Peninsula: Aiming for a Grand Slam

Chapter 90 A formidable foe!

The registration area for the main competition is at the other end of the corridor.

A woman with gray hair flipped Xiao Chen's passport to the visa page, then pulled one out of a stack of laminated documents and pushed it over.

"J.Chen. Wildcard, main draw."

Xiao Chen took the player's pass and hung it around his neck. The strap was white and had the words "ITF World Tour" printed on it.

Schneider stood beside him and told him, "Go to the physiotherapy room first, I've already spoken to them."

On the door of the physiotherapy room, there was a handwritten A4 sheet of paper: Physio

Xiao Chen pushed open the door, and a smell of anti-inflammatory spray mixed with the smell of sweat hit him.

A white player was lying on a massage bed, his back tanned dark and with two old scars on his shoulders.

The physical therapist was preparing to relax his shoulders, and had just placed his palm on them.

He stopped when he saw the player's badge hanging around Xiao Chen's neck.

"Players in the main competition have priority. You come down first and let him go first." The physiotherapist patted the white man on the shoulder.

The white player turned his head and glanced at Chen Jixian.

His gaze fell on Xiao Chen's face, paused for a moment, and then slid down to his player ID—ITFWorIdTour, white ribbon, with "J.Chn" printed on the plastic seal.

He stared at the name for two seconds, then looked up and looked at Xiao Chen's face again.

The therapist was getting a little impatient, so she patted his shoulder again, signaling him to move aside.

The white player didn't say anything, picked up his shoes from the ground, and returned to the plastic chair in the waiting area.

He lowered his head and unwrapped the bandage on his knee. He slowly unwrapped it, revealing dark red marks beneath.

Xiao Chen leaned his golf bag against the wall and lay down on the massage bed. The sheets still held the warmth of the previous person's body, clinging damply to his back.

The physical therapist placed his palm on his shoulder and began to relax the muscles between his shoulder blades.

The technique was swift and the force was just right.

From next door, I heard another player's voice.

"Do you still have any painkillers? I've finished the ones I brought with me."

"Yes, but you need to register."

"I'll ask the race doctor myself."

"Event doctors also need to register."

There was silence for a few seconds behind the curtain, then a very soft "Never mind" came from behind.

The physical therapy session is over.

Chen Jixian sat up in bed, stretched his shoulders, and then picked up his ball.

Chen Jixian pushed the door open to go out, just as someone else pushed the door open to come in. The two of them turned to the side at the same time, their shoulders almost bumping into each other.

"Feel sorry."

Across from me was a white man, about 180 centimeters tall, who spoke English.

But he didn't have a French accent; rather, he spoke with a touch of Italian.

"fine."

Xiao Chen stepped aside.

The Italian nodded and went into the physiotherapy room.

The physiotherapist, seeing him, spoke with a tone noticeably more familiar than he would with the qualifiers: "Luciano, how's your knee today?"

【￥%#%￥#%】

The system is responding.

Xiao Chen looked back. He remembered that face and that name.

Luciano.

Chen Jixian stepped out of the room, and the heat from outside rushed in. Schneider stood in the corridor, holding a sheet of printed paper in his hand, looking down at it.

"Your first-round opponent will be drawn after the qualifiers are over. Your match is tomorrow morning."

Schneider handed him the paper—a training ground allocation table.

Xiao Chen took it, folded it, and stuffed it into his pocket. He took two steps toward the other end of the corridor and then stopped.

"Mr. Schneider."

"Um.

""

"Do you know someone named Luciano? He's probably Italian."

Schneider looked up at him: "Luciano Daldry, you ran into him?"

"In the physiotherapy room. He just came in, and I was just leaving."

Schneider rolled up the training chart and tapped it in his palm.

He didn't speak immediately, as if he were recalling a game video he had watched many times.

"Daldelli is Italian and ranked eighth in the world junior rankings, so he qualified directly for the main tournament."

"His strikes are very heavy, and most people can't catch them. His 'spear' is extremely sharp, and his shield is full of holes."

"He is better at clay courts, and he is a bit immature in terms of personality. When he is in a good rhythm, he will shoot any ball. When he is not in a good rhythm, he will start to struggle with himself."

He glanced at Xiao Chen.

"He's on the other side of the draw. You'll have to make it to the semifinals to meet him."

The system has finished loading.

Luciano Dardelli

[Potential: A]

Age: 19

【attribute】

Forehand: 5

Backhand: 4

Serving return: 3

Stable: 2

At that moment, Chen Jixian felt as if his eardrums were blocking out Schneider's voice.

Level 5 on the forehand?

No wonder Schneider told him that Daldry's forehand was very powerful, and that lower-level players like them might not be able to handle it.

"How does Daldry's forehand compare to Alcaraz's?" Chen Jixian asked.

The German didn't answer, but just glanced at Xiao Chen, his eyes seeming to say—are you serious?

Chen Jixian sighed inwardly.

The senior brother is still too awesome.

Schneider walked towards the parking lot: "Let's focus on the first round, don't think too far ahead."

The parking lot is next to the side gate, with only a dozen or so lines marked, and most of the parking spaces are empty.

An old Renault was parked in the corner, its trunk open, and a player was stuffing a bag into it.

Another player stood nearby, holding his phone: "Are you going back to the city? Can you give me a ride?"

The person who handed over the bag didn't even look up: "Okay, let's split the gas."

The person holding the phone said, "Of course, I won't sit here for free."

As Chen Jixian sat in the car, he suddenly remembered the white man sitting in the plastic chair.

Daldry went in; I hope he wasn't cut in line again.

What's his name?

The physiotherapist called him earlier, but Xiao Chen didn't remember.

Seoul time, Tuesday afternoon.

The rehearsal just ended.

Liu Zhimin calculated that it should still be morning in Monastir, and Xiao Chen's first round of the main tournament had not yet started.

Ningning lay on the floor scrolling through her phone, while Jin Dong tidied her bangs in front of the phone camera.

The door was pushed open.

The agent walked in, carrying a phone stand and a power bank.

She fixed the stand to the table and adjusted the angle so that her phone could capture the entire sofa area: "I'll do a VLive during my lunch break. The company said we need to maintain our popularity before the comeback."

"Let's just sit and chat for a while, it doesn't have to be too long, twenty or thirty minutes will do."

Ningning sat up from the floor: "Now? Wasn't it supposed to be 2 PM? I just finished dancing, my hair is still wet."

"Fans love this kind of thing, and it's only a few minutes left anyway."

The agent straightened up, glanced around, and finally stopped at Liu Zhimin.

"Zhimin, things have been a bit quiet online lately, so be careful when you're live streaming."

"Don't mention anything about Chen or Gao Donghe. If fans ask on purpose, don't reply; just pretend you didn't see it."

Jin Dongtian glanced at Liu Zhimin, then lowered his head again. Ningning sat cross-legged on the floor, her lips moved, but she didn't speak.

Liu Zhimin put the water bottle down.

"I know."

Liu Zhimin sat down on the sofa, and Ningning and Jin Dongtian also found their own seats.

She picked up her phone; there was a news notification on the lock screen, but she couldn't make out the keywords.

"Alright, it's open now," the agent said.

The indicator light for the live stream is on.

>