Rondo

When Du An returned home, the house was empty; Ethan was not back yet. He tidied up the place a bit. In his spare time, he focused his gaze on the three beads in his vision. A morning of ball-control training had made the blue bead on the left brighten a bit more. He still hadn't figured out all the functions of the three beads, nor did he know what extent they would eventually reach. But the changes in his body didn't lie. Whether it was physical endurance and explosive power, or the feel for the ball and coordination at his feet, all were improving as the beads' energy increased. It was nearly noon when Ethan finally came home. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his clothes bore grass stains—clearly, he had spent the whole morning playing street football. "Guess who I ran into this morning! David!" he said, bounding over to Du An. "He even asked about you specifically, asking how things are going at Kirkby. He said if it's not going well, you can come to him and he'll take you to Everton. He really hasn't forgotten you—he kept praising you as a super talent, saying Everton will definitely regret missing out on you." Du An didn't take the bait, only telling him to go wash his hands and eat lunch first. In the afternoon, the two stayed home playing video games. After dinner, Du An walked Ethan back to the Andersons'. The elderly couple were sitting in the living room listening to the radio. Seeing them arrive, Mr. Anderson stood up with a smile and patted Du An on the shoulder. "Train hard. I'm waiting to see you step out onto the pitch at Anfield one day." Anderson's expression turned a bit more serious as he added a word of caution, "And if you really make a name for yourself in the future, be sure to stay away from the press—especially that lot from The Sun. Not a single word of truth comes out of them." Du An nodded, taking the advice to heart. He knew how Liverpool fans felt about The Sun; the fabricated reporting after the Hillsborough disaster had long made the rag public enemy number one at Anfield. Early Monday morning. Du An arrived early at Kirkby. Pushing open the door to the U16 dressing room, he found the room already buzzing with chatter. Connor, Adam Pepper, John Flanagan, and a few others sat huddled together, animatedly reliving Liverpool's 3–0 thrashing of Tottenham Hotspur over the weekend. The conversation bounced loudly from John Arne Riise's thirty-yard rocket to Dirk Kuyt's off-the-ball movement. Du An walked over and greeted them one by one. They nodded in reply, but before anyone could say more, Connor called out to the entire room, "Lads, listen up! Starting today, Du An is officially joining us for full team training!" At those words, the dressing room fell momentarily silent. The boys looked at each other. They all remembered the Asian lad who had joined just two weeks ago as a complete beginner, but none had imagined his progress would be so staggering. Could he really keep up with the U16s' regular training so soon? After a few stunned seconds, several of them grinned and offered their congratulations. Du An smiled as well, thanking each of them. Having changed into their kit, the group headed out together toward the training pitch. On the way, Connor leaned in close to Du An. "By the way, here's some news: Adam's being called up to the U18s next week to play in the Premier Academy League. Really envy him. He might even get a shot at the FA Youth Cup this season. "You should push yourself too. Don't know if you've heard, but England U17 qualified for the FIFA U-17 World Championship for the first time in history. "The best players in this U17 squad will probably get pulled up to fill spots in the U20s for the U20 World Cup, which means spots will definitely open up in the U17s. "That's our chance. "So the U18 league and the FA Youth Cup are the best springboards. If you perform well, maybe one of the national youth team coaches will notice you." Du An shook his head at that. "That's way too far off. My foundation is still too weak, and I haven't even played a match yet. How could they notice me? "I'd rather focus on getting match time for our U16s first. "As for you, you've made the U18 squad before. If you work hard for it this time, you'll definitely get your chance to play." Connor had been called up before, but in the end he hadn't managed to get any minutes on the pitch. Connor scratched the back of his head, a look of yearning and longing creeping across his face. "Yeah... If you can showcase yourself on a stage like the World Championship, never mind the Liverpool first team—opportunities in other top leagues will follow." Just as they reached the edge of the training pitch, Heighway walked over from the opposite direction. His gaze swept over the boys, lingering briefly on Du An, before he instructed, "Starting today, train normally with the U16s. If you can't keep up at first, that's fine. The focus is to catch up to the rhythm as quickly as possible and adapt to the intensity." "I will, boss," Du An nodded in response. Heighway said no more, turning to inspect the other pitches. This morning's U16 training was overseen fully by youth academy coach Aslett. Before long, all the U16 squad members had gathered. Coach Aslett briefly laid out the day's training schedule, and the squad began warming up. Everyone jogged two laps around the touchline, followed in turn by dynamic stretches: hip openers, lunge stretches, ankle rotations, and the like. With warm-ups complete, the first official training drill was a staple across every youth team level in England: the rondo, commonly referred to among players as "piggy in the middle." It was a universal drill used from amateur sides all the way to Premier League first teams, testing players' first-time passing, field vision, and defensive anticipation above all else. The U16 squad was split into two groups, each forming a circle with two defenders positioned in the middle. The rules were simple: the outer players could only take one touch, passing among themselves to keep the ball away from the two in the middle; the two in the center were tasked with intercepting or dispossessing, and once they won the ball, they would swap places with whichever player made the mistake. As soon as the groups were formed, Du An was shoved straight into the center of the circle, playing piggy in the middle alongside another substitute. This was an unspoken rule in the youth academy. A newcomer always had to taste what it was like to be run ragged in the middle; no one was allowed to slide easily into the group. Everyone had been hazed by their elders the same way, and when it came their turn, they naturally showed no mercy to the new boy—they'd even heard that in the first team, newcomers had to clean the other players' boots and do chores. The passing around the circle began swiftly. The football was zipped quickly around their feet, flighty in trajectory and shifting in tempo. Several passes were deliberately threaded right past Du An, looking as if he could reach them just by sticking a foot out. But when he shifted his weight and lunged to intercept, he always came up empty, missing by mere millimeters every single time. It was blatant teasing, dangling hope right before his eyes only to snatch it away, making him chase shadows over and over again to embarrass the new boy. Du An, however, remained calm throughout. He darted back and forth continuously, showing no sign of fatigue. The others wanted to watch him make a fool of himself, but he paid no attention to their petty games. His entire focus was fixed on the rolling ball, studying the passers' feet, anticipating the trajectory, and calculating the optimal timing for an interception in his mind again and again. Unbeknownst to him, the blue bead on the left was accumulating energy at a rate far exceeding his usual passing drills. Another round of passes circulated. The ball arrived at James Griffiths' feet. Still looking to toy with him, he aimed to slip the ball past Du An, as he had repeatedly done before to leave him scrambling after it in vain. But this time, the instant his foot struck the ball, Du An seemed to anticipate the trajectory in advance. Dropping his center of gravity suddenly, he thrust his left leg out, the instep planted square in the path of the ball. With a crisp smack, the ball was blocked and ricocheted away. A successful interception! The boys in the outer circle froze, surprise flickering across their faces. They knew better than anyone how tough a rondo was. For a newcomer put in the middle for the first time, never mind winning the ball—just keeping up with the tempo without wheezing for breath was already an achievement. Du An had only been training for two weeks, yet he had not only kept up, but actually won the ball back. Griffiths, meanwhile, furrowed his brows. His face soured. Because now, it was his turn to be the monkey in the middle.