Call-Up

A new week of training began with rondos. By now, Du An was thoroughly familiar with the warm-up exercise, and no one deliberately gave him a hard time anymore. The squad had discovered that their U16 rondos had developed a glitch. The player with both the highest tackle success rate and the highest passing accuracy was the same person. Du An. In the seven-man pressing circle, Du An rarely made an error; the ball seemed glued to his feet. His movements were by no means flashy, but his fundamentals were rock-solid, rarely giving pressing defenders a chance to stick out a boot and dispossess him. During the tactical positioning drills that followed, his judgment of space grew ever more precise. This gave him a deeper understanding that all tactics were fundamentally about creating and using space. It also made Du An miss the immersive tactical experience granted by the blue bead even more. What a pity. The blue bead didn't have enough energy yet. After several extra training sessions and watching countless match videos of other players, Du An's defensive positioning had improved significantly. At least he was no longer easily drawn out of his zone by lateral passes. All told, in just over a month, Du An had fully caught up with the tempo of U16 training. In vision and tactical discipline, he had even begun to quietly surpass many of the veterans. No one treated him as an inexperienced raw recruit anymore. Afternoons were reserved for academic classes. Kirkby partnered with a nearby secondary school, and the underage academy scholars went there every afternoon to complete their compulsory education. When classes finished after five and they returned to the complex, most players packed up their things and headed back to the dorms, but Du An always stayed behind for an extra hour of practice. At first, Aslett came out to guide him. Later on, he left him to train on his own. Du An worked through every item on the special training schedule, day in and day out without fail. Every day was packed to the brim—either training or class, followed by studying player match footage at night, leaving him hardly a moment to zone out. Yet Du An didn't feel exhausted at all; instead, he felt grounded and secure. With each extra day of work, he could clearly feel his progress, gaining greater command over the ball and a deeper grasp of tactics. The beads in his vision were quietly changing as well. The red bead, dormant for so long, had finally gained a sliver of energy. Faint as it was, almost imperceptible, it was at least growing. The blue bead filled faster. Through daily training, it had accumulated a substantial amount of blue energy. Only the transparent bead remained completely still, without the slightest stir. Time flew by amidst the drills, and in the blink of an eye, the weekend arrived again. While others made plans to head into town to shop or watch a match, Du An grabbed a football and went out to juggle, keeping it in the air for an entire afternoon. Nowadays, he rarely let the ball leave his feet. Walking, waiting around, or heading back to the dormitory—he dribbled wherever he went. That was how fundamentals were forged. In the new week's inter-squad scrimmage, the difference became even more apparent. Du An no longer played in silence with his head down; he began calling out instructions proactively. "Full-back, tuck in a bit!" "Connor, run into the space behind!" "Play it back, reset the tempo..." Gradually, his teammates were more than happy to listen. After all, the ball always arrived comfortably at their feet, which was far more effective than running around aimlessly. Connor was especially in tune with him, often dragging away a marker on his own initiative to open up passing lanes for him. Their one-two combinations grew slicker with each passing day, making them the most reliable link in midfield. When Wednesday afternoon's session ended, the boys were wiping off sweat and getting ready to head off when Aslett suddenly clapped his hands to gather everyone. "Two announcements! Adam Pepper, Martin Kelly—starting this week, you're called up to train with the U18s and feature in their upcoming fixtures. You'll return to the U16s next month." A round of applause broke out among the boys, not entirely unexpected. Both were standouts in the U16s: one a box-to-box midfielder who could run and tackle, the other a defender blessed with exceptional physical traits. It had only been a matter of time before the U18s called on them. Besides, it was only a temporary call-up; they would be back. Once the clapping died down, Aslett dropped the second piece of news: "And Martin Hansen—starting today, you are officially promoted to the U18 squad on a permanent basis to serve as starting goalkeeper for the Academy League and the FA Youth Cup. Today is his last training session with the U16s." At those words, the players froze for a second before erupting into even louder applause. A temporary call-up to train was completely different from a permanent promotion. The latter meant truly stepping across the threshold of the professional ranks, one step closer to the first team. Standing in the group, Martin Hansen blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as he smiled and nodded his thanks to everyone. The group gradually dispersed. Walking toward the changing rooms with Du An, Connor said, "I'm so jealous. Once you make the U18s, your chances of earning a pro contract shoot way up. I wonder when we'll ever get there." Du An didn't speak. He simply looked up toward the U18 training pitch. The setting sun cast long shadows through the distant wire-mesh fence. The chain-link fencing carved the training grounds into section after section. For many, a lifetime wouldn't be enough to cross those fences and make it to the next pitch. Everyone had their eyes on the players called up to the U18s. Yet Du An noticed that Griffiths, who had clashed so bitterly with him before, hadn't appeared on the pitch once this week, and his locker in the dressing room was cleared out completely. No one knew where he had gone. And nobody cared—like a drop of water falling into a river, vanishing without a sound. Du An knew that if he didn't work even harder, one day he might end up just like Griffiths, quietly disappearing from these pitches. Time sped past. Friday afternoon's session wound down. Du An went to Heighway's office as usual. "Your weekly wage." As Du An took the envelope, Heighway said with an approving nod, "You've done well lately. Whether it's your dribbling fundamentals or defensive positioning, you've progressed much faster than I expected. The original special training plan can't keep up with your pace anymore. Come in early next Monday, and I'll adjust the program for you." "Thank you, Boss." Du An nodded earnestly. Heighway looked at him, then shifted the conversation. "Kenny told me you've been helping out at the HJC shop on weekends?" Du An paused, surprised that the coach knew about it, but quickly nodded. "Yes, sir. I've been there twice now. Just sorting stock and lending a hand." Heighway smiled and didn't press for details, waving a hand. "Keep it up. It's good to get out on the weekends instead of burying your head in training all the time." Though a little puzzled by why Heighway had brought it up, Du An nodded in agreement. He said goodbye and left the office. He didn't dwell on it, shifting his thoughts back to the updated training plan for next week. At nine o'clock the following morning, Du An pushed open the glass door of the HJC shop right on time. Amid the soft chime of the brass bell, he noticed that besides Sarah, an unfamiliar young man was standing by the counter. He looked to be in his early twenties, tall and slender, wearing thin-rimmed glasses and a red hoodie. His demeanor was distinctly different from the others, exuding a scholarly air. The two were chatting. Hearing the bell, they both turned to look. "You're here?" Sarah looked up, waving him over. She gestured toward the young man. "This is Jack Hughes. He works here at the shop too. He isn't a victim's family member, but he shares our cause. He marched alongside me back in university—an old partner of mine, you could say." Jack offered a warm smile and lightly shook Du An's hand. "Hello, Du An. Sarah's told me about you." "Hello," Du An replied with a nod. Just as he was about to ask what needed doing first, Sarah picked up the canvas tote hanging by the door and slung it over her shoulder. She tilted her chin toward Jack. "I'm leaving you to watch the shop today. I'm taking Du An out with me—there's an event in the community, and I need him to come along." With that, she smiled at Du An. "Let's go."