2: Chapter 2 Bayesian Curve

After the voice in his mind dissipated, the world fell silent for a few seconds.

Yu Bai stood in place, his breathing heavy. The sprinkler system outside the training ground was still hissing, and the sound of traffic from the distant road flowed in vaguely.

System. He was all too familiar with this word. For this generation raised on web novels, who hasn't felt their blood boil in the dead of night over those stories of defying fate? But when it really arrived—not appearing on a phone screen, but nailed directly into the depths of his consciousness—the feeling was... like someone had lightly struck a bell inside his skull, the aftershocks rippling down his spine.

He had to believe it. Especially since that line of text had precisely predicted his thought—to try his luck at Barcelona. This idea had only flashed like an oil slick on water when he walked out of Junker's office, not even having time to take shape. The system had seen it.

Out of loyalty to Arsenal, he instinctively rejected other England clubs deep down. It was childish, he knew. But every inch of skin that had grown up wearing the red and white jersey resisted this idea.

But now, it was unclear whether it was to verify if that "Starter Pack" was a hallucination, or if the system itself had given him a bit of false confidence. In any case, something had loosened. He picked up his phone and dialed Linda's number.

"Help me find a club in London. Youth team trial opportunities."

He heard his own voice, dry but clear, "Chelsea, Tottenham, West Ham United... any of them will do."

Linda paused on the other end of the line, seemingly wanting to say something, but finally just replied, "Okay."

The recommendation letter written by Henry himself, combined with the title of "Arsenal U16 Assist King," allowed Yu Bai's resume to barely squeeze through a crack in the youth departments of several London clubs. Chelsea and Tottenham were the first to reply, willing to give him a trial. The emails were worded politely, but between the lines, there was a sense of casualness: "It's a free signing anyway, no harm in taking a look."

The process was not smooth.

At the Cobham Training Centre, the Chelsea youth coach watched him finish a set of shuttle runs with his arms crossed, jotting down a few notes in his notebook. In the actual scrimmage, Yu Bai delivered three through-balls that pierced the defense and provided two assists. But afterwards, that bespectacled scout just patted him on the shoulder and said in a flat tone, "You play very intelligently, but what we need is a physique that can survive in the Premier League. Sorry."

At Tottenham's Hotspur Way, the scene was almost a carbon copy. He ran actively, his Passing was precise, and he even tracked back to the byline to complete a clean tackle. But the middle-aged man in charge of the assessment shook his head after reading the data sheet, "Your technique is great, kid. But your ceiling... we can't see it. Asian players either have the running ability of Park Ji-sung or the talent of Son Heung-min. A classic attacking midfielder?" He smiled and didn't finish his sentence.

The rejections from Crystal Palace and West Ham United came even faster; the emails didn't even bother to include a "Sorry."

Ten days, five failures.

Yu Bai threw his phone onto the bed and stared at the crack in the ceiling. It wasn't his problem. He whispered to the air, as if convincing himself. If I really am useless, why would the system find me?

As for whether it found the version of me eleven years later or the current one, that's none of your business!

August 3rd, birthday.

His phone vibrated; a bank notification showed a deposit of 100,000 pounds. His father's message was brief, "Buy yourself something you like."

In the afternoon, Linda came, bringing a delicately packaged flat, long box. Opening it, there were ten uninflated World Cup match balls, from the 1978 "Tango" to the 2014 "Brazuca," neatly arranged, each one brand new and gleaming with a cold light. They were very collectible; his mom knew he liked this.

But the birthday gift he wanted most right now was a job.

Queens Park Rangers, the last trial, had ended three days ago. They said they would notify him of the results via email. He refreshed his inbox every half hour, from dawn until dusk. Besides Viagra ads and phishing emails, there was nothing.

Other people's systems start off invincible, slaughtering gods and demons. And him? He had been busy for nearly a month and couldn't even touch the threshold for activation, only able to stare blankly at the words "Starter Pack" through that semi-transparent blue panel. This damn professional football, even cheating is so difficult.

The email finally chimed. His heart skipped a beat. He opened it—Sender: Tottenham Hotspur.

Another trial invitation. The difference was, this time a line was added at the end of the email: Head coach Mauricio Pochettino will be present to observe in person.

Yu Bai stared at that name for a long time. A head coach known for daring to use young players. An opportunity. This thought was like a spark, splashing out.

He closed the email and started packing his bag. Fine, Tottenham. You misjudged me last time, this time... I'll give you another chance.

Standing at Hotspur Way again, the feeling was a bit subtle.

On the distant first-team training pitch, Harry Kane was practicing Shooting, the dull thud of the ball hitting the inside of the post and bouncing into the net could be heard from far away.

Christian Eriksen was on the other side doing short Passing drills with teammates, his movements light and effortless.

