Chapter 208: The Little Beast Fooled Lame by Li Ang
Chelsea's winning streak had finally come to an end.
Judging from their performances in previous matches, being held to a draw by Norwich on the road felt like a surprising stumble. But with the relentless pace of European competition and a squad with a notably older age profile, the result was, all things considered, fairly understandable.
Many fans of other Premier League clubs, who had been nervously watching Chelsea blaze through six straight wins, breathed a sigh of relief.
"Man, I thought Mourinho was about to repeat his first-season miracle and win the league again. But in the end, their bench really isn't that deep."
"Next up, they're playing Schalke in the Champions League. Hope they go all out there—gives us a better shot at nicking something!"
"City fan here? Please. Chelsea only drew one match. After the Champions League, they're hosting City in the league, and any long-time Premier League fan knows how terrifying Mourinho's home record is."
"Depends on how the rest of their squad holds up. Mourinho might rotate during the Champions League—after all, they've already won their first two group games.
But with Li Ang's form and stamina, and as long as the rest of the team doesn't collapse, I'm backing Chelsea to beat City."
Chelsea's draw triggered plenty of chatter among Premier League fans. Some celebrated, others offered fair analysis.
Veteran supporters were well aware: Chelsea had a rock-solid spine now, thanks to key leaders. Wild dips in form were unlikely—but that didn't mean they were without flaws.
First, aside from Li Ang, the younger players in Chelsea's squad were still inconsistent.
When things were going well, they looked great. But in adversity, they lacked the experience to carry the team. Expecting them to pull off miracles was still premature.
Second, and perhaps more pressing, was the issue of squad age balance.
Chelsea's roster was split down the middle. Most players were either very young or past their peak.
Among the starting eleven, the only players truly in their prime were David Luiz and Ramires.
And with Matic gradually cementing his place in the starting lineup, Ramires was likely to rotate more often with Lampard and De Bruyne.
No matter how you shuffled it, Chelsea's lineup rarely featured more than two players in their peak years.
The bench had the same problem—either too young, or too old.
That meant whenever the veterans hit a physical wall or dipped in form, the team's stability took a hit.
Thankfully, Chelsea had splashed the cash this season to bring in Li Ang.
Without him, their starting midfield would likely be Oscar and Lampard.
Sure, that pairing could contribute going forward—but in terms of defensive cover and transitional play? Not even close to Mourinho's standards.
And the Oscar-Lampard duo couldn't offer reliable protection in front of the backline either.
Even rival fans had to admit it—Li Ang was the keystone.
With him anchoring the midfield, Lampard could play more freely, and Matic had the perfect partner to form a fortress ahead of the center-backs.
Even David Luiz, who had spent the last season and a half getting roasted by the English press for rashness, was now looking much more composed.
Why?
Because whether it was Matic or Lampard playing as the holding midfielder, both followed Mourinho's instructions to cover for Luiz when he stepped out.
As a result, the same Brazilian defender once branded as reckless had transformed into one of the league's most aggressive but intelligent ball-winning center-backs.
And when paired with John Terry—still one of the most reliable deep defenders in world football—Chelsea's backline looked old-school but unbreakable.
Long-time fans saw all this clearly.
Whatever flaws the squad had, Mourinho's reconstruction of Chelsea's defensive system had been a resounding success.
With a defense like that—and Li Ang, who never seemed to need rest and always stayed in peak condition—Chelsea's consistency would likely outlast most rivals.
Calling Chelsea the title favorite might still be premature.
But calling them a top contender? Absolutely no doubt.
The question now was whether the rest of Chelsea's younger players could grow through the brutal winter schedule ahead.
Especially Eden Hazard and Kevin De Bruyne.
If those two could kick on, Mourinho's offensive system would start to truly flourish.
Historically, Mourinho's most dangerous teams—whether at Chelsea, Inter, or Madrid—always had two world-class wingers to stretch defenses.
Without top-tier wide players, Mourinho could still adapt—by switching formations or focusing play elsewhere.
But with elite wingers, Mourinho's teams reached their terrifying peak.
Right now, Hazard had already reached world-class status at Chelsea.
If he could become more consistent, he'd soon break into the top tier of global football.
De Bruyne, meanwhile, had shown flashes of brilliance while on loan in the Bundesliga.
His raw talent was never in doubt—but now, he had to prove himself in the Premier League.
And then there was the third of the "Belgian trio"—Romelu Lukaku.
Honestly, last season, it was pretty easy for fans to see where Lukaku's path might lead. Big, strong, explosive—a modern No. 9 in the making.
But this season?
Even Chelsea fans weren't sure what the coaching staff had planned for him.
Within the club, Lukaku had been staying behind for extra training with Li Ang ahead of national team call-ups.
Still, frustration was building.
In the last round of World Cup qualifiers, Lukaku spent the full 90 minutes on Belgium's bench—watching Christian Benteke start in his place.
Even so, Lukaku had found some joy in his progress at the club.
He'd been working hard to evolve, and the results were starting to show.
But now, with Benteke seemingly edging him out in the national team, and no clear direction in his role at Chelsea, Lukaku found himself stuck in a strange limbo.
He wasn't quite a target man, not quite a shadow striker, and he didn't have the same touch and creativity as someone like Li Ang.
But one thing was clear—he looked up to Li Ang.
And as they put in extra hours at Cobham, Lukaku listened carefully.
Because the "Little Beast" had realized something:
Getting close to the Lion might be the only way to finally learn how to roar.
