0018 Craftsmanship: A Man’s Romance (Please Support with Favorites and Monthly Votes)

After taking several consecutive bows, Lu Deyang finally left with Monica.

He arrived on a motorcycle and left on a motorcycle.

A flick of his sleeve, leaving behind only a trail of exhaust.

Clean and sharp.

Yet, the Sampdoria fans had no complaints.

Absolutely stunning!

This was the most impressive unveiling ceremony they had ever witnessed; even when Maradona landed in Naples, it hadn’t been this cool.

Regardless of the new recruit’s actual skill, at least before the league began, they could hold their heads high as the proudest fans of the summer.

“Let’s go.”

Mancini sighed as he returned to the stands.

He had still been used as a backdrop after coming off the pitch; that shot he took went straight into the goalkeeper’s arms, which had been bothering him.

“Are you jealous of Deyang?”

Vialli teased.

“Is there anyone who isn’t envious of that guy?” Mancini shrugged.

Who didn’t dream of being the center of attention as a child?

Mancini thought he was lucky to have become an important player for Sampdoria at a young age.

But compared to that, Lu Deyang was much more in the spotlight.

“You just can’t compare people.”

Vialli comforted him. “Want to come over to my place?”

“Let’s go~”

Mancini nodded.

Federica rolled her eyes to the heavens.

She had once gone along out of fear that Mancini would go wild on his own; these two were once famous disco enthusiasts.

But when they got to Vialli’s house, she discovered that he liked those eccentric costumes from films and would make her and Mancini dress up as villains, only to be defeated by Vialli, the “hero.” He even recorded it on tape.

Since then, she never went again.

As a lady, she wasn’t about to play the part of an alien lunatic, only to be defeated by some time-space patrol wielding a sword.

The two protagonists left the stadium.

Some fans, hearing the motorcycle engine, couldn’t help but stick their heads out the window and greet them.

In an instant, the pair became the most famous couple in Genoa, even across the Apennines.

Monica might even earn a title like “Sampdoria Godmother” someday.

In terms of beauty, she completely overshadowed godmothers from places like Gubbio or Naples.

While Italian TV stations were still discussing how to edit the footage, British reporters were already showcasing their skills with their tapes.

Nowadays, it was a big hassle for foreign correspondents to send news back home.

Fortunately, Italy wasn’t far from England; a flight from Genoa to London took just over an hour.

Even British reporters rarely put in such effort.

But today’s news was truly big news!

Whoever broke the story first held the advantage; if you didn’t, you’d still see it in the morning paper.

Newspapers were much easier to handle than TV stations in this regard—a single fax would do.

That evening, just as the two were preparing to eat, the TV stations were already reporting on the afternoon’s unveiling ceremony.

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“During the ongoing summer transfer window, we can already confirm the most eye-catching signing of the summer: the young Chinese player Lu Deyang from Reggina showed us a truly unique debut... arriving on a motorcycle, with a cool drift—it was like 007 stepping into reality. If his skills are strong enough, Sampdoria might just replace the Doria on their badge with a motorcycle...”

Monica placed crispy pork belly and other side dishes on the table.

She was born in Castello, located in the Umbria region of central Italy—the only Italian region without a coastline.

Umbria was renowned for its natural scenery, local art, wine, and meat products.

Crispy pork belly was one of the region’s signature dishes.

“What’s the news saying?”

Monica asked after sitting down.

“They say Fiat should hire me as their spokesperson.”

Lu Deyang laughed.

“Are you interested?”

Monica tilted her head.

“Fiat might not want me.”

Lu Deyang responded.

These days, Juventus was quite arrogant, practically Italy’s little overlord.

When Zeman exposed Juventus’s doping issues, he was called for a five-year ban—that was beyond ordinary bullying.

Even if they hired player endorsements, they would only pick from their own team.

It was a matter of pride.

“I’m thinking about studying finance; law doesn’t seem to help you much.”

Monica stirred the food on her plate with her spoon.

