Competition

On the touchline. Watching the goal, Heighway couldn't help clapping his hands in praise. He turned to Ben Hughes beside him. "What do you think? Is he ready to play in an official U16 friendly now?" He added, "Don't forget, before this match, he had never played a full eleven-a-side football match in his life. Sometimes, natural talent is just that unreasonable." Ben Hughes folded his arms, his expression serious. He didn't give a casual answer. Instead, he carefully reflected on what Du An had just displayed before saying, "The kid is good. In terms of raw talent, he's an absolute super-genius. A born midfield orchestrator. "Passing vision, spatial awareness—those aren't things you can teach. He was born with them. "Just look at that through-ball after the one-two. Plenty of U18 midfielders couldn't deliver a pass that sweet. If we properly develop him and he progresses normally, he has a very high chance of becoming the core of the first team's midfield in the future." Heighway didn't immediately reply. He knew Ben's personality; praise was always followed by the drawbacks. Sure enough, Ben continued, "However, he definitely can't be thrown straight into official matches yet. There's still a huge gap. "His on-ball ability is virtually non-existent. "Everything he does with the ball relies on one-touch passing. He has no ball-carrying progression and can't even manage the most basic dribbling to beat a man. Once his passing lanes are shut down by the opposition, he either has to play a safe back-pass or turn the ball over. "Shielding the ball with his back to goal is even more of a weakness. He doesn't know how to use his body to box out. The moment someone presses him tight, he can't hold up the ball and can only rush a pass. "And his sense of defensive structure is far too raw. "He has some instinct for reading passing lanes, but it's only preliminary. Besides, the other U16 boys aren't that strong. Against higher-quality opponents, Du An might not even touch the ball. "His defensive positioning lacks depth. If the opposition drags him around with a couple of quick runs, he's easily drawn out of his zone, and he mistimes his cover once he's out of position. "His frontal defending relies entirely on physical strength, and he loves to gamble, making him prone to overcommitting and getting bypassed. Plus, when his reactions lag, in a competitive match, he'll easily pick up fouls and cards." Heighway nodded. Ben was entirely right. Ben wasn't finished. "And while his passing is good, his range of delivery is far too one-dimensional. "Accurate enough, but it's all grounded through-balls and flat, brisk lateral passes. No over-the-top long balls, no curling variations. Once opponents figure out his delivery habits, they can easily anticipate and intercept. "Specialized techniques like crosses and set pieces are nonexistent for him—he's a complete beginner and has to start from scratch. "Finally, his decision-making in high-tempo play is lacking. "When setting up in static positions, he reads the game crystal clear. But when it comes to high-speed transition phases between attack and defense, his processing speed drops noticeably. "Whether to push forward or hold back during a counter, whether to step up or drop deep when tracking back—he's still green. "Oh, and one more thing!" Ben suddenly remembered something and quickly added, "As a defensive midfielder, he's far too quiet! He barely opens his mouth to shout. A midfield orchestrator has to shout, has to direct traffic, has to let his teammates know where to run. He has zero awareness of that yet." In the end, Ben Hughes concluded, "In an intrasquad match, the intensity is low and the pace is slow. His strengths are magnified while his flaws are hard to exploit. But in a real match, once the intensity ramps up, opponents will target these shortcomings relentlessly. "He might be a super-genius, but he still needs to be built up step by step; you can't rush it. Of course, he's only just taken up football, so my standards for him are definitely set too high. He's not bad at all." Heighway nodded, his eyes never leaving Du An's figure. "Right. A genius, yes, but he certainly needs time. "But time is the one thing we can give him. "Forgot to tell you: this kid's learning speed is what's truly terrifying. Tactics taught this morning, he executed on the pitch this afternoon without missing a beat. You wait and see—give him two months, and he'll blow you away completely. "I'm thinking of drawing up a tailored training regimen for him, patching up his weaknesses one by one, aiming for him to start for the U16s or make the bench for the U18s next season." Ben Hughes pondered briefly, then nodded in agreement. "I remember from his registration files that his birthday is on Christmas. Next season he'll be nearly fifteen. Playing up to the U18s isn't out of the question, but he'll have to put in some serious grind." The two stood by the touchline, mapping out Du An's development path in just a few words. The match on the pitch entered its closing minutes. However, as Heighway and Ben Hughes continued talking, a commotion suddenly erupted on the pitch. Players crowded together as shouting broke out on the training ground. On the final defensive play, Griffiths deliberately went in with a dirty tackle from behind and to the side, studs showing, aiming straight for Du An's ankle with clear intent to injure. Yet Du An reacted lightning-fast. Evading sideways, he threw his shoulder into Griffiths's chest with full force, knocking him back several paces and flat onto his backside on the turf. Griffiths was already fuming inside, and being bowled over in front of everyone made him lose face completely. Scrambling up, he charged forward and shoved Du An hard. Du An swayed slightly from the shove but quickly found his footing. Instead of backing down, he stepped forward, staring straight into the other boy's eyes. "What do you want? Want a fight? Give it a go." He stepped closer, getting right in Griffiths's face. "Lay another finger on me, and I swear I'll break your nose crooked!" "You fucking rammed me on purpose, and you think you're in the right?" Griffiths stuck his neck out, shouting red-faced with veins bulging. "You started this! I didn't do anything!" Teammates rushed in to break up the scuffle, hands reaching in from all sides to drag the two apart. In truth, everyone saw it clearly: Griffiths had targeted him, and Du An had simply answered force with force. But nobody was about to stick their neck out right now. Aslett jogged over in a few strides and shoved the two apart, his face darkening. Without asking who was right or wrong, he barked sharply, "Break it up! Fighting in training? Have you lost your minds?!" Once the two were pulled apart, he glared at them. "Griffiths, Du An, five laps around the pitch, both of you. Don't come back until you've cooled off. Intrasquad matches have rules. Dirty tackles and throwing hands cross the line. Do it again, and you're suspended from training for a week!" He didn't dig into the causes or take sides, handing down equal punishment to both. In a youth academy, such hot-blooded clashes were all too common. Making them run laps was far more effective than lecturing. Du An and Griffiths exchanged vicious glares before heading off to run their laps. Heighway and Ben Hughes didn't move. They simply watched from afar, with no intention of stepping in. Things like this were completely normal in an academy. They were half-grown boys full of fire; bumps and scrapes on the pitch were inevitable. Mostly, they worked it out themselves—after all, it was part of growing up. Unless a player was a golden prospect prized by the club, youth coaches wouldn't wrap them in cotton wool. As for everyone else? They were on their own.