It's Him

Hearing Du An's answer, Flanagan gave him a thumbs-up. Both-footed. He had only had a vague hunch before, but today it was confirmed once and for all. He felt surprised, yet it wasn't entirely unexpected. It was merely another superhuman gift to add to Du An's repertoire. Perhaps true geniuses were simply cut from a different cloth right from the start, just like Michael Owen, the idol of his childhood. Famous across England before he was even a teenager, possessed of lightning speed and deadly composure in front of goal. Back then, Gerrard beside him had seemed like little more than an unremarkable supporting act. Yet Flanagan couldn't help a quiet sigh in his heart. That idol hadn't lasted after all. Even now, he couldn't fathom why Owen had left Anfield to spend a year at Real Madrid, only to drift back to England and join Newcastle United, fully donning another club's shirt. Ever since, the Son of the Wind had died in his heart, reduced to nothing more than the hazy shadow of a passing stranger, devoid of even a trace of his youthful brilliance. Flanagan looked at Du An's slender back. A sudden thought crossed his mind: would Du An leave Liverpool one day too? Nobody knew the answer. Tweet! The referee's whistle blew, officially getting the Merseyside U16 derby underway. Youth matches were always wide-open, frantic affairs. Both sides pushed forward the moment they had the ball, and transitions from attack to defense took only seconds. Only the final pass or shot outside the penalty box lacked polish. Over the opening ten minutes or so, both teams took shots, but all flew wildly off target. Du An's impact, however, was evident from the very first minute. Everton's midfield maestro, Adam Forshaw, was having a miserable time. A textbook left-footed player, Forshaw was used to orchestrating attacks with his strong foot. Yet today, the slight, Asian teenager facing him clung to his left side like a shadow, permanently cutting off the inside channel and steering him out wide, onto his right foot. Every time Forshaw wanted to trap the ball comfortably and turn on his left, a figure materialized in front of him in the nick of time, forcing him to awkwardly nudge the ball with his right. His entire rhythm was completely disrupted. After several clashes, fury began to simmer inside Adam. During a stoppage in play as they brushed past each other, he lowered his voice and glared viciously at Du An. "Don't get cocky, kid. I'm going to blow right past you and score in your face." Du An's expression didn't waver. If anything, he found it somewhat comical. Did football follow the same trend as street fighting, where everyone had to exchange trash talk first? He simply replied in a calm voice, "I'll be waiting." Adam didn't get his goal, but Du An's presence only grew stronger. Defensively, he held his ground with exceptional composure, refusing to give an inch in the middle of the pitch. Adam was repeatedly forced out wide. Whenever a teammate lost their man, Du An shifted across laterally to cover the gap, quietly patching every hole in the defensive line. In attack, his voice also began ringing out with authority. "Connor, right side!" Du An looked up with the ball at his feet and barked a sudden call. Connor instinctively accelerated down the right wing, dragging the attention of two Everton defenders with him. Just as everyone expected a pass out to the right, Du An drilled a low, cutting ball straight through the grass, stabbing it into the pocket of open space on the left. Lewis Bent had already read the move and surged forward, meeting the ball with acres of open green ahead of him. Lewis carried it all the way down to the byline before whipping a hard, low cross across the face of goal. The ball traveled with searing pace. At the near post, both Michael Nardiello and an Everton center-back lunged to intercept, completely drawing the goalkeeper's focus as well. Yet no one made contact, and the ball skidded right through to the back post. Ben Parsonage galloped in, went to ground, and stuck out a boot! The ball slammed directly into the empty net! Goal! "Great ball!!" the Liverpool players cheered. Ben scrambled up from the turf and pumped his fist as he sprinted toward the touchline, where his teammates mobbed him in a chaotic heap of hugs. "What a pass you gave me!" Lewis grinned, clapping Du An on the shoulder. Connor scratched his head, looking a little sheepish. "I thought you were passing to me! I made that run for nothing." Du An laughed heartily. "I only had you drag their men away so I'd have room to play Lewis in on the left." "So you basically fooled all of Everton, huh?" "That's not fooling them. That's tactics." Flanagan smiled as well. "Having you calling things out in the middle makes playing so much easier." "Don't worry," Du An said, looking toward Everton's half with sharp intensity in his eyes. "Ben, Michael, you two be ready to burst into the box at any moment. Their defensive line has holes wider than a highway today. There'll be plenty more chances—we can score again." Ben clenched his fist with boundless confidence. "Let's do it! Let's get a hat-trick on them!" On the touchline, Everton U16 manager Neil Dewsnip was roaring at his back line, spit practically flying onto the pitch. The Everton players looked grim, their resentment toward Liverpool deepening. It was Liverpool's fault they were getting yelled at! Up in the stands, Ray Hall's brows knit together. He turned to Dalglish beside him, unable to hold back any longer. "Can you tell me now? Which kid did you actually come to see?" Dalglish gave an easy smile, still playing his cards close to his chest. "What's the rush? Just wait a bit and watch. You'll figure it out." Heighway sat beside them with a faint smile playing on his lips. Kenny's fiercely protective streak hadn't changed in the slightest. Youth matches were notoriously uneven in quality. Defensive lines were generally raw, with almost zero margin for error; any midfielder with half a brain could carve out massive amounts of space. Fast tempo, frequent mistakes, and plenty of goals meant runaway scorelines were common. Yet Everton and Liverpool were quite evenly matched, keeping things tense and tightly contested. In the twenty-eighth minute, Du An won the ball in midfield and rolled it across to Connor, shouting at the same time, "To Lewis!" His intention was for Connor to immediately loft a chipped ball over the top into space, as Lewis had already begun his forward run. Connor, however, misread the instruction and slid a ground pass through, which was promptly cut out by an Everton defender sliding in to knock it out of play. Lewis had sprinted forward in vain, but he still turned around and gave Connor a thumbs-up. Du An said nothing, only making a lofted passing gesture to Connor. Connor blinked, then had a sudden flash of realization and slapped his own forehead. With every match he played, Du An grew more comfortable on the pitch, and the blue bead continued to build its energy. It accumulated noticeably faster in real matches like this than during solo practice. Moreover, his seemingly innate adaptability allowed him to take to matches like a fish to water. His standout moments on both ends of the pitch kept piling up. In defense, Du An refused to yield a single inch to Adam. In attack, he stationed himself in the heart of midfield, scanning the entire pitch while directing teammates' runs with sharp shouts and hand gestures, organizing their offense with clean precision. Such steady, eye-catching play didn't escape the three men in the stands. Heighway and Dalglish nodded from time to time, looks of satisfaction on their faces. At last, Ray Hall's eyes locked firmly onto the figure wearing the red number twenty-seven shirt. He stared for a good long while, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper. Ray was certain he had no recollection of him. Yet piecing together Dalglish's words, it seemed it really was this boy. He turned his head toward Dalglish and asked, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice: "That Asian boy... is he the one you were talking about, the one we let go? Is it him?"