During the next day's training, Maël began to tentatively gauge his Speed ability against the standards of EFL Championship players.
According to his previous feedback, a lv3 skill was quite outstanding and effective in the EFL Championship, and he shouldn't be afraid even when facing Premier League players.
However, Speed, as a crucial ability in football, is possessed by most players, and every team has a few speedsters.
This has nothing to do with the league level. Even if you go to a League Two club, you'll likely find a player known for their Speed.
"Bang, bang! Bang...!"
In one-on-one breakthrough training, Maël made fewer physical feints, mostly relying on simple touches before explosively accelerating past opponents.
Few could keep up with him. His first few steps after pushing off the ground allowed him to easily shake off some defenders with average Speed.
This boosted his confidence, and he began to use more aggressive, long-distance sprints to break through.
To say nothing else, sprinting was indeed exhilarating.
This absolute suppression in physical ability provided extremely strong feedback and experience, making one deeply addicted to the feeling.
"What's up with him?"
Gradually, the Sheffield United players noticed Maël's unusual behavior today, and many of them peeked at him with surprised expressions.
Is this guy crazy today?
Why is he constantly dribbling past people, and with such a high success rate? Fortunately, Maël had some Speed ability before, which allowed them to gradually accept it, preventing them from directly questioning him.
"You're quite fast?"
After training, Lotton, the team's recognized fastest player, approached Maël. "Didn't really see it before. Want to run a bit?"
"Sure."
Maël gladly accepted the invitation, standing with him near the edge of the penalty area. "Let's run from one end of the penalty area to the other. There's no point in players running 100 meters."
Lotton nodded, agreeing to the suggestion, and warmed up his ankles, preparing to accelerate.
Their competition attracted many spectators. Seven or eight players gathered directly, while the rest watched from a distance.
"I'll call the start."
Gilbert volunteered, happy to act as the whistle, mainly because he was too curious. "Three, two, one, go!"
"Thump, thump, thump!" The sound of quick steps echoed as the two started simultaneously, their reaction speeds and initial speeds being almost the same.
From the side, their legs moved constantly on the same horizontal line, bursting with vigorous Strength, dazzling and so fast that they seemed to leave afterimages.
"They're almost the same?"
"What? Does this mean Maël is faster than all of us?"
"F*ck, what's going on? This shouldn't be happening to Lotton."
Sounds of surprise rose and fell. Only then did the Sheffield United players have a concrete understanding of Maël's Speed.
The distance of about forty meters flashed by, and the two crossed the finish line almost simultaneously. Others couldn't see who had a slight advantage.
Only Lotton, the person involved, was filled with astonishment and shock. "You won. Is this also the result of your training?"
When Maël first met them, he had faced Maël in offensive and defensive drills. He still vaguely remembered Maël's abilities at that time.
Lotton originally thought that even if he couldn't compete with this kid in other talents, he could always regain some ground in his proudest area, Speed. That was why he took the opportunity to propose the competition.
But he lost?
"I guess so."
Maël nodded with a smile. He now had a clearer understanding of his Speed ability.
It could be said that except for speedsters of the level of Gareth Bale and Arjen Robben, he didn't need to worry too much about others.
"Seventeen years old really has unlimited possibilities. This age is too good." The envy in Lotton's eyes seemed to overflow. He shook his head and sighed, leaving in frustration.
"My 100-meter time is 11.1 seconds."
Remembering something, he turned back and asked, "Yours should be around 11 seconds?"
"I don't know."
Maël shook his head, indicating he hadn't been tested. Using a 100-meter sprint time to judge a football player's Speed wasn't really standard.
What players needed more was explosive power in the first five or ten meters of a sprint; long-distance running was rare.
However, a 100-meter time of 11 seconds was indeed a good reference point.
...
London, Chelsea Training Base.
After finishing the morning training session, Ancelotti, the current Chelsea first-team coach, walked into his office with a calm expression, poured a cup of tea, and began to handle club affairs.
As a coach who had achieved significant honors at AC Milan, he was brought to Stamford Bridge by Abramovich last year.
Abramovich's goal was clear: here, there was money and people; he wouldn't interfere with the coach's work, but he wanted a Champions League trophy in return.
Ancelotti understood the club's expectations of him, but he also had his difficulties and felt immense pressure.
"Scouting report?"
He quickly noticed a brand-new document on his desk, as if it had just been printed and brought over, which piqued his curiosity.
Normally, the head coach wouldn't constantly have scouts investigate players and observe their performance reports like in the Football Manager game.
They would only process similar, already compiled reports at specific times.
But today, since he had nothing else to do, Ancelotti picked up the document and began to carefully examine it from the first page.
As he read, the expression on his face changed, and his mind was completely absorbed, not even noticing someone entering the office.
"Mr. Ancelotti."
A voice sounded, and Ancelotti woke up as if from a dream, put down the document, and looked up to see an unfamiliar face.
