Chapter 1
A cafe along a Main street in Stockholm, the Swedish capital.
Leaning back on a sofa, Tunan talks on the phone in a relaxed posture, his long black curly hair falling around his waist and his slender straight legs folded.
Tunan sips his coffee and listens to the man on the other end of the phone.
’Miss Slatina, I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.
But Selvette are reluctant to hire a female manager because they don’t think fans will want to buy tickets to see a female manager dictating things from the sidelines. ′
Toonan raised his eyebrows, but the result was not surprising.
Before her, no female manager in European football had ever wanted to manage in the first division.
Not only is extreme racism rampant in this era of intense football, for example, many European fans would insult a black player for learning to bark like a monkey.
It is also always full of the most intense misogyny and sexism.
Male football fans generally believe that.
The female Detachment of soccer is just a group of scheming women who like to show their career lines while working in the stadium, seduce the stars, and try to become the wives of the stars.
Female football fans are a group of women who wear tight version of the jersey and ask “why?” with big innocent eyes. “, and then a vases of tears.
They don’t care about football at all, just drool over players’ thighs.
As for female coaches in football? This joke, funny enough to win the league joke of the century Golden Globe.
Toonan hung up the phone with a sigh.
That’s why she wasn’t accepted into the club even though she was certified as a coach.
The Swiss Super League, one of the most tolerant of female workers in European football, has struggled.
Taking an A4 sheet of paper from your bag with all the Swiss clubs printed on it, grab your pen and put a cross on the penultimate club.
Tap on the last club with a white, slender index finger.
The only second promotion horse, Selveit, fails.
The round table was suddenly bumped, the cup shook, and black coffee spilled.
Tunan looked up impatiently, his brown watery eyes full of impatience.
Who is so short-sighted?
A Swedish man with blond hair combed into a big back, wearing an expensive suit and silk shirt, and shiny shoes.
The expression on his face was earnest, full of the straight, Westerner ambiguity.
“Excuse me, young lady, will you give me a chance to meet you?”
“I’m sorry, I refuse.”
With a mental roll of his eyes, Toonan gulped down his coffee cup, then grabbed his bag and stood up.
‘I’m leaving now, if you’ll excuse me,’ he said.
The man is very handsome, but since the past life, she is an Internet addict who has no interest in men and does not go out for a long time.
Frankly refused words, successfully stopped the decent people’s entanglement.
The man shrugged helplessly at his heckling friends behind him.
He glanced back at the delicate mixed-race beauty of Italian descent.
Her long, white, straight legs were swaying, and her long, curly black hair swung gently behind her with an elegant step as she walked away.
The air seems to be able to smell the faint, with the smell of rose scented women’s cigarettes, the man’s heart is lost.
Summer in Stockholm is typically temperate, with temperatures in the 20s and an island wind blowing in with a faint vapor.
The old town is full of classical churches and soaring minarets, and its narrow streets have a strong medieval feel.
Shops are lined with giant posters of MTV Europe Music Award nominees.
There are more wandering rockers along the roads than ever before.
Meeting big stars in Stockholm at this particular time is as easy as going out to sea and catching basa fish.
It was in this insanely expensive underground car park that Tunen met Britney Spears and her rumored boyfriend, the latest sensation on the European music scene.
But also To the other side’s valuable to sign, the depressed mood can not help but relieve.
Toonan drives a used Volvo Sport sedan.
Driving slowly on the not-so-wide road.
Reach out and twist the radio knob to tune into Stockholm’s local channel.
Listen to bonjovi belting out an 80s-inspired version of lts my life on the radio.
Tunan hummed along, struggling to pass six levels in a previous life, but this life has awakened a talent for language.
He was fluent in Swedish, English, Italian and German.
Maybe that’s her way of getting paid for the 23-year dead ball system.
The most pressing issue now is to sign a first Division club to activate the brake system.
Win, get money from the system, become a big winner in life.
If you can lead the team to the World Cup as a coach, you will also win the ultimate prize, a wish.
Toonan wants to go home to the 21st century, to her mother and father, her family and friends.
So she has to win the big prize, no matter how hard it is.
A huge roar of the engine came from behind.
The beautiful silver Ferrari drifted into the left lane where Toonen was.
Tunan braked and nearly suffocated himself in the inflating airbag.
From behind came a barrage of shrill invective. Toonan looked up at the valuable Ferrari in front of him and muttered.
Its luxuriously restrained silvery gray color certainly did not bring good driving habits and breeding to its owner.
xxx, the damn drag racing party!
Toonan shuts off the engine, pulls out the keys, and RIPS the harness off his body.
He picks up the women’s cigarette, lights it with a royal blue lighter, lifts his leg and slams the door shut.
In front of the Ferrari, the Toonan leg lift is a kick.
A footprint in the car door.
Toonan heard the man in the car swearing in a low, hoarse voice.
Something like a Swedish curse, with something like I’m going to break your ribs.
Window rolled down.
