July 2014. Munich, Germany. Inside a professional training complex.
"David, you are not in my plans for next season. The club's stance is that you should transfer. Several clubs in the Chinese Super League have already submitted bids, and the front office is very satisfied with the offers."
"I imagine they will offer you an excellent contract as well, so this is a move that benefits everyone involved."
The bald man sitting on the sofa spoke with a detached, indifferent tone, as if deciding someone's entire future was a mere administrative formality.
His name was Erik ten Hag, the current head coach of Bayern Munich II. He had just led the team to a regional league title the previous season.
Ten Hag set down his water glass and flicked his gaze upward to look at the young man sitting across from him.
The boy was roughly sixteen or seventeen years old with a clean, sharp mop of black hair. What was most striking, however, was the composure on his face—a stillness that seemed entirely at odds with his age.
David Qin—or Qin Ming, as he was known—was not exactly who he appeared to be. Just a few days ago, he had been living in the year 2025. He remembered watching the U20 Asian Cup, seeing the Chinese national team suffer a heartbreaking stoppage-time loss to Saudi Arabia. He had downed a bottle of ice-cold beer in frustration and lost consciousness.
When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself a member of the "transmigration" corps, inhabiting the body of a seventeen-year-old youth with the same name.
The situation was a classic mix of fortunes. The good news: He was a member of Bayern Munich's reserve squad. The bad news: "Ten Hag" wanted to sell him off immediately.
David didn't give Ten Hag an easy answer. Instead, he spoke with a calm, earnest gravity. "Sir, could you give me a little more time? I'd like to give this some serious thought."
It wasn't that he was opposed to the idea of raking in cash in the Chinese Super League. It was because he had arrived in this era with the standard "Transmigrator's Package"— a System.
However, the System was currently loading. It still needed twenty-six hours to initialize.
If he managed to roll a "god-tier" cheat code, only an idiot would go scurrying back to China. Wouldn't it be infinitely more satisfying to tear through the European leagues? Not only could he achieve total financial freedom, but he could also fulfill the football dreams he had failed to realize in his past life.
"David, I've already given you plenty of time, and you've consistently failed to give me an answer," Ten Hag's expression turned cold. "Starting now, you are banned from using the team facilities until you provide me with a satisfactory response."
The reality was that David had only joined the Bayern youth academy through an exchange program between the Chinese Football Association and the club. If it weren't for the sponsorship of Chinese corporations and the massive Chinese fanbase, David wouldn't have had the qualifications to set foot in the second team.
A few days ago, the Bayern management had dropped hints that they could play the "Export-and-Resell" game—packaging David as a European-trained prospect and selling him back to the CSL for a tidy profit.
David suspected there were kickbacks involved, but Ten Hag was just the reserve coach. His power was limited, and he simply followed the board's instructions. As for the lack of Chinese players at Bayern? They could always just launch another "exchange program."
"Fine."
David didn't explode or argue. He left the office with calculated stoicism. He didn't want to burn bridges just yet.
His resolve was firm: since he had come to this world and had the backing of a System, he was staying in Europe.
However, it became clear he had underestimated Ten Hag's pettiness. When he arrived at the players' canteen for lunch, he was told he was barred from eating there.
Classic Ten Hag move, David thought.
He was mentally prepared. He called his teammate, Pierre-Emile Højbjerg, and asked him to pack a meal and bring it back to the dorms.
Every policy has a loophole. Ten Hag could ban him from the canteen, but he couldn't stop someone else from bringing him food.
Fifteen minutes later, Højbjerg watched David eat, letting out a silent sigh. "David, maybe you should just give in. I hear the Chinese league is doing well lately. The wages are higher than what most top-flight players make here. If you keep butt-heads with the coach, you're the one who's going to suffer in the end."
"Mhm. I'll think about it," David replied, chewing on a piece of dry, bland chicken breast. He wondered if the chef was in a foul mood today; the meat tasted exceptionally salty.
"Think it over. I'll bring you dinner tonight," Højbjerg said with a nod. He had noticed that the David he saw every day seemed different lately, but he brushed it off, assuming it was just the stress of Ten Hag's pressure.
"Just wait... just wait," David murmured to himself after finishing his meal, staring out at the azure sky.
He didn't let the anxiety consume him. If the System turned out to be a bust, he'd go back home and make his fortune in the CSL. He might be exposed as a fraud after a few matches, but that was a problem for future David. As a transmigrator, there was no way he'd starve.
He remembered 2014 clearly. China was implementing massive economic stimulus measures, and monetary easing was at a historic high. The Shanghai Composite Index was skyrocketing; everyone was screaming that the Great Bull Market had arrived.
Even if the peak was short-lived, it was enough for him to secure his seed capital, start some businesses, or buy real estate. He might not become the richest man in the world, but financial freedom was a guarantee.
Twenty-six hours can pass in a blink, or it can be a slow torture.
Banned from the facilities, David had nowhere to go and stayed confined to his room. At the very least, Ten Hag hadn't gone so far as to kick him out of the dormitory yet—if he had, David truly would have been homeless.
Finally, the countdown in his vision hit zero. A cold, mechanical chime echoed in his mind.
[Football System Officially Initialized!]
[Scanning Host's physical condition...]
[Filtering compatible templates...]
Suddenly, a brilliant light erupted before his eyes, condensing into a series of legendary player cards.
[Filippo Inzaghi: "The Ghost of the Box" Template!][Mario Balotelli: "Super Mario" Template!][Christian Vieri: "The Italian Tank" Template!][Ronaldo Nazário: "The Phenomenon" Template!][...]
David skimmed through them and noticed a common thread among the filtered candidates.
They were all "playboys."
He recalled a dream he had right before he transmigrated. It was like those old Adidas commercials where two kids pick their dream teams on a local pitch. In his dream, he had jokingly picked a roster of football's most notorious ladies' men.
Inzaghi, Vieri, Ronaldo... these guys had dated more women than he could count.
But then David realized: they might have played hard off the pitch, but their talent was undeniable. They possessed world-class, elite-tier gifts. Otherwise, they wouldn't be legends.
[Template Selection Complete!]
[Ronaldinho: "The Gaucho" Template!]
[Commencing physical reconstruction of the Host!]
[3... 2... 1...]
Before David could even celebrate, the player card shattered into a cloud of shimmering embers that surged into his body.
Boom! His consciousness was instantly swallowed by the tide. He collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep, heavy slumber.
When David woke up again, sunlight was streaming across his face. He shielded his eyes and stretched, then immediately bolted to the bathroom to check the mirror.
It was a terrifying thought. Ronaldinho was a magician on the ball, but his looks... well, David didn't want to be mean, but he certainly didn't want to inherit the buck-toothed aesthetic.
Fortunately, the template reconstruction hadn't altered his face. Instead, as David flexed his arms and stepped firmly on the floor, he felt a palpable surge in strength.
When he closed his eyes and focused, a translucent screen flickered into existence.
[Host: David Qin][Height: 183cm][Weight: 75kg][Template: Ronaldinho "The Gaucho" (65% Synchronization)]
The interface was simple—just four lines of text. There was no other information.
Naturally, David's eyes fixed on the "65%." He guessed that this represented his current level of integration with the template.