Chapter 143: The Best Replacement

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“Napoli are making a substitution. The Argentine striker Sosa is coming off... This is excellent news for us. That man has been our biggest headache.”

The stadium announcer spoke with a laugh. He was Sola’s home commentator, so naturally he favored the home side. This sort of teasing was one of the distinctive features of European leagues. Generally speaking, stadium commentators were a sharp-tongued lot, especially during fierce local derbies. Their words could drive the visiting supporters mad, while a one-goal lead gave the home commentator even more freedom to indulge in lighthearted mockery.

“Let’s see who’s coming on. Could it be the Brazilian striker Pia...? Oh! It’s an unfamiliar player! From this angle, he looks enormous... A Chinese forward, Long... Bi... Sheng! The records say he is two meters and two centimeters tall, and sixteen years and six months old! You certainly don’t see that kind of height on a football pitch every day. But for Napoli to send on a child who isn’t even seventeen, do they really have no other strikers? What exactly has Mr. De Laurentiis done with his fifty-million-euro investment this season?”

The Sola supporters burst into laughter. Long Bisheng paid no attention. In truth, he could barely understand the commentator’s jokes. The Italian, spoken rapidly in a local accent, was too quick for him, and lost in the joy of finally taking the field, he had not heard a word clearly.

That was probably a good thing. If he had heard the commentator questioning his ability and age, he might have grown anxious and impatient. Now, at least, that would not happen.

The moment he ran onto the pitch, Long Bisheng sprinted straight into the opposing penalty area. Because of the foul committed by Sola’s defender against Sosa moments earlier, Napoli had been awarded a free kick in the attacking half. From roughly thirty meters out, it was not an especially promising distance for a direct shot. A cross followed by a contest in the air was the better option.

When the Sola supporters saw a two-meter giant run into their penalty area, they began to grow nervous. After all, that kind of height posed a tremendous threat to any defense.

The veteran Fontana stood over the ball. When he saw two Sola defenders closely marking Long Bisheng, he hesitated. Instead of sending the ball toward Long Bisheng at the far post, he crossed into the middle of the area, where the advancing defender Gibellato met it with a header. The ball sailed over the crossbar.

Long Bisheng shook his hand in disappointment. The moment Fontana had taken the free kick, he had already used his movement to shake off his marker, but unfortunately the ball had not been sent toward him.

Fontana realized his mistake as well. The veteran made an apologetic gesture, indicating that he would pay more attention next time.

On the bench, Reja was somewhat helpless, but he could understand Fontana. Long Bisheng had trained with his teammates for only a little over a month, and they did not yet trust his abilities. Understanding and mutual confidence could only be built gradually through future matches.

Still, from that movement, Reja had noticed that Long Bisheng was not slow on his feet. For a man of his height, he was astonishingly quick.

Perhaps this youngster could make up, to a considerable extent, for Sosa’s shortcomings... Reja thought to himself. What troubled him most was that Sosa’s injury kept recurring. If Long Bisheng could demonstrate that he was capable of handling matches in Serie C, Reja would no longer have to worry about that problem.

For the time being, Reja still regarded Long Bisheng as a substitute—a substitute who might bring a pleasant surprise whenever Sosa was unavailable.

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Five minutes later, Napoli came forward again. Montevino won the ball in midfield and immediately played it to Long Bisheng, who was constantly moving up front.

Long Bisheng received the ball near the center circle and turned. Seeing a defender charging toward him, he immediately sent a cross-field pass to Boliasino, who was advancing down the flank, then accelerated forward himself.

“Beautiful pass,” Boliasino said inwardly. He had only pushed forward because he had spotted a chance for a counterattack and had not expected Long Bisheng to find him so quickly. Yet the pass had arrived perfectly, allowing him to accelerate straight onto the ball.

Boliasino had intended to repay the favor with a fine pass to Long Bisheng, but as soon as he carried the ball into the thirty-meter zone of the opposing half, two defenders moved in to block him. With no other option, he slowed the ball, turned, and passed it back to Fontana, the midfield orchestrator.

Fontana controlled the ball in the center, with wave after wave of defenders standing before him. Even the finest playmaker would have struggled to break through such a defense, let alone a thirty-five-year-old Fontana, who had never been known for dribbling past opponents.

With no choice, Fontana switched the ball to Grava, who was advancing down the wing. There was no way to organize an attack through the middle, so they might as well launch a long ball into the area.

