c1 - I am Valdy
"Pass the ball! Damn it, can't you see that's a perfect chance?"
"Idiot! That shot was weaker than a back pass. Haven't you eaten for days?"
"You moron, track back! Why are you just standing there defending with your eyes?"
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The deafening roars made his head pound as if his eardrums were about to burst.
Who the hell turned the TV volume up so high?
How's anyone supposed to sleep like this?
And what kind of trash TV series is this, filled with nothing but screaming and swearing? How did this even pass the censors?
The splitting headache from a hangover was bad enough, but the noise made it unbearable. He groaned, pushing himself up, intent on shutting off the damn television.
But as he squinted, trying to adjust to the blinding sunlight, his mind froze.
A lush green football pitch stretched out before him.
A match was underway.
And just a few feet in front of him, a bald, middle-aged coach in a tracksuit was shouting furiously from the touchline.
A flood of questions crashed into his already muddled brain.
Why was he beside a football pitch?
Who were these players?
And more importantly… why did this feel so real?
The afternoon sun blazed down, the summer air thick and suffocating, like being trapped inside a steam room. His skin burned from the heat, sweat soaking through his clothes.
A dream?
It had to be.
Except even in his dreams, he never played on the pitch always a spectator, always on the sidelines.
Not even his subconscious could grant him that much.
Then, out of nowhere, a surge of foreign memories exploded in his mind.
It wasn't a gentle transition. It was a brutal invasion an all-out war inside his head. The unfamiliar memories fought against his own, merging violently.
The pain was indescribable.
If pain had levels, this would break the scale.
It had to be worse than childbirth not that he had any personal experience, but this felt like his skull was being ripped apart.
Teeth clenched, fists balled, he swore he wouldn't scream.
Then
"Ahhhhhh!"
Alright, maybe not as tough as he thought.
And then, as quickly as the agony came, it passed. A strange clarity washed over him, like a cool spring flooding a battlefield, cleansing the chaos. His mind settled, and he exhaled deeply.
"Hah… hah…"
But his brief moment of relief was interrupted by a mocking voice beside him.
"Seriously? Heartbroken over a girl? You're so devastated you're sleeping pitchside during a game? And what was that weird moaning just now? If I wasn't keeping an eye on you, I'd swear you were fantasizing about one of the players."
The sarcasm in the voice was laced with amusement, but there was concern hidden beneath it.
Without thinking, he shot back, "Tch, who got dumped? I dumped her!"
Then his brain caught up.
His pupils shrank.
His pulse spiked.
With no warning, he bolted toward the nearby restroom.
He barely made it inside before gripping the sink, panting.
Heart racing.
Breath uneven.
Hands trembling.
His reflection in the mirror sent a jolt of pure shock through him.
What the hell?
Why… why did I… transmigrate?
Dawei was just an average young man from 21st-century China.
Single. No kids. No ambitions beyond finding a stable job, marrying an ordinary woman, and coasting through life.
His one passion? Football.
Not playing, though watching.
Even in amateur games, he was the last guy picked, the one teammates groaned about. Clumsy, slow, no technical skills he was the definition of a Sunday league liability.
Every football-loving kid had dreamed of being a star. To be like Cristiano Ronaldo, dribbling past half a team, oozing confidence like an untouchable king.
But dreams were just that dreams.
No law against fantasizing, right?
So, he stuck to being a dedicated fan, watching matches, dissecting tactics, and arguing online. Playing? No chance.
And yet…
One drunken night.
One blackout.
And suddenly
He was no longer Dawei.
This was insane.
He knew what was happening. He had read enough web novels to recognize the signs.
Transmigration.
A cosmic glitch, an inexplicable shift in dimensions. One moment he was in World A, the next, World B—either thrown into an alternate reality or blasted back in time.
Science hadn't proved it, but every web novel writer sure had.
But why him?
Had he pissed off some god? Said the wrong thing on the internet? Did someone up there just decide to toy with him?
It didn't matter.
Because what mattered was where and who he was now.
His newly inherited memories whispered the answer.
Yorkshire, England.
The year? 2004.
And his identity…
Jamie Vardy.
Jamie. Freaking. Vardy.
At first, he couldn't believe it. But the more the memories settled, the more real it became.
If he had been reborn as some random nobody, he might have just accepted it. But Jamie Vardy? This wasn't just any footballer this was the footballing underdog.
Dismissed from Sheffield Wednesday's youth academy for being too small. Forced to work in a medical equipment factory while playing for non-league teams. Even got himself an electronic tag after a pub fight, banning him from leaving home after 6 PM.
At 23, he was still grinding in the seventh tier of English football.
No scouts. No contracts. No future.
Yet, he climbed.
From Stocksbridge Park Steels to Halifax Town. From Halifax to Fleetwood Town. From Fleetwood to Leicester City.
Then, the impossible.
He fired Leicester City to an unbelievable Premier League title.
A golden-boot contender. A record-breaking goal scorer. A living, breathing footballing miracle.
The King of Underdogs.
And now…
Now, he was Jamie Vardy.
The sheer absurdity of it sent a shiver down his spine.
From an average nobody to the man who rewrote football history.
His past life no longer mattered.
Because from this moment on
He was Jamie Vardy.
And he wasn't about to waste this chance.