Chapter 88: The Master of Assists

During the pre-match preparation meeting before the first leg of the Europa League quarterfinal between Villarreal and Sparta Prague, head coach Marcelino placed particular emphasis on the team's attitude. He repeatedly reminded the players that they must show Sparta Prague due respect, stating bluntly that underestimating their opponent would be the gravest mistake they could make this season.

Yet, Dai Zhiwei noticed that as kickoff approached, there was still no sense of tension within the squad.

Who exactly was Sparta Prague?

To be honest, the Yellow Submarine’s warriors were truly unfamiliar with this team—a complete dark horse, unknown and unheralded.

Dai Zhiwei himself was at ease, sharing a laugh with Soldado as they waited near the center circle for the match to begin.

When he first arrived at Villarreal, he believed that any European team would be a powerhouse compared to Guangzhou Evergrande, that every opponent was of AFC Champions League MVP caliber. But after more than three months, he found that aside from the continent’s top clubs, the rest were not so daunting; apart from a few standout stars, their players were much the same.

This wasn’t arrogance, but the confidence that comes with accumulating experience and improving his own abilities.

Today, Sparta Prague’s lineup was quite unusual, set out in a 3-1-4-2 formation, clearly with its own unique ideas—one Dai Zhiwei was seeing for the first time.

“Didn’t Conte favor a setup like this?” He shook his head, unable to recall clearly.

With the referee’s whistle, Sparta’s Krejci nudged the ball to a teammate, and Julis immediately played it back to his own defense.

From the outset, it was obvious that the international break had drained the players—those who’d been away on national duty, especially the many internationals in Villarreal’s ranks, seemed sluggish. Only Dai Zhiwei maintained decent form, while the visitors, Sparta Prague, seized the initiative at the Estadio de la Cerámica.

Sparta’s Konaté advanced a couple of steps with the ball before passing inside to the surging Julis. Bruno and Trigueros rushed forward to close him down.

With Bruno tight at his back, Julis deftly feinted right, then left, eluding Bruno’s challenge. Faced with Trigueros closing in, he slipped a pass between the two towards Krejci ahead.

Krejci sprinted forward, shielding the ball from Jaume Costa. With a flick of his right foot and a deft cut, then another outside-foot touch, he left Costa completely wrong-footed. At the edge of the box, he curled a shot towards the far corner.

The ball wasn’t struck particularly hard, but its trajectory was arrowing towards the bottom corner.

Fortunately, the pace wasn’t enough to trouble Asenjo, who calmly palmed it out for a corner.

A corner kick!

Barely a minute had passed, and already Julis had drawn both Bruno and Soldado before threading a through ball for Krejci, whose individual skill nearly left Jaume Costa for dead and forced a sharp save—Sparta Prague were showing, from the start, a fierce hunger to win.

Dai Zhiwei watched the ball soar away, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. Clearly, this Eastern European side, dark horse of the Europa League, possessed genuine quality.

The corner was delivered, but Asenjo claimed it confidently, ending the threat.

Before Sparta’s players could retreat from the box, Asenjo launched a quick, long clearance.

Dai Zhiwei, running onto the ball, didn’t attempt to bring it down—he simply met it with a header, directing it forward, then accelerated with a burst of speed, lightning-quick.

Until now, Sparta Prague had only heard rumors of Villarreal’s fleet-footed forward; they’d never witnessed it firsthand. Now, confronted with Dai Zhiwei’s pace, they were stunned and thrown into disarray.

Matejovsky, the nearest defender, lunged to intercept.

But with a sharp feint, Dai Zhiwei left him floundering in his wake; Matejovsky couldn’t even slow him for half a second.

In the blink of an eye, Dai Zhiwei was surging towards the edge of Sparta’s penalty area. Brabec and Rados, left in defense, rushed to close him down, clearly determined to stop him at any cost—even if it meant a foul.

Sparta’s goalkeeper, Bicik, adjusted his position to coordinate with Brabec and Rados, ready to pounce should Dai Zhiwei slip past the two defenders.

