Adapting

The match officially got underway, and Anfield's madness was unleashed without restraint. The roar from the stands never ceased. The cheers of tens of thousands of red-clad supporters washed over the ground like a tidal wave. All those waving flags and replica shirts converged into a sea of red, undulating endlessly across the terraces. It was an intensely clamorous sea. Screams mingled with the restless buzz unique to English stands, woven through with the foul-mouthed abuse hurled at Tottenham's players by supporters scattered everywhere. Every sort of noise collided in the air. Beside him, Ethan had completely surrendered to the frenzy, screaming at the top of his lungs from the opening whistle. Every Liverpool attack and defensive stand sent his emotions soaring and plummeting in turn. It was pure, unadulterated passion. Sitting in the midst of the crowd, Du An found it harder to blend in so naturally. He felt somewhat constrained. Faced with such a spectacle, he could not shake a sense of detachment. Before this, his life had consisted solely of school. He had never set foot in a stadium, never experienced the boiling roar of tens of thousands of supporters. Yet fate was remarkably strange. Before he could fully comprehend the magic of football, he had already stepped through the gates of a professional academy, embarking on a path countless people could only dream of. He did not reject Anfield's fervor; he quietly took it in. As the surrounding madness grew familiar, the surging crowd, the roller coaster of emotions, and the sheer ecstasy began seeping into his heart bit by bit. It led him to gradually shed his feeling of estrangement and try to decipher the magic unique to this sport. On the pitch, the contest was fiercely deadlocked. Liverpool held no decisive advantage, and both sides remained locked in stalemate, with genuine attacking highlights few and far between. It was not until the thirty-fifth minute that the first golden opportunity of the match arrived. Liverpool swung in a corner. A Tottenham defender scrambled to clear inside the penalty area, nearly bundling it into his own net, and the ball crashed heavily against the post before deflecting out over the byline. *Clang!* The sound of ball meeting metal seemed to vibrate through the chest of every soul in the stadium. A split second later, a collective groan of despair rippled across the stands. Countless supporters buried their faces in their hands, overcome with regret. Ethan stamped his feet in frustration, shouting at the top of his voice. "God! How did that stay out? What a chance!" Du An stared out at the pitch, feeling a pang of disappointment stir within him as well. For the first time, he understood how a single goal, a single moment of attack or defense, was enough to tug at the heartstrings of tens of thousands of people. A small ball possessed such immense power over human emotion. Barely a minute later, another surge of drama erupted on the pitch. Gerrard unleashed a decisive strike from inside the box. The ball struck the outstretched arm of Tottenham defender Ledley King—Gerrard's England teammate. The entire stadium shot to their feet in unison, every arm thrust into the air as they frantically signaled for a handball, waiting for the referee's whistle to award a penalty. Yet the referee remained unmoved. With a decisive wave of his hands, he signaled play on, refusing to point to the spot. In an instant, Anfield blew its top! Liverpool players immediately swarmed the official, gesturing and protesting with righteous indignation. The tens of thousands in the stands were even more incensed. A torrent of fury, curses, and deafening boos completely swallowed the ground. "Penalty! That's a stonewall penalty! Are you blind?!" "Bloody ref! How can you not give a blatant handball like that?!" "Useless bastard! You're ruining the match! You don't know a bloody thing about football!" Curses, roars, and jeers rose and fell in waves. Supporters turned crimson, veins bulging on their necks. They were beside themselves with rage over the injustice done to their team! Ethan lost all restraint as well, joining the chorus of abuse and shouting until his face was flush with fury. Sitting amid the agitated crowd, Du An did not join in the swearing. From an early age, his grandmother had taught him to carry himself with civility, forbidding him from uttering foul words or hurling reckless abuse. Yet his grandmother had never taught him what to do when confronted with discrimination or outright offense. And so, growing up, Du An had forged his own rule of survival: he would not look for trouble, and he would not curse, but if anyone deliberately tried to bully him or treat him unfairly, he would strike straight back without a shred of weakness. That contradictory character had taken root within him. On the surface lay everyday gentleness. Beneath it rested absolute ferocity. Du An looked around at the red-faced supporters arguing so passionately. He understood their fury. Yet no matter how loudly the ground protested and cursed, the referee's decision could not be undone. In the end, accompanied by the referee's whistle, a tense and grinding first half drew to a close with the scoreline stuck at 0–0. A stalemate like that was far from enough to satisfy the Anfield faithful. Throughout the fifteen-minute interval, the stands remained bustling and noisy. Supporters clustered in groups of two and three, endlessly rehashing the first half. "If Kuyt's movement had been just a touch sharper, that chance would've been buried!" "Gerrard's shot just lacked a bit of power. A fraction more accuracy and it was in!" "Fucking ref, that was a stonewall penalty!" "Idiot official, he's definitely on the take!" "Alonso played an unbelievable pass. It's just a shame no one was on his wavelength to get on the end of it, otherwise that was a massive threat..." Scraps of conversation drifted into Du An's ears. He listened in silence, his eyes fixed on the empty pitch. Looking back over the first half, he quietly wondered: if he had been out there in those same positions, how would he have moved, how would he have linked play, and how would he have seized those chances? Beside him, Ethan remained as keyed up as ever, not the least bit discouraged by the goalless scoreline. Taking advantage of the break, he kept lecturing Du An on club lore. He eventually turned to the man currently steering Liverpool: Rafael Benitez. "Did you know? That Spanish bald guy is the person Coach Heighway dislikes most, but he's an absolute top manager!" "Back when he was at Valencia, he won two La Liga titles and a UEFA Cup. In his very first year at Liverpool, he brought home the Champions League—nobody can touch that pedigree!" "The thing is, he's fiercely ambitious and demands total control. He wants absolute authority like Ferguson—transfers, the youth academy, every single aspect under his thumb. He's convinced that having complete centralized oversight is the only way forward for the club." "Because of that, his relationship with the Kirkby academy is atrocious. The papers are always running rumors that Benitez wants to completely overhaul the youth system, only it's been held in check for the time being..." Hearing that, Du An frowned slightly. If this famous Spanish manager truly took an axe to the academy, would his hard-won apprenticeship contract be ripped up on the spot? That was a weekly wage of 110 pounds! Still, he figured that struggles at the top level ought to have nothing to do with an obscure youth apprentice like him. Besides, Kenny Dalglish was the one who had secured the contract for him. Even new management would have to show Dalglish some degree of respect, wouldn't they? Amid Ethan's relentless chatter, the second half got underway.