A few days earlier, when Manchester United's executives had attended a dinner with Jorge Mendes, the super-agent had openly mentioned other clubs' interest in Jeremy.
Especially Real Madrid, who were even willing to pay a sky-high price to take Jeremy away.
After all, Florentino Perez knew Ronaldo's departure was inevitable and urgently needed to reinforce the forward line.
Vinícius Jr. from Castilla could be used, but compared to Jeremy, who had already made a name for himself in the Premier League, he was inferior in both overall skill and commercial value.
...
While Manchester United's executives were holding their meeting, the players had just finished their morning training and gathered in the cafeteria for lunch.
"To be honest, our new chef has no pursuit of culinary excellence. He can't manage cooking times properly, and the food he prepares doesn't meet my standards!"
Scott McTominay made a sour face, poking at a dry piece of chicken.
Marcus Rashford chimed in, "Jeremy was right last time—the food quality is far worse than before. Does he even know what British cuisine is supposed to be?"
"But Mike the nutritionist is indeed very professional," Ling said diplomatically, but when he saw the bland boiled fish, boiled chicken, pasta, and plain vegetables on the plate, he couldn't help but complain.
"After the Champions League match this weekend, let's go out for a proper meal."
After all, he wasn't an enlightened monk and still had cravings for good food.
"Let's go to Outer Heaven. I really want to have that Chili Hand-Shredded Chicken. Oh, and later I'll suggest to Hunter that he should learn from them—steamed sea bass would be nice too."
McTominay's eyes lit up at the thought of Chinese food.
Beside them, Chris Smalling silently watched the others, leisurely eating his vegetables as if unable to comprehend their frustration.
Perhaps due to his injuries, he had become a vegan.
This was actually quite common among players.
Previously plagued by tendinitis, his Achilles tendon often swelled after injuries.
After reducing his red meat intake, the symptoms had significantly improved.
During the meal break, the group began discussing the league again.
"Who are Man City's next two opponents again?" David De Gea inquired.
"Huddersfield and Southampton, both relatively average teams. Man City have a high probability of winning those matches," Ling replied with a smile, then added, "But you shouldn't pin your hopes on them. As long as we avoid defeat in our next match, we can clinch the title with one round to spare."
"We fielded a full substitute lineup against Huddersfield in the FA Cup and helped them reach the quarterfinals. Shouldn't they return the favor by trying to stop Man City?" Romelu Lukaku rubbed his gleaming bald head, hoping for karma.
"Haven't you played against Man City before? It's nearly impossible for them to lose matches like that. Let's focus on the Champions League this weekend first," Ling said.
He never liked placing hopes on others or dwelling on hypothetical scenarios.
Only by keeping their feet firmly on the ground and progressing steadily could they go further.
He continued earnestly, "There's an old saying from my hometown: 'The last ten percent of the effort demands half of the total energy.' It means the closer you are to success, the more difficult it becomes, and the more carefully you must approach it."
Lukaku pondered this seriously.
Since the start of the season, he had become fascinated with Chinese culture.
Especially the notoriously tricky Chinese language, which felt like chanting incantations to him, as if filled with mystical power.
The other players took the latter part of the message to heart.
"Have you all noticed there's been a lot of transfer news lately?" Rashford suddenly mentioned casually, though his eyes subtly drifted to the side.
"I won't hide it from you all. Next season I'll be leaving, i'm going to LA Galaxy," Zlatan Ibrahimovic announced suddenly, setting down his cutlery and wiping his mouth with a napkin.
The spacious cafeteria instantly fell into silence.
"Do you really have to go?" Ling asked, stunned.
To him, Ibrahimović was more than just a teammate—he played many crucial roles: mentor, leader, friend.
After a long pause, Ling smiled wryly. "Then we'll have to push harder, to give you the best possible farewell gift."
He knew that with Ibrahimović's stubborn nature, once a decision was made, no one could change his mind.
So he didn't try to persuade him further, only feeling the weight on his shoulders grow heavier.
Regardless of whether Ibrahimović needed it or not, Ling wanted him to leave with no regrets.
"What about the rest of you?" Ibrahimović scanned the room.
Truthfully, he would have liked to stay at Man United, but he was no longer a key player.
Remaining on the bench would only erode the pride that defined him.
That pride was his most cherished possession.
It was what had carried him out of the refugee camps of Malmö and made him the one and only Zlatan.
The Man United players all looked at Ibrahimović.
Especially the younger ones, who saw him as an idol and had learned so much from him.
They had journeyed a long way together: last season's English League Cup, Europa League, and Community Shield triumphs, and now the imminent Premier League title this season.
The sudden prospect of saying goodbye left everyone feeling deeply reluctant.
"I'm definitely staying. The gaffer suggested I go out on loan, but I refused," McTominay stated firmly.
Since arriving at Man United at the age of five, he had fallen in love with the club and was determined to stay no matter what.
Ashley Young and Valencia, two inspirational veterans, also expressed their commitment to remain.
Rashford, however, remained silent, looking down at his plate.
Lukaku growled gruffly, "No one believed we could win the title at the start of the season, but we beat all the other top-six teams and spent 154 days at the top of the table."
"This proves the team we've built is strong, and with the same squad next season, we'll be just as formidable!"
Ling, noticing the increasingly somber atmosphere, chuckled softly, "Why is everyone so sentimental? It's not like we'll never see each other again. Who knows, Zlatan might come charging back in a few years as a manager."
Having lived a second life, he disliked goodbyes but had learned to accept them.
"Exactly! And I'm not going there to relax. I'm going to spread football culture in the U.S. and dominate Major League Soccer while I'm at it!"
Ibrahimović waved his fist emphatically, as arrogant as ever.
"I will be a god there."
Then he turned to Ling, raising an eyebrow, "What about you, kid?"
The eyes of the Man United players shifted to Ling, filled with anticipation.
Who was the biggest contributor this season?
Even someone as proud as Pogba had to admit that Ling had significantly elevated the entire team's strength.
While tactics played a part, Ling's individual ability couldn't be overlooked.
Especially his terrifying rate of improvement.
"Of course, I'll stay."
Ling regained his composure and spoke softly but firmly.
Perhaps he would leave Man United in the future, but it wouldn't be next season.
Emotionally, he loved the club, enjoyed fighting alongside Mourinho and his teammates.
Rationally, Man United was the right place for his continued development.
With a strengthened squad next season, they could challenge for more titles and he could pursue more individual honors.
From that point on, the Man United players trained even more diligently, with even Pogba cutting back on his leisure time.
....
Soon, it was May 3rd.
The second leg of the Champions League semifinal was about to begin.
A red tide swept in from afar, seemingly ready to engulf all of Manchester, finally converging at Old Trafford.
The stadium, known as the Theater of Dreams, was bathed in moonlight and floodlights.
At 10 p.m. sharp, as the stirring Champions League anthem played, the players from both teams emerged from the tunnel to a deafening roar.
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