The Opportunity

The streets were filled with the dampness typical of Liverpool. And a faint smell of coal smoke. Most of the houses in West Derby were old, their red brick walls having turned almost brown. Du An kept running along the familiar route, but the red of the middle bead had hardly grown at all. It had stopped weeks ago. It seemed that simple running could no longer gain him any new red energy. Mm, Du An decided to call that red "energy" for now. But no matter what, running made him feel free; he could feel his body growing excited. Maybe, he could take up long-distance running? The thought flashed through his mind and was gone. By the time he got home, Ethan still hadn't come back. Du An sorted out his homework for the week—tomorrow was Monday, and it was due at school. At thirteen, he still didn't know what he could do with himself; the only thing he could do was make sure he did well in his studies. He felt he was different from other people. It wasn't just the three transparent beads. There was also his own mind, which seemed a little too mature, giving him the sense that he didn't quite fit in among his classmates—to him they looked like a bunch of little kids. Later. Ethan came back first, filthy, flashing Du An a big grin before hurrying off to shower and change, washing his dirty clothes along the way. Once he'd finished all that, Ethan said to Du An, "Mm, today I saw this guy from Everton's youth academy. He's a real monster—taking the ball down the wing, and we couldn't get near it. But even a monster like that barely gets any playing time in the youth squad. Oh, going pro is just too hard. The players who can make it up to the first team, those are the real monsters..." Usually, when Ethan told Du An these things, Du An wouldn't have any response. Ethan was used to it. Near midday, Grandma Mason came home, a little later than usual, but she was clearly in a good mood, wearing a kindly smile. "I ran into Anderson on the way and lost track of time chatting." She turned toward the kitchen. "I'll start cooking." At the name Anderson, Du An grew a little wary and asked, "Is he trying to get you to invest in a pension fund again?" Grandma Mason was in good spirits. "Yes. This project is going to bring us very handsome returns. By the time it pays out, there'll be enough for you and Ethan to go to university, and things will be a lot easier for us after that." Du An felt something was off. Right now, the household's expenses basically all came out of savings—Grandma Mason had no real way of earning money. "Grandma, I think he might be lying. I've read about scams like this in the newspaper—they promise your capital is safe and the returns are high, but what they're really after is your principal." Grandma Mason laughed. "Mm, I know. I'll be careful. But Anderson is a good man." Du An knew his grandmother was just brushing him off—maybe she'd already invested. He hadn't yet said anything more when— Bang, bang, bang! Someone was knocking at the door. Grandma Mason wiped her hands and went to the door. When she opened it, she saw a middle-aged man. "Hello, who are you looking for?" "You must be Mrs. Mason. I'm David Coleman. I've called you these past few days..." The moment she heard that name, Grandma Mason's face darkened. She was about to shut the door at once. But David Coleman was quicker, jamming his hand against the doorframe. "Mrs. Mason, please, hear me out. Your child, Du An, has shown extraordinary football talent. It's a gift from God! Our Everton youth academy is one of the best in all of England. We..." "Shut up!" the old woman snarled. "Don't ever mention that word again! Never! Football... football took everything from me! My husband, my sons, my grandson... they..." As she spoke, that emotion came surging up again. Her chest heaved faster and faster, until she could hardly catch her breath. "They were trapped in there... packed in, people crushed together, the stands all blocked up... crying out over and over... save me... I can't breathe..." Her eyes were vacant, staring into nothingness. The Hillsborough of decades ago was a scene she could never forget. Today's words had torn her old wound open again. Du An and Ethan exchanged a glance. Du An walked over to the door. Since childhood he'd grown used to his grandmother's fear, had heard those nightmare-like murmurs in the dead of night countless times; he knew well what football meant to this family. But in his heart he'd also begun to doubt—was he really unsuited to football? Because that instinct his body had when he played, that reading of the pitch, all of it seemed to come to him naturally, as if he'd been born with it. David seemed to understand something. Because in this city, Heysel and Hillsborough were like two taboo words. He kept on persuading: "Ma'am, the tragedy is a pain of the past, but football itself is innocent. Du An's talent shouldn't be buried—this is his future..." "I told you to shut up." Du An stepped in front of his grandmother. He lifted his head and looked straight at David. "Leave! Don't say another word!" David frowned, taken aback. "Du An, you need to think this through. This is your chance to change your fate. Your talent..." "Talent?" Du An took another step forward, closing in on David. "There's no such thing as talent. Get lost, and never come here again!!" David looked at the boy's unyielding eyes, then at the old woman behind him, tears streaming endlessly down her face. Every word stuck in his throat, and he could say no more. "Okay, okay," David Coleman waved a hand. "I'll go. If you think it through and change your mind, you can come find me at the community pitch." With that, David offered Grandma Mason an apology as well. As he turned to leave, he glanced back at Du An. Du An glared at him. The next day. After breakfast, Du An and Ethan set off for Bishop John Catholic School. The school had produced quite a few footballers, the most famous of whom was, of course, Gerrard. At this school, many of the children had a football dream. He and Ethan weren't in the same grade. After they parted ways— "Hey! Look! Which mental hospital did this lunatic escape from!" a grating voice rang out behind him. Du An stopped walking. These annoyances had come again. "I heard you were having a real good time playing ball in the mud last week? What, has that crazy grandma of yours finally lost control of you?" Another voice joined in. It was Mark, the sidekick who was always trailing after that buzz-cut boy, Billy Carter. Somehow Billy had found out that Du An had been playing football at the community pitch. To these hooligans, the color of Du An's skin was original sin—he wasn't allowed to touch their sacred football. "Hey! I'm talking to you, you yellow-skinned brat!" Mark charged up in a few strides, blocking Du An's way, deliberately slamming his shoulder into him. This was a deliberate provocation. "Move." "I won't. What are you going to do about it?" Mark forced himself to look tough, pushed forward another step until he was almost pressed against Du An, shoving at his shoulder tauntingly. "Heard you can really fight? Come on, then, let me see you, you fatherless, motherless—" Bang! Mark's words cut off short. He hadn't even seen Du An move—he only felt a huge force smash into his face, saw stars burst before his eyes, and went staggering backward to the ground. Du An stood where he was, drew back his fist, and shook out his wrist. He looked down at Mark sprawled on the ground, his voice ice-cold: "I told you to move."