Grava took the pass. The alert defender rushed toward him, intending to prevent the cross. “The Croatian Sagnol” feinted to one side, evaded the hastily extended leg, and immediately sent the ball curling into the penalty area.

“Great cross!” Long Bisheng shouted inwardly.

Grava’s deliveries had a distinctive quality, much like Beckham’s: fast, inward-swinging crosses. They were ideal for an attacking player to meet with a header. After quickly judging the ball’s trajectory, Long Bisheng shifted several steps, used his body to force his way past the defender, and leaped into the air.

Even among Italian defenders, Long Bisheng’s jumping ability was extraordinary. This leap proved it beyond doubt. Despite being sandwiched between two defenders, he reached the ball first and prepared to direct it toward goal with a header.

Damn it, I misjudged it slightly.

Only after extending his head did Long Bisheng realize that Grava’s cross had come a little too far in front of him. No matter how far he stretched, he could only graze the ball. It would be difficult to put any real force behind the header.

In that split second, he caught sight of a figure in a sky-blue Napoli shirt beside him. With no time to think, Long Bisheng headed the ball forcefully to a point about a meter in front of that figure.

Seeing the ball drop in front of him, Calaiò did not hesitate. A striker’s instinct took over. He stepped forward and immediately struck the ball on the volley.

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The ball flew into the lower-left corner of the net. The Sola supporters fell instantly silent, while the several hundred Napoli fans who had traveled to the match erupted in celebration.

Calaiò leaped onto Long Bisheng’s back in excitement. He had originally moved forward purely on a striker’s instinct, hoping to pounce on a rebound if the goalkeeper spilled the ball. He had never expected Long Bisheng to lay it off with such a perfectly weighted header. The instant the pass came, Calaiò had broken free of the defenders, scoring with ease—and without straying offside.

Grinning, Long Bisheng carried Calaiò toward the edge of the penalty area. He was immediately surrounded by his teammates, who leaped up and slapped his shoulders as though he had scored the goal himself.

“A-Long!” Chu Ran shouted from a distance. He thought Long Bisheng had scored and gave him another thumbs-up.

Long Bisheng returned the gesture, then ran back to his own half with the rest of the team.

“Let’s keep attacking! We’re taking all three points home!” captain Montevino shouted, raising his arms.

The Napoli players answered in unison, their spirits soaring. The goal had not merely brought them level; it had also revived a team whose morale had sunk after losing its leading scorer and chief finisher.

Napoli had plenty of attacking weapons: Fontana’s distribution, Grava’s surging runs and crosses from deep, the wing play on both flanks, and Calaiò’s individual finishing ability. But everything had revolved around Sosa. Without him on the pitch, Napoli’s attacking power had been cut by at least half. Long Bisheng’s assist had allowed them to rediscover the attacking rhythm they knew so well.

It was still impossible to say how much Long Bisheng could compensate for Sosa’s absence as a goalscorer. But the assist had shown his teammates that he could perform Sosa’s role inside the penalty area—occupying defenders and threatening the goal. They began lofting more balls toward his head, leaving him to provide the final touch or lay the ball off for others.

The Sola defenders began to panic. Sosa’s pressure in the first half had already driven them to distraction. They had finally seen him leave the pitch and thought they could breathe again. But why was this new substitute so unreasonable?

In the seventieth minute, Long Bisheng received the ball at the edge of the penalty area and forced his way around. A defender stabbed the ball away with a desperate kick, but Long Bisheng instantly turned, stretched out his long leg, and dragged it back. Then he nudged the ball sideways.

Fontana, charging forward, struck it first time. The ball hit a defender’s leg, changed direction, and bounced into the net.

Three–two. Napoli had completed their comeback despite being without their leading scorer, Sosa.

After scoring, Fontana embraced Long Bisheng. This time even Chu Ran ran forward from the back line to join the celebration. He was genuinely delighted. His young teammate had come on as a substitute and produced two superb assists—he had already asked the others about the previous goal—and it seemed that he would have many more chances to play alongside him in the future.

Napoli did not slow down after completing the turnaround. They pinned the home side inside its own half and subjected them to a relentless barrage: one aerial assault after another, attacks sweeping down both wings, and penetration through the middle.

At last, in the eighty-sixth minute, they scored a fourth. Calaiò carried the ball into the area, dribbled past two defenders, and stabbed it into the net. It was his second goal of the match.

Having rediscovered their attacking rhythm, Napoli took all three points from the away fixture as they had hoped. Reja was thoroughly satisfied—not only because they had won, but because he had found the ideal replacement for Sosa.