Life had become very exciting since being with Lu Deyang.

But she worried about being abandoned one day.

Italian footballers were notorious womanizers, and Lu Deyang was such a flashy guy.

Even without seeing it, she could imagine how many little vixens wanted to sit in the backseat of that motorcycle.

“Study whatever you want, as long as you’re happy.”

Lu Deyang said, “We only have a bit over thirty thousand days in life. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, as long as you can maintain quality of life.”

“Are we that rich already?”

Monica asked, puzzled.

Lu Deyang shook his head with a smile.

“You don’t understand the true value of China’s number one football star at all.”

“Play for a few years, then go back home and sell sportswear—won’t the big bosses beat me up?”

“At worst, I could sell fried chicken back home.”

“No-cost McDonald’s? Why wouldn’t it sell?”

“If it weren’t for transport difficulties, I’d love to show those Americans what dumping really means.”

“Spend more time shopping with Federica; don’t always stay home reading.”

Lu Deyang said.

Their assets in Reggio Calabria had almost been settled.

Old Bianchi had done a lot of work.

“Got it, don’t worry.”

Monica nodded.

The next morning, Mancini got up surprisingly early and invited Lu Deyang out.

“Today we’re going to Pietro Vilchovord’s house. He has half-Soviet blood, and fans call him the Tsar. As for what we call him, that’s up to you. But be careful when teasing him—he’s the type to get physical.”

Mancini warned from the sidecar.

The two rode on one motorcycle.

“Why would I tease a Soviet?”

Lu Deyang smirked and hummed the tune of “Katyusha.”

The relations between the two countries were complicated, but many back home could sing the original “Katyusha,” and some older ones had even taken Russian classes.

Currently, Sino-American and Sino-Japanese relations were in a honeymoon phase.

When they arrived at Vilchovord’s house, Lu Deyang saw many teammates.

Vilchovord nodded in greeting and continued his work.

“What are you doing?”

Mancini leaned over to ask.

Vialli pointed to a cardboard on the table.

“This is a giveaway from a children’s magazine his son bought. It’s quite complex to assemble—I didn’t realize kids’ toys are so intricate nowadays.”

“You guys are really dumb!”

Mancini joked.

Vilchovord spun around, grabbed his shirt, and pulled Mancini over.

“You do it. If you don’t finish today, you’re not going home.”

He then stood up and poured a cup of coffee for Lu Deyang.

“Yesterday during your debut, my son and I were camping. But you looked very cool.”

“Thanks. Mainly, I just got up late.”

At that moment, Vilchovord’s mother brought out some pastries.

“Peter, thank you for taking care of him. He’s not very talkative; you all should come visit often.”

“Mom, this kid just transferred here.”

Vilchovord complained, “I’m not a kid anymore!”

“In front of your mother, you’ll always be my little Peter!”

The old lady gently tapped his bald head with a plate, scolding him with a smile.

“My mom’s getting old and talks too much.”

Vilchovord explained; such warmth didn’t fit his tough image.

As a defender standing alongside Baresi and Bergomi, he was fierce on the field.

But both his Soviet family members had fallen under the gentle charm of their Italian mother.

“I think it’s quite nice.”

Lu Deyang said.

“Deyang, look, this magazine is still collecting children’s comics. Maybe I should switch careers and become an artist.”

Chiesa held up the magazine and leaned in.

Sampdoria’s situation was good now. Although Chiesa had already appeared for the first team, his position was somewhat awkward.

The team had no chance to develop young forwards.

“Bastard, those are blueprints! What are you doing taking them?”

Mancini yelled.

“Comic artists and painters are different.”

Lu Deyang took the magazine with a smile.

“The most important thing about drawing children’s comics is fun—letting kids feel joy and learn something. That’s what truly matters.”

Mancini, still waiting for the magazine, grumbled, “You’re so good at talking; why don’t you draw comics? If I have kids, I’ll definitely buy your book.”

Lu Deyang flipped him the middle finger.

Still, the suggestion wasn’t entirely bad.