The Red Bead

As the cheering died down, the match resumed. Du An's attention finally shifted entirely to the pitch. He watched the players' movements on both sides, noting the open pockets in midfield and the space out wide. Following the ball with his eyes, passing lanes naturally took shape in his mind. Which flank had blown its coverage, where space could be exploited behind the line, which side the midfield needed to switch play to stretch the defense... These thoughts surfaced with crystalline clarity, as though he were watching the entire pitch from a bird's-eye view. He couldn't help picturing himself out there. If he were the one in midfield, how would he distribute the ball? How would he orchestrate play? Thinking this through, the nervousness that had churned inside him slowly began to ebb away. When all was said and done, the players were running the same tactical drills they had rehearsed hundreds of times. Except for a change of kit and the presence of a referee, it was essentially no different from an intrasquad scrimmage. After Ben's goal, neither side produced anything of note for the remainder of the first half. The tempo of youth matches wasn't particularly fast to begin with, lacking the intricate tactical systems of a first team. Goals usually came down to individual bursts of skill or capitalizing on an opponent's blunder. Liverpool dominated possession, yet they couldn't breach the opposing backline a second time. Tweet! The referee blew his whistle, bringing the first half to a close with Liverpool holding a 1-0 lead. The players trooped off the pitch. Some slumped to the grass to wipe away sweat, while others stood catching their breath with water in hand. Coach Aslett gathered the starters around him to point out their flaws: "Your attack is dragging its feet. You're hesitating to pass when you should, and you're half a step slow pushing forward into space. On top of that, your recovery after pressing high is far too sluggish. There's a massive hole in defensive midfield, giving them all the room they need to counter..." Du An listened attentively, quietly committing every critique to memory. The fifteen-minute halftime interval flew by. The second half got underway as the teams swapped ends. The tension Du An had managed to ease began to coil tight again. Heighway had told him he would get playing time; now that the second half had started, his debut was truly at hand. Yet the longer he waited, the more uncontrollably his heart raced. On the pitch, Liverpool remained in control, but they squandered chance after chance. Parsonage cut inside only to drag his shot wide; the striker crashing the box was half a step late to meet a cross; and a long-range effort from outside the area sailed over the crossbar... Unable to capitalize on sustained pressure, Liverpool finally left an opening, and Tranmere seized it on the counter. A winger forced his way down the flank and delivered a cross that ricocheted off a Liverpool defender and went out behind the goal line. Corner. The opposing center-back charged into the box, using his height advantage to leap high and powerfully head the ball into the net. David Roberts, in goal after replacing Martin Hansen, could only watch helplessly. The header had simply been from too close range! 1-1! In the sixtieth minute, Tranmere Rovers Youth had leveled the score. The visitors celebrated their equalizer in high spirits. On the touchline, Aslett frowned and shook his head. He turned toward the bench, ran his gaze over the substitutes, and called out a couple of names: "Nardiello... Du An... warm up. Be ready to go on at any moment." Hearing his own name, Du An felt his heart leap, a rush of blood surging straight to his head. He got to his feet, his legs feeling a little floaty. Following the assistant coach over to the touchline warmup area, he began running through stretches, high knees, and short sprints. "Du An! Come on, mate!" Ethan's loud shout carried over from the stands, audible even from a distance. Du An instinctively looked up. Heighway had joined Dalglish at some point, and the two men were leaning against the railing side by side, speaking in low voices. Noticing his gaze, both looked up and offered warm, encouraging smiles. Du An lowered his head and redoubled his focus on warming up. In the sixty-ninth minute, during a break in play, Aslett waved toward the sideline. Straight swaps. Striker Michael Nardiello came on for Lewis Bent. In defensive midfield, Tom Ward came off to make way for Du An. Aslett put an arm around Du An's shoulder, issuing rapid instructions into his ear: "First, lock down their number ten, Gray. He's their primary playmaker—don't give him room to turn. When we attack, you don't need to push too high. Steady the backline, and stay alert to their counters at all times. Your distribution is sound, so take charge of our build-up from deep. Pass with confidence, and don't be nervous." "Got it, Coach," Du An said with a nod, stepping up to the sideline. Tom Ward jogged off, opening his arms to give him a hug and patting him on the back. "Go smash it, lad." Du An took a deep breath and stepped onto the pitch. Feeling the turf give beneath his boots, he exhaled a long breath, pushing every stray thought from his mind. All that remained were tactics, movements, and passing lanes. Running toward his position, he called out to his nearby teammates: "Tactics stay the same! I'm taking Tom's spot—holding and orchestrating from deep!" The players around him nodded. Having shared the pitch in countless training matches, they had already built up a mutual understanding with Du An. Not far off, Connor looked back and flashed him a proud thumbs-up. Over the next few minutes, Du An settled into the rhythm of the game. Stationed in front of the defensive line like a shield, he repeatedly positioned himself early to anticipate their central penetration. While he didn't manage clean interceptions every time, he at least delayed their forward push, buying his teammates crucial seconds to recover their defensive shape. Whenever their number ten, Gray, received the ball with his back turned, Du An pressed tight against him, denying him an easy turn. Still, Du An could clearly feel that the physical contest against U18-level players was on a different tier. He had trouble sticking to his man under heavy contact. In contrast to his defensive graft, Du An looked far more comfortable on the ball. His tidy short passes kept Liverpool's overall possession ticking smoothly. A series of lateral switches found space on the wings with pinpoint precision, gradually settling the tempo of the midfield. There were mistakes, of course. Dropping back once to collect a pass from the keeper, he took a touch that was half a step too heavy, nearly allowing an opposing forward to poke the ball away. Fortunately, a teammate stepped in just in time to clear, preventing a disaster. Du An frowned at himself, quickly scurrying back into position with his focus sharpened even further. Up in the stands, Heighway and Dalglish stood side by side, their eyes fixed on the slender figure on the pitch. "The lad really is gifted," Dalglish murmured with admiration. "His vision, touch, tactical sense—it's all natural instinct. Barely two months of training, yet he's playing with this much composure in his first official match. Remarkable." "Speaking of which, wasn't he originally headed to Everton for a trial?" Heighway said with a grin. "Would you really have let him go to Everton?" Dalglish chuckled, turning to him. "Do you honestly think I'd let a boy with Liverpool blood in his veins run off to Everton?" Heighway let out a hearty laugh and said no more, turning his gaze back to the action. Right then, Liverpool cut out an opposition pass and instantly launched a counter-attack. The ball rolled to Du An's feet just as the Tranmere players sprinted back to defend, leaving massive gaps stretched across the midfield. Almost purely on instinct, a sudden, overpowering impulse flashed across Du An's mind. A clear line opened before his eyes—on the right flank, Parsonage was bombing forward at full speed, and the opposing fullback had yet to recover his position. Without a shred of hesitation, Du An adjusted his stride and lashed through the ball with his left foot. The football soared into the air, flying across the entire midfield as though guided by eyes of its own, dropping cleanly into the vacant corridor on the right wing. The moment he struck the ball, the phantom image of three beads flashed before Du An's vision. The red bead, dormant for so long, suddenly drained of a full third of its accumulated red energy! Before he could even process what had happened, an earth-shaking roar erupted from the touchline. Ben Parsonage ran onto the dropping ball in stride, took one touch to break clean through on goal, and fired home a ferocious strike that crashed into the back of the net! 2-1! Assisted by Du An, Ben Parsonage had secured his brace!