He liked the development advice Mourinho had given him, and he also felt freer and more effective playing on the wings.
But in the Belgian national team, there were simply too many players already competing for the wide positions, and the coach needed him to hold the central role.
Otherwise, between him and Benteke—who was more naturally suited to being a center forward—the national team coach would obviously be inclined to start Benteke alongside Hazard and De Bruyne.
This left Lukaku feeling more than a little frustrated.
And with another international break approaching, the confused "Little Beast" didn't feel like reporting to the national team camp early, as he usually would.
So he stayed behind at Cobham, training extra hours with Li Ang to vent his frustration. And inevitably, he wanted someone to talk to.
Li Ang had always been good at comforting others.
And besides, while most people weren't sure what path was best for Lukaku—what system or style he fit best—Li Ang knew exactly.
So after their first post-training session together, Li Ang sat him down at the edge of the pitch and, with a serious tone, started giving him some heartfelt advice.
"You've got to have more confidence in yourself, Romelu. You've felt it too, right? You're playing more comfortably now, and you're improving steadily in training and matches, aren't you?"
Lukaku looked at him with wide eyes and nodded firmly.
"Yes. I really like the role the boss has given me right now. But in the national team…"
Li Ang waved a hand dismissively and patted Lukaku's big head.
"Which is why I said—you need to have more confidence. Just because the national team coach wants you to do something, doesn't mean you have to do it.
What if he tells you to bulk up so you can be more of a static presence in the box? Would you go along with that too?"
The moment Li Ang said that, the confusion in Lukaku's eyes cleared like morning mist under the sun.
"No way! The boss already said I just need to maintain my current weight—maybe even cut down a little more. That's the only way I can keep my speed and explosiveness, so I can play both centrally and out wide…"
Watching Lukaku's head shake like a bobblehead, Li Ang laughed.
"There you go. Just because someone offers advice doesn't mean it's right.
Let me tell you something, Romelu. For this upcoming international break, I bet you'll start the first World Cup qualifier. You believe me?"
"Huh? Why?"
"Heh. Did Benteke score in the last qualifier?"
"No."
"Then that's it."
Li Ang continued his analysis with calm certainty.
"Forget about whether your playstyle fits or what tactics are used—national team coaches want one thing: goals.
You and Benteke had similar stats last season in the Premier League.
Benteke's been nursing a minor injury. The coach started him last time, and he didn't score.
So this time, isn't it natural to give you the chance and see what you can do?"
The more Lukaku listened, the clearer things became. By the end, he smacked his thigh in realization.
"You're right! Li Ang, how did I not think of this earlier? As long as I score more, it won't matter how I prefer to play—Coach Wilmots will give me more starts…"
Seeing Lukaku all fired up, Li Ang patted him on the back to calm him down.
"Glad you figured it out. But I should remind you—while you're in the national team, try to stay central. Don't drift wide too much.
Whether or not you feel comfortable is one thing, but you don't want to crowd the wide spaces for your teammates."
Seeing that Lukaku was seriously listening now, Li Ang continued his tactical breakdown.
"Make more runs in behind the defense. In international matches, scoring really isn't as hard as you think—especially if your team likes counterattacks.
Use your speed, Romelu. Use your explosiveness. Find gaps at the right time. You're not the best in the air, so don't force it—play to your strengths.
And starting now, work more on operating down the right wing. Talk to Kevin more. He can play wide or drift central, and you two can swap positions fluidly."
"Operate more on the right?" Lukaku asked, surprised.
"Yeah. Your main job is still to score. And working on the right side gives you better angles to cut inside and shoot.
You need to practice that more. If all else fails, just use your burst to shake your marker and unleash a rocket. Boom!"
Li Ang was so fired up, he pulled Lukaku back onto the training pitch to drill the move right away.
Nothing complicated—just starting outside the box on the right, with Li Ang standing guard near the top of the box.
Lukaku would cut in hard and fast, use his burst to create space, and go for the shot.
There was no finesse to it. Lukaku wasn't aiming for beauty.
His left foot had serious power, so Li Ang didn't bother trying to get him to curl it like Robben.
Just brute force—cut in, break through, shoot hard. Done.
Honestly, Li Ang doubted Lukaku could master Robben-style finesse anyway…
So he went with what was simple and effective.
It didn't have to score every time. As long as the keeper fumbled or gave up a corner, it was worth it.
Lukaku threw himself into the training. Li Ang, watching his slightly curled short hair bounce with each run, suddenly had an idea.
"Romelu, why don't you shave your head?"
"Huh?"
"Cut down on air resistance. You might even run faster."
Li Ang mimed the motion, not thinking much of it—it was half joke, half bad science.
But to his surprise, Lukaku actually thought about it… and nodded.
Four days later, a freshly bald Lukaku stood in the Belgian starting lineup—his shiny dome gleaming under the stadium lights.
And in the World Cup qualifier against Croatia, he wreaked havoc with his speed and explosiveness, giving the Croatian defense an absolute nightmare.
Sticking to Li Ang's advice, Lukaku stayed on the move, staying central, always ready to surge.
Lovren and Ćorluka had their hands full from start to finish.
In the 36th minute, Lukaku drifted out to the right, then suddenly burst inside—cutting in sharply and unleashing a vicious left-footed shot that ripped past Stipe Pletikosa into the net.
Commentators around the world were in full voice, yelling in excitement.
And Lukaku? He sprinted straight to the camera, slapping his shiny bald head over and over, shouting:
"Lion bro, you really know me!"
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