Eyes face each other.
The man’s voice stops abruptly.
Toonan lowered her upper body and propped her right arm, which was holding a smoke-filled cigarette, against the frame of the car, taking in the frozen grumpiness of the man’s face.
Turns out it’s this guy, Ibrahimovic.
Dominating Serie A football at the age of 40, for God’s sake.
And now this guy, he’s so young?
High ponytail, black T-shirt, leather jacket.
Under thick black eyebrows were eagle-sharp black eyes, with a towering nose and a natural arc of defiance at the Angle of the lips.
There was a sort of rough-hewn Yugoslavian handsomeness to them.
As Toonan looked at Ibrahimovic, his eyes were fixed on her.
The corners of her mouth slowly rise in a confident arc.
Toonan:...
This smile, how to look and feel a little bit after 20 years “nuclear good” shadow.
For a few seconds, he stared at the man’s deep, distinctly Yugoslav eye sockets and unusually black pupils.
Tunan took a puff from the cigarette at the tip of his finger, gently and gracefully spitting the ring across the man’s face.
As far as she knew, the bad-tempered man was domineering, petulant and vindictive.
However, he has a decent reputation in football and has no bad record of hitting passers-by in private.
So, she’s cool with it.
“Zlatan Ibrahimovic? I’m sure I’m not mistaken, if that Zlatan guy doesn’t have a twin brother.”
Ibrahimovic’s wild eyes widened in surprise.
Then he squinted as if nothing had happened, the corners of his mouth rising briskly.
“Yes, everyone knows there is only one Zlatan.”
Tunan:...... So he’s still proud? Even as proud as a baby seal?
When dealing with a person who can’t be explained by reason, you should give him some color.
Tunan slowly held out two white fingers.
He took the man’s casually tied tie and wrapped it around his wrist, yanking it ferociously toward him.
Give him a hard, oh, no tug.
It’s a little awkward.
But Toonan was unconvinced, and she decided to try again.
This time, without even trying, the 95kg backbones man was dragged to the front with ease.
Face to face, close can feel the dangerous distance of each other’s breathing, Tunan felt the excitement of the other side hidden in the eye.
Tunan laughed in exasperation.
“Now, little brat, get down from your noble leather seat before I lose the pleasure of talking to you.
Otherwise, I can’t guarantee there won’t be Ibrahimovic hit-and-run headlines in tomorrow’s Holland Dailies.”
Ibrahimovic quickly unbuckled his safety belt.
Obedient let Tunan almost think that this let the netizens joke in the future: Ibrahimovic let God to the left, God dare not go to the right of the domenical man was possessed by something strange.
Tunan some speechless to let go of the position.
Ibrahimovic stepped down from his chair, and a shadow momentarily covered the sun over Toonan’s head.
195cm tall center forward, the head of the striker in the whole European football, the whole person seems to be bigger than the 170cm Tunan.
And that silly smile on her opponent’s face that she thought was more defiant than polite.
Tunan’s eyes narrowed, and she didn’t want to go any further:
“I’ve changed my mind now. After all, conversation is limited to intelligent people with half a brain. Go back and move the car.”
Ibrahimovic’s smile became complicated as he stared hard at Toonan.
“Ok, I’ll move, that’s a promise from Zlatan, and Zlatan never goes back on his word.
But before that, don’t you want a card from Zlatan. Zlatan Ibrahimovic’s signature?”
Toonan deadpanned and pressed his cigarette butt against the silver-gray hood with as much movement as if it were someone’s head in a ponytail.
Ibrahimovic sniffed and continued:
“Of course, of course, nobody carries a marker with them all the time.”
Watch Toonan’s eyes narrowing and impatient.
Ibrahimovic couldn’t help but scratch his brow and dryly said:
“Maybe I can leave my signature in your address book.”
Toonen:...
She now knew why Ibrahimovic, who never had much patience, was so easy to talk to.
This guy... Up to something.
“If your head wasn’t filled with vodka, you’d understand that I’m warning you, not flirting with you here.” And now --”
Toonen reached out to the silver Ferrari and smiled politely:
“Please fuck off.”
Without waiting for Ibrahimovic to react, Toonan turned neatly, walked to his car, opened the door, and sat in.
Ibrahimovic swallowed his words and then stopped:
“Well, dammit, why should I listen to her.”
But Ibrahimovic shoved his long legs back into the driver’s seat, quickly started the car and cut into the centre lane.
Motorists in the centre lane, which has become crowded due to the sudden accident in the left lane, are eager to use the most vile curse words to kick the unruly boy back into his mother’s stomach.
Ibrahimovic could still feel his heart beating in his chest as the Volvo sped away before his eyes.
Until then, only football, and perhaps fast cars, could barely bring that feeling to him.
He stared at the dust kicked up by the engine and was silent for a few seconds.
Ibrahimovic banged the steering wheel hard and said to himself:
“Who does she think she is? I swear to God she’s going to regret missing out on Zlatan.”
