The moment the ball hit the back of the net, the entire training ground erupted.
Ben Parsonage slid on his knees, scrambled right back to his feet, and immediately spun around to point at Du An in midfield, waving frantically and screaming at the top of his lungs.
Du An froze for a second, then broke into a grin and sprinted over.
The two collided in a fierce embrace. Ben held him tight, shouting, "What a pass, Du An! Put on an absolute plate! One touch and I was clean through, ready to pull the trigger!"
Connor rushed over right behind him, slapping Du An on the back with eyes crinkled in laughter. "That long ball was terrifying! Half the length of the pitch just like that, and you dropped it on a sixpence! Do you have a god's-eye view or something?"
"I saw Ben making his run, felt the timing was right, so I sent it."
Du An grinned, showing his teeth, his chest still heaving violently. It felt incredible!
Teammates swarmed around him, talking over one another to heap on praise—some patting his head, others bumping his shoulder, cramming together in boisterous celebration.
It was the first time he had truly shared the joy of a goal with the entire squad.
That feeling of belonging meant even more to him than the assist itself.
Up in the stands, the atmosphere boiled over.
Grandpa Anderson leaned over the railing, his beard quivering with excitement. "That vision! That technique! He looks like Xavi out there!"
Ethan gripped the railing and leaped as high as he could, shouting Du An's name over and over until his face turned bright red.
Mrs. Anderson smiled as she held him back, unable to keep from nodding along.
On Dalglish's and Heighway's faces was unmasked astonishment.
Far better than ordinary fans, they understood the true caliber of that pass. It wasn't merely a matter of spotting an opening and kicking the ball there.
"Terrifying," Heighway murmured. "The entire opposing backline was retreating at full sprint. Half a second off, and Ben would've been offside. Release it half a beat early, and Ben isn't in position yet, giving the center-backs time to recover. Not only did he see the channel, he timed the delivery perfectly to the rhythm of their retreat. The drop landed right in the striker's stride where it was easiest to control—one touch, and he was clean through on goal. That vision and pinpoint accuracy are simply unheard of for a boy who's only been training for two months."
"That's pure talent—a born playmaker in the middle!" Dalglish's eyes gleamed with brilliant light. "I want Du An to become Kirkby's pride. Let Benitez see that no matter how many signings the first team makes, Kirkby will always produce its own top-class players. Liverpool's bloodline won't be broken."
Heighway nodded firmly. "Don't worry, I'll look after him. Du An deserves our best development resources."
Out on the pitch, the celebrations quickly wound down, and the players began trotting back toward the center circle.
Trailing behind the group, Du An finally had a moment to ponder the anomaly from just before.
The red bead had lost a full third of its energy, drained the exact moment he unleashed that long pass.
Until now, he had assumed the red bead corresponded strictly to physical attributes like stamina and strength in challenges.
Yet that moment felt more as though the bead had helped him seize a fleeting passing lane, transforming a vague instinct into razor-sharp judgment.
And could his ordinary self have produced such sublime technique on that pass?
It was hard to deny the red bead's enhancement.
He glanced down at his left foot, doubts swirling in his mind.
If that was true, the red bead's capabilities clearly went far beyond what he had discovered so far.
Just like the blue bead, the red bead could expend energy to deliver buffs.
With both the red and blue beads showing their uses, what about the last, permanently silent transparent bead?
Before he could figure it out, *tweet!*
The referee blew his whistle, and play restarted.
Tranmere's manager was visibly agitated, ringing the changes by throwing on two attackers in quick succession to mount an all-out counterattack.
As the match drifted into its final stages, players on both sides saw their fitness drop sharply. Strides slowed, and challenges lost their bite.
With Du An orchestrating play from deep, Liverpool controlled the tempo with steady composure, keeping possession firmly in hand and whittling away the remaining minutes.
As he played on, a light, airy thought quietly crept into Du An's mind.
*It's not that big of a deal after all, is it?*
He thought to himself.
Even with this opposition squad built around U18 players, their midfield wasn't particularly hard to deal with.
At this rate, maybe he would catch up to U18 level in no time.
After such a display on his debut, it was hard not to feel a touch conceited.
Eighty-some minutes in, the match approached its conclusion.
Liverpool earned a corner in the attacking half. Sticking to the tactical plan, Du An hung back as the last line of defense.
The corner was swung in, but an opposing center-back headed it powerfully out of the box, right into the path of their striker.
With a flick of his boot, the striker spun and charged straight into Liverpool's half.
Du An was the only defender back.
His teammates were still stranded up the pitch. The first thought flashing through Du An's mind wasn't to backpedal and buy time for support, but to step up, win the ball directly, and snuff out the counter on the spot.
He accelerated forward to meet him, tracking the ball's path and sticking out a foot to poke it away.
Yet Du An had clearly underestimated his opponent.
The striker was ready for it. With a subtle cut inside, he shifted his body to the side.
Unable to pull his lunging foot back in time, Du An caught the striker flush across the shin.
"Agh!"
The player let out a sharp cry of agony and crashed heavily onto the turf.
*Tweet—!*
The whistle shrilled instantly.
The referee sprinted over, dug into his pocket, and thrust a red card high into the air toward Du An.
Half-kneeling on the grass, Du An stared at the glaring red card, completely stunned.
His mind went blank. The smugness and ease from moments before drained away like a receding tide, replaced entirely by shock.
He even forgot to stand up.
A hand reached down in front of him.
Du An grabbed it instinctively.
Connor pulled him up with a firm tug, patted his back, and offered consolation. "It's fine, mate. Only a few minutes left, and we're ahead. We can hold out with ten men. Don't beat yourself up over it."
Du An stared at the piercing red card without looking at Connor. His lips moved, but in the end, nothing came out.
He knew the rules.
As the last defender, a foul like that gave the referee no choice. The red card was beyond dispute.
He turned and walked toward the touchline, his boots feeling heavy.
Too many things rushed into his head at once—the nervous thumping of his heart before coming on, his teammates' cheers after the assist... and that reckless challenge just now.
The memories tangled together, leaving him in a daze.
Even the referee's whistle sounded muffled, as if separated by a sheet of water.
He had ruined his own debut.
As he reached the touchline, Aslett stepped forward and gave him a gentle hug. "Head back to the dressing room and rest up. It's fine—just an academy training match, doesn't matter. Besides, you played brilliantly and created a goal for us."
Du An nodded numbly.
Yet deep down, he knew better than anyone: being a man down meant his teammates would have to run themselves into the ground to cover for his mistake, paying the price for his rashness.
Walking toward the tunnel, another thought surfaced in his mind: *If I hadn't recklessly lunged in just now, if I'd just tracked back, cut off his passing lanes, and waited for the lads to recover, would things have turned out differently?*
But there were no what-ifs in football.
Up in the stands, Dalglish patted Heighway on the arm, his eyes drifting over Ethan and the Andersons before he said softly, "Keep an eye on them. I need to go down and see Du An."
Chapter 44