I Just Wanted to Play Soccer, But I Became a Hollywood Heartthrob

Gu Ran had already noticed that there was something off about the testing line and the size of the concentric circles—it wasn't a small issue either.

But he just smiled calmly, shoved his hands into his pockets, and strolled over to the testing line with a relaxed demeanor.

Watergate stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, one foot resting on the ball. "Kid, do you even know what accuracy training is?"

Gu Ran shrugged. "I've seen people do it."

The players around immediately burst into laughter.

Watergate tilted his chin up, looking down at him with disdain. "You think just because you've seen someone do it, you can do it too? What, you think you're a genius? Let me tell you something—accuracy training is a professional football skill! If you haven't trained systematically for at least three to five years, you can forget about hitting your mark!"

Gu Ran feigned surprise. "It's that hard for you guys? Isn't it just kicking the ball into the center of the target? Don't you just need feet for that?"

Watergate sneered. "Chinese boy, you really don't know your place, do you? Just having feet is enough? Alright, then—why don't you try it? My boys and I are standing right here, waiting to see you embarrass yourself! We want to see you miss, see you take off those knockoff football shoes, and watch you walk off this pitch with your tail between your legs! Boys, get your phones out—we're recording this."

"Got it!"

The other players smirked as they pulled out their phones, all aimed at Gu Ran, ready to capture the moment of his humiliation.

Heh.

Trying to throw me off with trash talk, huh?

Not a bad attempt, I'll give them that.

Gu Ran looked at Watergate with a half-smile. "Oh, I remember you. You're the guy from Costa Coffee—the one who shoved a meteor hammer up his own ass. So your nickname is Watergate? What, does your family run a pet shop?"

Watergate's face twitched. "You little punk! Are you trying to pick a fight?"

"Calm down! The coach is right here!"

His teammates quickly pulled him back.

Gu Ran chuckled to himself—Trash Talk Skill +1. That was pretty effective.

He casually took the ball from under Watergate's foot with a light touch and placed it on the white line.

Taking a deep breath, he focused his gaze on the target 25 meters away.

Accuracy training was essentially just a set-piece shooting drill.

In his previous life, he had practiced set-pieces plenty of times while playing street football.

But honestly speaking, no matter how much he had trained on his own, it couldn't compare to the professional youth academies in England.

And after being reborn, while he still remembered how to strike the ball, this young body of his lacked the proper foundations.

Which meant now was the perfect time to use his star-level skill—"Set Piece: Crescent Moon Curve +1."

25 meters was well within the skill's range.

Besides, this was just a training test, not a real match, so there was no pressure from game-day nerves.

Even better, he could stack it with another star-level skill—Beckham's "Golden Right Foot: Precision Long Pass" for added accuracy.

With his concentration locked in, Gu Ran's eyes were sharp and steady.

The muscles in his thighs coiled like tightly wound cables…

Watergate and the others were still smirking, their phones held up, ready to record his impending failure.

It was time.

Gu Ran took a small hop-step to start his run-up, bending his knee slightly as he planted his left foot firmly beside the ball.

At the same time, he exaggeratedly leaned his upper body 45 degrees to the left, his right foot swinging forward with momentum—striking the lower right side of the ball.

Crescent Moon Curve + Golden Right Foot!

Boom!

The instant the ball was struck, Gu Ran's right leg followed through with a smooth motion.

The ball soared into the air, curving in a perfect arc before landing precisely in the center of the 0.5-meter target zone.

Perfect.

Satisfying.

Pure bliss.

Say it—

Say it now—

Say "Daddy!"

Inside, Gu Ran was roaring in triumph, but on the surface, his expression remained as calm and composed as ever.

At that moment, everyone watching—Coach Carter included—stood in stunned silence, their mouths agape.

25 meters out.

With the target circles tampered with.

Yet this Chinese kid had just bent in a perfect, textbook-quality curler straight into the bullseye?

It was supposed to be a simple accuracy test!

How the hell did he pull off a Crescent Moon Curve?

Did he just get lucky?

No—if it had been a simple straight shot, maybe they could believe it was luck.

But a curving set-piece like that was impossible to pull off by accident.

This guy… is a goddamn football prodigy.

A shocked silence settled over the training ground, so quiet it felt like a library.

Only the occasional sound of Rusty's labored breathing as he struggled through his frog jumps broke the stillness.

Gu Ran casually turned around, looking at the dumbstruck Watergate and his crew. "Didn't I tell you? If you've got feet, you're good to go. You got that on camera, right?"

Motherf—

He did it again…

Watergate and his crew were completely defeated.

Ding!

"Received 38 points of negative emotion from Willard Zachary. System bubble generated…"

Ding!

"Received 51 points of negative emotion from Milton Lucerne. System bubble generated…"

Ding!

"Received 51 points of negative emotion from Buck Fred. System bubble generated…"

Ding!

"Received 55 points of negative emotion from Payne Lyle. System bubble generated…"

Ding!

"Received 75 points of negative emotion from Hamilton Chester. System bubble generated…"

At the feet of Watergate's gang, four white bubbles and one blue bubble materialized.

Gu Ran quickly analyzed the situation.

The guy with the lowest negative emotion, Willard Zachary, was probably the one nicknamed "Princess."

The dude looked strong as hell but had an oddly soft, feminine voice whenever he spoke.

For some reason, this "Princess" guy didn't seem to hate him too much.

The one with the highest negative emotion—Hamilton Chester, aka Watergate—was the one who had triggered a blue bubble.

Without drawing attention to himself, Gu Ran casually tapped all the bubbles around the group.

Ding! Picked up skill bubble: Power Shot Training +10 hours. Daily progress 6/10.

Ding! Picked up skill bubble: One-Two Pass Training +10 hours. Daily progress 7/10.

Ding! Picked up skill bubble: Sprint Drill Training +10 hours. Daily progress 8/10.

Ding! Picked up skill bubble: Defensive Pressing Training +10 hours. Daily progress 9/10.

Oh ho!

Not bad—not bad at all!

This was a great haul—power shooting, quick passing, sprinting, defensive pressing.

Every single one was a practical, valuable skill.

On average, a non-professional player would train for maybe three to four hours a day.

Even pros trained for about eight hours a day—and the most dedicated stars would go for twelve hours or more.

Yet Gu Ran, in just half an hour, had already accumulated 80 hours' worth of training.

This was insane.

If he could rack up just 30 more training hours, he'd earn another talent point.

Joining the school team was definitely the right call.

This place was a freaking goldmine.

Now, there was just one last blue skill bubble left…

Watergate, don't let me down.