To shoot?

The thought flashed through Dai Zhiwei’s mind, but Brabec was barely three meters away now, and the shooting angle was shrinking.

Break through!

He veered right, opening up a sliver of space—bow taut, arrow nocked.

Sensing danger, Brabec slid in, while Rados closed from the other side. Bicik’s attention was fixed on Dai Zhiwei.

A chuckle escaped Dai Zhiwei’s lips; instead of shooting, he squared the ball across the box to the left, the pass slipping just beyond Brabec’s outstretched boot, into open space.

Was it overhit?

As confusion spread among some spectators, a flash of yellow streaked into the box—a Villarreal player, full tilt, launched into a sliding finish and swept the ball into the far corner!

1–0!

The sequence of breakaway, pass, and finish had all unfolded in the space of a few heartbeats—so swiftly that even the commentators struggled to keep up.

“I knew you were quick!” Castillejo, having scrambled up from the goalmouth, was instantly hugged by Dai Zhiwei.

Castillejo possessed all the hallmarks of a Spanish attacker—fine technique and, in his case, remarkable stamina. While he lacked Dai Zhiwei’s explosive acceleration, he could maintain a high tempo and was one of the few in the squad who could keep pace with Dai Zhiwei on the counterattack.

“That pass was perfect! Any faster and I’d never have reached it!” Castillejo laughed heartily. “I bloody love you!”

This, now, was the fruit of Dai Zhiwei’s improved passing: his offensive contribution had grown. In the past, he’d have either tried to bulldoze through and won a free kick, or taken a speculative shot with less than a thirty percent chance to score.

Although such improvements might add only five or six assists per season, the leap in his all-around game was enormous.

Just three minutes in, Villarreal had sliced open Sparta Prague with a single counterattack—everything unfolding exactly as planned.

After the restart, Sparta Prague lived up to their reputation as this season’s dark horse. They didn’t panic or throw men forward in search of an immediate equalizer. Instead, they kept possession calmly, seeking to settle into a rhythm before attacking.

Sparta’s plan was sound, but Villarreal gave them no room to play their leisurely passing game. The home side swarmed like hungry beasts, and even Dai Zhiwei hovered persistently in the space between Sparta’s midfield and defense, cutting off passing lanes.

He knew his own defensive limitations, so he simply hoped his opponents would make mistakes—like the kind of loose first touch so common in the Chinese Super League.

Perhaps it was just bad luck for Sparta, but defender Nhamoinesu took a needless risk in his own half, playing a careless pass out to the wing without checking Dai Zhiwei’s position.

Or perhaps he simply didn’t believe Dai Zhiwei could intercept.

But Dai Zhiwei was that quick.

He cut out the pass midway, and without hesitation, surged down the flank with the ball.

Near the edge of the area, confronted by Brabec, Dai Zhiwei feinted inside at full speed, carving open just enough space before Rados could close him down, and set himself for a shot from the right edge of the box.

Striking on the run, he had little time to compose himself; he simply let fly, using his momentum. The shot was well-struck but direct—powerful, fast, but not enough to really trouble Bicik in the Sparta goal.

As the ball flew into the box, Bicik relaxed, certain it was his.

Just then, a flash of yellow darted in behind Rados. Bicik’s eyes narrowed as he moved to smother the ball, but being a tall, burly goalkeeper, he struggled with the low drive.

As he stooped to gather, Soldado, sprinting in, poked the ball past his hands, then calmly rolled it into the net with his left foot.

2–0!

Laughing, Dai Zhiwei dashed into the six-yard box to embrace Soldado. His somewhat hopeful long-range effort had turned into an assist—a delightful surprise.

For a second consecutive match, Dai Zhiwei had delivered at least two assists. For him, it was a dream come true!

No one could have imagined that, after the international break, the former “Lone Wolf” would transform into a playmaking maestro.

Unbelievable!

But Dai Zhiwei was always full of surprises.