Chapter 1: You Really Don’t Treat Time Travelers as Human Beings!

"I must be the worst time traveler ever—if there were an Olympic medal for epic mishaps, I'd be standing on the podium with a big, glittery 'Almost!' trophy!"

Yang Cheng lay in a hospital emergency room, completely fried. Even his breathing seemed to have taken an extended coffee break, yet his mind was as clear as a polished trophy shelf. Just before his grand exit—er, fainting spell—he'd been the ringmaster of the most important championship showdown of the 2023/24 Premier League season. In the 88th minute, his beloved Arsenal finally broke the spell of Manchester City, and for one glorious, delirious moment, he thought: "Championship, here I come!" Especially after spotting Guardiola's comically gloomy expression, Yang felt like a mischievous villain in a low-budget sports film. And then, gravity did its worst, and down he went.

In a scene straight out of a surreal sitcom, he "witnessed" himself being whisked away on a stretcher while the emergency doctor's beeping gadgets provided the background score. His inner monologue screamed, "It's 2024—shouldn't modern medicine have turned me into an invincible cyborg by now?" But as the beeping escalated, he realized that flirting with death was about as fun as a soggy biscuit. Memories began to play like a highlight reel: a life starting from humble beginnings (1984 to 2011) and then, from 1995 onward, an epic European football coaching saga. Thirty years of hustling, battling giants like Real Madrid, Barcelona, Chelsea, Manchester United, and even dabbling in the Bundesliga and Eredivisie—only to always end up the perennial runner-up.

He had been so close to glory—creating Real Madrid's three consecutive Champions League titles, rescuing Barcelona from a historical slump, and even pioneering Manchester United's post-Ferguson revival. Yet, every championship slipped away like a prankster's whoopee cushion. "I really can't accept this second-best badge!" he fumed in his mind. Just as he was about to vow that a do-over would fix everything, a sudden series of beeps and a rapid knock on the door snapped him back to attention.

With a jolt that would rival a sitcom character waking from a bizarre daydream, Yang Cheng sat upright, drenched in sweat and gasping as if he'd just escaped a giant meat grinder. But—plot twist!—he wasn't in a hospital room at all. Instead, he found himself in a cramped, cluttered office that smelled suspiciously like stale coffee and forgotten deadlines. "What the…?" he muttered, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings.

Then, like a flash of absurd clarity, it hit him: he'd time-traveled again! Back to the summer of 2003, when 23-year-old Yang Cheng was stuck in the office of the Bayswater Chinese Football Club—yes, you read that right—in London, right north of Hyde Park. "Bayswater Chinese?!" he thought, rubbing his temples. This wasn't exactly the glamorous club he'd pictured when dreaming of stadium lights and glory days.

The backstory was as quirky as a bad sitcom. His father, Yang Jianguo, had made a fortune in the 1980s in footwear and clothing, then set out to create China's very own sports brand. In a move that could only be described as "boldly unconventional," he'd bought a low-level amateur team in London back in 1997, with grand plans to catapult them into the Premier League. He even purchased a huge parcel of land in Bayswater to build a stadium and training ground for 10,000 cheering fans. That is, until reality (and a cascade of debts) hit harder than a missed penalty kick.

Now, with his father off fixing domestic crises in China, young Yang Cheng was stuck in the UK, inheriting a mess that was as confusing as it was hilarious. He couldn't help but mutter bitterly, "Time travelers really do get the short end of the stick—back in 1995 I had a coaching certificate and a decent job, but now I'm juggling billions in debt and a club that's barely holding it together!"

Just then, another knock rapped at the door. "Ah Cheng, are you awake?" called out a familiar, gruff voice. It was Uncle Lin—the ever-loyal, slightly befuddled financial officer who'd been left behind to help steer the ship. Uncle Lin's tone was as businesslike as a banker's ledger: "Chelsea's Russian negotiator will be here soon. Get ready, and for heaven's sake, hang onto that 10 million pounds like it's your life!" The mention of Chelsea—yes, the very same Chelsea that had once fired Yang Cheng for stubbornly refusing to offload an aging star (ahem, Drogba)—made his heart sink. History had a wicked sense of humor.

Trying to wrap his head around his bizarre predicament, Yang Cheng inquired, "Uncle Lin, why on earth are we selling this land?" Uncle Lin explained with an exasperated sigh that although the Bayswater plot was in an enviable location—boasting 6 subway lines and 5 stations within a kilometer (Paddington, no less!)—London City Council rules dictated it could only be used for a stadium or training ground. Any other idea, like turning it into a fancy real estate goldmine, was about as realistic as a unicorn doing the tango.

With the club's funding chain in shambles and players causing a ruckus like unruly extras on a movie set, selling the land was the only way to stop the financial avalanche. Yang Cheng's inner monologue brimmed with both anger and incredulity. "So after all my near-glory and epic failures, I'm stuck here selling land to keep the club from collapsing? What a cosmic joke!"

Uncle Lin patted his shoulder and cheerily instructed, "Don't overthink it. Go wash your face and prepare yourself—I've got things to sort out." Watching him shuffle away, Yang Cheng's resolve hardened. In his past life, he'd been nothing more than a puppet dancing to the tune of wealthy bigwigs. Now, as a time-traveling coach with a penchant for second-best finishes, he vowed that this round would be different. There had to be another way to rewrite his destiny—preferably one with a happy ending and maybe even a championship trophy that wasn't just a consolation prize.

And so, with the absurdity of his life unfolding like the best (or worst) of sitcom episodes, Yang Cheng braced himself for the next act in his madcap adventure.

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