about Wolfsburg and their desire to sign a Chinese player to promote the Volkswagen brand.
If Zhang Xizhe could do it, why can't I? Qin Ming was a man of action. He immediately fired up his laptop, crafted a professional CV, and began a digital blitz—emailing Wolfsburg's recruitment department and sliding into the DMs of their technical staff on Instagram. He didn't care about "acting arrogant" or waiting for a scout; he was fighting for his life.
"Thanks," Qin Ming muttered to his teammate, Højbjerg, who arrived with another mediocre meal. Since Ten Hag had banned him from the official facilities, Qin Ming headed to a public baseball field nearby. In Germany, a pitch is a pitch. Training was training.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
On the smooth artificial turf, still wearing his Bayern Munich II kit, Qin Ming began his session. He moved through the fundamentals with surgical precision, executing every drill with a flair that felt effortless.
He was so focused that he didn't notice a bald man walking along the perimeter of the field. The man stopped, his gaze lingering with a rare reluctance.
"A player from the second team?" A sense of deep familiarity washed over the observer. He knew that rhythm. He had seen it before in Barcelona.
Ronaldinho.
In the world of football, only a handful of players had ever truly left a permanent mark on Pep Guardiola's soul. He hadn't expected to stumble upon such a discovery while wandering the training ground. Why hadn't he seen this boy in the reports from the second team? Had he been suppressed, or was he a late bloomer?
Guardiola watched as Qin Ming completed a series of "fancy" touches—using his head, chest, and back with a casual, lively grace. The boy's touch is divine, Pep thought.
But he didn't approach. Promotion wasn't that simple. His mentor, Johan Cruyff, had once said: "If someone can juggle a ball a thousand times, that is not a skill. Anyone can do that with practice; then they can go work in a circus." To "inspect the goods," Pep decided he would organize a mixed training match in the coming days.
Guardiola was under immense pressure. Despite winning the domestic double, his clashes with the team doctor and his philosophical differences with the management made every day at Bayern a battle. He desperately needed "his" people—players who understood his vision.
After a long moment, Guardiola turned and disappeared. On the field, Qin Ming finally caught a glimpse of the retreating figure. The sunlight glinted off the man's famous bald head.
Qin Ming shrugged and went back to his drills. He didn't realize that the "Mascot" from China had just caught the eye of the most influential manager in the world.