The King

"A professional contract?" Du An's breath hitched abruptly. He didn't quite grasp what a pre-contract was, but the words "professional contract" sent his heart racing. Could he really... be getting a professional contract? Noticing his tension, Heighway smiled and explained, "Regulations dictate that clubs can only sign a legally binding, official professional contract with a player once they turn seventeen. "You're about to turn fourteen, so you still have three years to wait before you can officially sign. "What we call a pre-contract is essentially a gentleman's agreement between us. Liverpool promises that the moment you turn seventeen, we'll offer you a professional contract right away. In return, over these three years, you remain at Kirkby to train with peace of mind and don't engage with any other clubs." He paused, then laid out each specific term clearly. "As for compensation, starting this month, your weekly wage will match the top apprentice tier in England at two hundred pounds a week. Room and board, kit, medical care, and academic classes throughout your training will be fully covered by the club—you won't have to spend a penny. Regarding your grandmother, I'll contact the club's charitable foundation to step in and negotiate her long-term care fees with the hospital, and we'll mobilize fans and the local community to fundraise, doing everything we can to lift that financial weight from your shoulders." Heighway continued, "In terms of your development, I've already spoken with the coaching staff. We'll develop you along the path of a central midfielder. As long as I'm at Kirkby, you'll have the finest training resources and guaranteed, regular playing time. When the right opportunities arise, we'll also arrange for you to test yourself with the U18s." Heighway looked into his eyes. "We're betting on your future, and naturally, we'll take care of the pressures weighing on your life right now." Du An was still somewhat in a daze. He had wondered countless times before when he would be able to earn steady money, when he could secure proper care for his grandmother, and when Ethan wouldn't have to live pinching every penny. He had thought he would have to grind for many more years, waiting until he truly reached the senior professional team. Just like everyone else. Yet now, the club had paved every step of the road ahead for him. They recognized his talent and were willing to invest in his future! A weekly wage of two hundred pounds was one thing, but the most valuable support the club offered was covering his accommodation, meals, and education—and providing that singular pathway into professional football! After a few moments of silence, he looked up. "You've... spoken with Mr. Dalglish, haven't you? What did he say?" "Haha, cautious, aren't you?" Heighway let out a hearty laugh and waved a hand. "Rest easy, we're not going to shortchange you. Kenny cares even more than I do. He went through every single clause of the contract himself. The official signing will wait until after your birthday next month, when he can sign as your legal guardian—completely above board." The last lingering concern in Du An's mind evaporated. He had nothing to lose in the first place; life could hardly get worse than not knowing where his next meal was coming from. He nodded. "All right. I agree." "Excellent. Now..." Heighway nodded, turned to his desk, and retrieved another fixture sheet, bringing it over for Du An to see. "There's one more thing. Train well this week. This weekend, our U16s are away against Everton at Finch Farm Training Ground. "You know how it is between Everton and Liverpool. We might be friends off the pitch, but on it, we're bitter rivals—even at youth level." He looked up at Du An, a faint smile in his eyes. "I remember you had a trial there before, didn't you? If Kenny hadn't made that phone call to me, you might be wearing a blue shirt right now." "Yes, I went," Du An replied calmly with a nod. "They were willing to take me, but they wouldn't offer an apprentice wage, and my family would have had to pay training fees." "Hahaha, that's about the extent of their vision. Finding a Rooney was just Goodison Park cashing in all the luck they'd ever saved up." Heighway patted Du An on the shoulder. "Put on a proper display this weekend. Let them see with their own eyes what kind of talent they missed out on." The remark was half in jest and half in earnest. What he didn't say was that even if Everton had been willing to offer a contract back then, Dalglish would never have allowed Du An to go. With Liverpool blood flowing through his veins and carrying the memory of Hillsborough, how could he ever put on the bitter rival's blue shirt? From the very start, Kenny had paved this path for Du An—and it could only ever be red. Stepping out of Heighway's office, Du An closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his heart still pounding wildly in his chest. He was truly embarking on the professional path. Yet the surge of excitement lasted only a few seconds before he quickly cooled down. He had seen Griffiths, whose talent was by no means exceptional and who had clashed with him before, suddenly disappear from the youth ranks not long ago. No one stated the reason openly, but everyone could guess the club had let him go. Then there was Paul. As Kenny's son, he had enjoyed the finest football resources from childhood, yet his professional journey had been fraught with setbacks, and now, at only twenty-seven or twenty-eight, he was already facing retirement. And Liam, once a Kirkby academy prospect as well, had torn the cruciate ligament in his right knee. Medical standards back then couldn't match today's, and that single devastating injury had severed his professional career entirely, leaving him coaching local kids in the community. The road of professional football was far too brutal. Countless hopefuls fought tooth and nail to break through, but how many actually ended up gracing the pitch at Anfield? A pre-contract was just an agreement without legal force; it didn't guarantee anything yet. Three years remained. Anything could happen in three years: injuries, a dip in form, coaching changes, new club owners... He couldn't let a sheet of paper go to his head. In three years, he would be seventeen—the winter of 2009. Neither terribly long nor particularly short. He had to make every moment count to improve himself. Only by sharpening his own abilities could he truly cement his footing at Liverpool! Nothing else counted. By the time he walked over to the edge of the training pitch, not a trace of emotion showed on his face, looking no different than usual. Seeing him approach, Aslett tipped his chin up. "Heighway go over everything with you?" "Yes, he did." Du An nodded, set down his backpack, and began changing into his football boots. Aslett paused for a second. Then he chuckled, shook his head, gave Du An a thumbs-up, and said, "Good lad." He had seen far too many youngsters who, after securing nothing more than a rotation spot in the U16s, would shout it from the rooftops and let their heads swell to the clouds. Du An, on the other hand, had just earned a pre-contract for a professional deal, yet remained this calm. Such composure was even rarer than raw talent. At the pinnacle of the game, what separated top players in the end was never just the technique at their feet. It was mentality. He suddenly remembered Dalglish standing by the pitch that day, casually asking, "Tell me, do you think it's possible for a defensive midfielder to wear the number seven shirt?" Before, he had thought Kenny was merely voicing a passing wish. Now, watching the boy not far away quietly focusing on tying his bootlaces, he understood. This was never just about wearing the number seven shirt. Kenny wanted to mold this boy into the leader of Liverpool's next era—to have him take up the scepter from the King himself!