"I came to see you not long ago."
The person smiled, pointing to the document, and said, "Seeing that you weren't in, I left the report I wrote on your desk."
"So, you wrote it."
Ancelotti nodded, put down the document, waved for the person to sit down, and started searching on the computer, "Wait a moment."
"Are you looking for player highlights?"
The person guessed Ancelotti's thoughts and took out a USB drive, "I've made a copy; you can watch it directly, sir. It includes not only his goals and assists but also other outstanding performances."
"That's perfect."
Ancelotti took the USB drive and firmly remembered the unfamiliar face. He must be a newly hired scout with good work skills.
He plugged the USB drive into the computer and quickly saw a video lasting over 20 minutes.
He clicked play, and Ancelotti sat in front of the computer, dedicating himself to scrutinizing it. Time flew by, and he finished watching it in no time.
Throughout the entire process, he never once lost focus; the video on the screen seemed to have an extraordinary attraction for him.
"Unbelievable."
This was the first comment Ancelotti made. Then, he picked up the report again, "17 years old, and the debut season isn't even halfway over, with 9 goals and 10 assists. This almost guarantees that his future won't be low.
"Such a genius, I've never even noticed. If it weren't for you, I'd probably see him as a star at Arsenal."
"The player is still on loan, so..." The scout didn't boast but seriously reminded him.
Ancelotti got up from his seat, rubbed his hands, and thought for a moment before saying, "I'll observe him more closely. If he's suitable, I'll definitely contact Arsenal to test the waters.
"If there's a chance, whether for now or the future, we must help Chelsea sign him!"
...
November 17th, Manchester United's Carrington Training Base.
Old Sir Ferguson was driving out of the training base, preparing to go home and rest, when one of the team's assistant coaches suddenly stopped his car.
"What's the matter?"
He had the driver stop, rolled down the window, and leaned out, "Get in and talk."
The assistant coach got in, took out a report from his briefcase, and handed it to Ferguson, "I shouldn't be telling you this in this setting, sir, but tomorrow is a holiday, and I'm afraid there won't be enough time.
"An incredible player has emerged in the EFL Championship. I just discussed it with several other assistant coaches, and we all believe his talent may not be below Rooney's."
"Rooney?" Ferguson raised his head slightly. In his world, Rooney was indeed a descriptive term, especially when describing geniuses.
"Perhaps his starting point isn't high, but he has already proven himself in the EFL Championship and accumulated a wealth of experience."
The assistant coach was radiant, constantly expressing his admiration, "He not only has talent, but his growth attributes are also excellent. His performance improves visibly every month, and there's simply no limit to his potential."
Ferguson's curiosity was piqued, and he opened the report to read it. After seeing the detailed data and age, inevitably, his heart also trembled.
After a long while, when he finished reading, he turned his head and asked, "What is Wenger's attitude towards him?"
"He hasn't shown it in the media, but you can guess that he definitely sees him as a treasure."
After the assistant coach answered, his emotions became somewhat anxious, "I estimate that many teams are already paying attention to him. If Mr. Ferguson wants to make a move, he has to do it as soon as possible. The winter window is coming soon."
"Snatching someone from Wenger?"
Ferguson smiled lightly a few times, and after considering it, said, "We can try, but we can't have too much hope."
November 19th, Sheffield United's training base.
Gilbert stood on the goal line, wearing goalkeeper gloves, playfully acting as the goalkeeper, defending Maël's Cut Inside shots.
"Bang!"
Another shot went straight into the upper corner. Gilbert subconsciously shrank his neck and took off his gloves, "I'm not doing this anymore, I can't defend against it at all."
Seeing that Maël had no intention of continuing, he walked over and sat next to him, tentatively saying, "Do you have any plans to go back? I feel like your ability is ready for you to try."
"That's not up to me."
Maël replied, lying on the ground, emptying his brain. He liked this very much.
[Skill: Curved Shot lv3]
[Proficiency: (1/800)]
[Effect: After mastering the essentials of the Curved Shot, you begin to add more curve, in order to produce higher quality, more tricky shots. It has now achieved initial success, and its power is amazing!]
His Curved Shot ability had been upgraded to lv3 after that shot just now!
Now, in addition to the implicitly improved 'Observation' skill, all of his skills had reached a level above lv3! Covering three physical attributes, two shooting abilities, two breakthrough abilities, and one passing ability! His overall ability had undergone a tremendous change compared to before, growing to the point he had once dreamed of.
Looking back, he didn't know how much sweat he had shed on the training ground, how much torment he had endured, before he had this kind of open feeling today.
Maël stood up and looked in one direction, his eyes filled with longing.
"What are you looking at?" Gilbert followed his gaze, only seeing the sky covered by dark clouds.
"The direction of London."
Maël replied with a smile, feeling like he had just cracked a joke. Actually, he wasn't just joking, he really wanted to go to the Emirates Stadium.
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