Yu Bai stopped, watched for a few seconds, then continued walking forward. He stared fixedly at those figures until his eyes grew sore. He wanted to stand there. He wanted it so much his chest ached.

There were more people gathered by the trial pitch than last time. All kinds of skin tones, all kinds of physiques. Muscular Black players were doing vertical jump tests, white teenagers were skillfully juggling the ball at their feet, and a few players with Japanese and Korean faces were whispering in their native languages. Yu Bai walked through the crowd, found the sign-in sheet, and wrote down his name.

A middle-aged man wearing a work badge walked over and sized him up, "Nationality?"

"Hong Kong, China." Yu Bai said. He was born in Hong Kong; his grandfather was from Hong Kong, and his grandmother was British.

The man checked a box on the form and didn't ask any more questions.

The scrimmage started quickly.

Yu Bai was assigned to the yellow vest team, playing as an attacking midfielder.

On his first touch, he used the outside of his foot to control a fast, flat, semi-high ball. The ball seemed glued to his foot; with a gentle flick, he shook off a defender who was rushing up to challenge. In his Vision, the right winger was accelerating. He barely looked up, using the inside of his right foot to carve out an arc. The ball soared over the defender's head and landed precisely in the path of the sprinting right winger.

"Great ball!" Someone shouted from the sidelines.

For the next thirty minutes, he became the metronome for the yellow vests. Passing, positioning, receiving again, Passing again. He no longer held back any "elegant" or "rational" style of play; every duel was like he was using up his last ounce of Strength. A tough, muscular midfielder shoulder-barged him away; he stumbled two steps but immediately turned and went to ground, a clean, sharp sliding tackle sending the ball out of bounds. The opponent climbed up and glared at him; he panted and glared back, his chest heaving violently.

Not enough ability? Make up for it with grit.

When he played football before, he always felt there was a way out; if he failed, he could just go back—all roads lead to Rome. Now, the way out was burned. If he couldn't activate the system, these sixteen years would have truly been wasted.

So he fought. Every defensive retreat was run until his lungs ached, every duel was fought through gritted teeth. Sweat flowed into his eyes, stinging; he wiped it away haphazardly and kept running.

On the sidelines, Mauricio Pochettino stood with his arms crossed and nodded to the youth academy director beside him, "That Chinese midfielder deserves a contract."

"But, Mauricio, his physical profile report..."

"Football isn't just about data." Pochettino interrupted him, his gaze still following the tireless figure on the pitch, "It's just an apprentice contract. But if we can sift a pearl out of the sand, the return will be hundreds of times over. We need young people with talent, and also... this kind of grit."

Yu Bai didn't say a single word to Mauricio Pochettino from start to finish. When the trial ended, he was bent over, supporting his knees and panting, when a staff member walked over and patted his back.

"Congratulations, go to that office over there to sign the documents."

The tip of the pen hovered over the signature line of the contract, pausing for a moment before dropping down. When he wrote the two characters "Yu Bai," his wrist was a bit stiff.

An Arsenal fan, signing an apprentice contract with Tottenham. He stared at those words, feeling it was absurdly unreal. But in his peripheral Vision, that "Starter Pack" button, which had always been gray, was now glowing faintly, hanging in the corner of his consciousness like a temptation.

He closed his eyes, and in some corner of his heart, he gently let go of something. So they're rivals, so be it. In order to keep playing, it's not embarrassing.

He didn't leave the base but found a wooden chair by the side of the training pitch to sit down. The setting sun stretched his shadow very long. He took a deep breath, and then, in his mind, clicked that button.

[Acquired: Beckhams Curve (Player)]

[Note: Skills are divided into four levels: Player, Star, Superstar, Legend.]

A gentle, warm current spread along his spine, finally converging in his feet. There was no earth-shattering change, but he just knew that something was different.

Yu Bai tugged at the corner of his mouth; this system... was quite sensible, he liked Beckhams Curve!

The blue semi-transparent panel unfolded.

[Name: Yu Bai]

[Age: 32]

[Speed 55, Acceleration 43, Strength 32, Ball Control 62, Passing 71 → 76, Shooting 38 → 46]

[Dribbling 48, Tackling 24, Heading 28, Vision 70, Composure 60, Stamina 60]

[Overall Rating 53 → 54]

[Skill: Beckhams Curve (Player)]

32 years old.

Yu Bai opened his mouth but made no sound. The speculation of the past month was confirmed. The system hadn't found the wrong person, but it had come too early. Fifteen years too early. An absurd thought popped up: Could it be that he traded fifteen years of his life for this?

He shook his head, driving away this unlucky thought, and forced himself to focus back on the panel. The difference in attributes between the 32-year-old version of himself and the 17-year-old current self wasn't large. Passing was the only bright spot, at 76. As for the shortcomings... they were rampant everywhere.

The text on the panel continued to emerge.

[Activation successful, beginning definition]

[The host can choose three from the following seven options:]