Looking at the extra training schedule on the desk, Du An did not hesitate for a second. "I'm not afraid of extra training. Liverpool pay me a weekly wage, so I'll definitely train as hard as I can!"
Heighway nodded at his words, the smile lingering on his face.
Yet deep down, he gave a quiet sigh.
He saw right through him.
The lad was grounded, diligent, and astonishingly perceptive, but he had no love for football.
At least not yet.
To Du An, football was merely a way to make a living. After all, a football academy was probably the only place where a minor could earn a wage.
A rough, even warped family environment had molded him into what he was now—taciturn, with an extremist streak buried deep in his bones.
Opening up to anyone was a struggle for him; it was as though he had wrapped himself in a thick shell, believing that only behind it could he keep himself safe.
Beneath that harsh exterior lay a deep-seated insecurity.
Heighway had read plenty of psychology books. He understood that Du An himself wouldn't see anything wrong; he had long grown accustomed to living this way. But to an outside observer, the issues were glaring.
The books said there were two critical phases in personality development: once the underlying colors were painted in childhood, they were impossible to alter. Du An had clearly aged out of that first window, settling into his current demeanor. Adolescence, however, offered a second crossroads—a stage where character could still be reshaped.
He had no desire to squander such uncut jade, and even less desire to watch the boy treat football as merely a meal ticket. Down that road, he wouldn't get far. Nor would he ever cement his place at Liverpool.
He wanted to give him a hand.
He wanted to turn him into a better footballer, and an even better person!
Pondering for a moment, Heighway recalled Ben Hughes's observation: Du An never opened his mouth on the pitch, offering zero direction to his teammates.
Finding his angle, Heighway spoke slowly. "Of course I believe you'll work hard. As for technical shortcomings, I'm not worried in the slightest. With how quickly you learn, bringing them up to standard is only a matter of time. What truly concerns me is something else entirely."
Du An looked up, a hint of confusion in his eyes.
Heighway smiled and pronounced each word deliberately: "I don't think you look enough like a leader."
Du An froze.
A leader?
Those words felt utterly foreign to him.
Heighway rose, walked over, and patted his shoulder, gesturing for him to take a seat on the adjacent sofa. After pouring him a glass of warm water, he began in earnest: "Tell me, do you think being a deep-lying playmaker just means defending well and tidying up loose balls?"
Du An nodded. That was indeed the extent of his understanding of the position.
Defend, then pass.
"No," Heighway said, shaking his head. "Those are just the baseline requirements. A true deep-lying playmaker is the team's midfield metronome, the fulcrum of transitions between defense and attack, half a manager on the pitch, and the squad's leader."
He broke down the significance of the role piece by piece, laying it all out clearly for Du An. "Defensively, holding your own zone isn't enough. You have to stand in front of the backline, read the opposition's attacking lanes, and direct the fullbacks on whether to tuck inside and the center-backs on whether to step across. Who presses, who drops back—you have to shout it out. You are the midfield's final barrier. If your head gets scrambled, the entire defensive line falls apart with you.
"Attacking-wise, your job doesn't end with releasing the ball, either. Whether the team plays fast or slow, pushes down the flank or strikes through the middle, presses high for a siege or settles down to retain possession—all of that is for you to decide. You stretch their defensive lines with lateral passes, pierce their gaps with through-balls, and tell your teammates where to run and where to stand. No matter how precise your deliveries are, if your teammate isn't in position, it counts for nothing.
"Most critically, you have to bring the other ten men along at your tempo. If someone makes a bad run, alert them. If our shape fractures, shout at everyone to compact. If you keep quiet and just kick the ball with your head down, you won't elevate the squad even if you hit ten inch-perfect passes all by yourself. Football has never been an individual sport. A deep-lying playmaker's job is to forge eleven men into one."
Du An sat on the sofa, silent for a long time.
For the first time, he realized just how much weight rested on his position.
He had assumed that doing his own job was enough, yet Heighway was telling him that he couldn't look after only himself—he had to account for everyone.
"I know you're not there yet." Heighway was, in fact, layering the expectations of a world-class playmaker onto Du An; ordinary defensive midfielders rarely faced such demands. He continued, "You've only been playing football for a fortnight. What you've shown so far is astonishing enough. But my expectations for you have never been limited to a defensive midfielder who merely knows how to pass."
Du An remained quiet for several seconds before asking earnestly, "What should I do?"
"Start by opening your mouth." Heighway looked straight into his eyes, his tone firm. "Beginning tomorrow in training, carry yourself as the midfield's core, as the captain on the pitch. Shout when you need to shout. Don't just focus on playing your own game. You have defenders behind you and forwards ahead of you; you're the thread tying everyone together."
He paused, then added, "I'll pull together some match compilations of legendary deep-lying playmakers for you. Don't just watch how they pass. Pay close attention to how they move off the ball, how they direct their teammates, and how they control the rhythm of an entire match. AC Milan's Pirlo, and Xabi Alonso right here in our senior squad—study them both carefully. Absorb what it truly means to be a midfield leader."
Du An nodded.
Heighway offered a few more parting instructions. "Take a look over that schedule. Tomorrow, our extra work begins."
Du An gave a firm nod. "Understood."
After exchanging a few more words, Du An folded the extra training schedule, slipped it into his pocket, and stood to take his leave.
A window stood open at the end of the corridor.
Liverpool's overcast sky peered in, casting a cool breeze across his face.
Standing by the ledge, gazing up at the low, pressing blanket of clouds in the distance, he whispered two words under his breath.
"A leader?"
The murmur was faint, dissipating into the wind.
Yet those two words took root in his heart like a silent seed.
Du An's footsteps faded toward the end of the hallway.
Silence settled over the office once more.
Heighway sat back behind his desk. After a few seconds of reflection, he picked up the telephone and dialed Kenny Dalglish's number.
The call connected shortly after.
"Kenny, it's me. Du An played in his first internal scrimmage today. His raw talent is undeniable—his performance went well beyond my expectations. But his personality issues are more serious than I thought. He's too closed off, too volatile. He nearly ended up in a fistfight with a teammate today. More than that, I think the biggest problem is that he still sees football strictly as a meal ticket. He hasn't truly integrated into the squad, nor into the sport itself."
Silence fell over the other end of the line for a moment.
Then Dalglish spoke. "I know. You're familiar with his background; given his family situation, it couldn't be helped. Mason kept him on an incredibly tight leash for over a decade."
"What's done is done, but at his age, there's still time to turn things around," Heighway said earnestly. "I want to try pulling him through. Technical drills on the training pitch won't be enough."
He paused, then voiced his thoughts: "If you have the time, take him around the local neighborhoods more often. Let him soak in Liverpool's supporter culture. Let him understand that football is more than just weekly wages and contracts—it's the thread connecting every soul in this city."
On the other end, Dalglish let out a quiet chuckle and agreed on the spot. "Good idea. I'll pick a weekend to take him out for a walk. I'll think of other ways, too."
Hanging up the receiver, Heighway gazed out the window at the misty sky.
Du An had a long road ahead of him, but he was willing to wait.
Chapter 29