Trial

North of central Liverpool. The Everton district. An old street-facing English pub was already packed with patrons. The English love of alcohol was in their very bones, knowing no difference between day and night, morning or evening. At midday on a weekday, a crowd still packed the pub, downing drink after drink until pleasantly buzzed, only then feeling that life was truly good. Old club banners hung on the pub walls—some Everton, some Liverpool. Mixed pubs like this were a common sight in Merseyside. Everyone drank one pint after another, chatting about football, about the matches, about all those thrilling moments. Drinking here was never about indulgence; it was just the most ordinary way of life for the locals. David Coleman sat amidst the crowd, sipping his drink. The chatter in the pub naturally gravitated toward the previous week's fourth round of the Premier League. In early September's derby, Liverpool had been crushed 3–0 away at Everton, becoming the hottest topic of discussion across all of Merseyside. Whenever that rout came up, the Liverpool supporters looked thoroughly sour. David was a die-hard Evertonian, and his mood was the exact opposite. Every time he thought of that match, he grew ecstatic. Raising his voice several notches, he shouted, "So what about 'God' Fowler?" "No matter how sharp the spear, it couldn't pierce Everton's goal! Howard stood on the line and shut their so-called God right out. The entire match, they didn't have a clue!" This rubbed the nearby Liverpool fans the wrong way. One man yelled back, "Cut the rubbish! What was that tackle by Phil Neville? A blatant, vicious lunge—reckless and dirty, an absolute red card! The referee must've been blind not to blow for it. He should've been off long ago!" "If that red had been given, we'd never have lost!" David raised an eyebrow and shot back, "That's football! Stop making excuses when you lose! What about Carragher's foul—didn't that deserve a card?" "A three-nil win is a stone-cold fact. Your attack completely fell apart, and that had nothing to do with defensive fouls!" The two sides clashed again. Of course, it was strictly verbal. In this city, red and blue were bitter rivals, but the fans were also quite friendly. After all, it wasn't unusual for a single family to have both Liverpool and Everton supporters under the same roof. They were intertwined, each part of the other. In fact, across England, the Merseyside derby was known as the Friendly Derby. Compared to other derbies where tensions ran high and brawls broke out at the drop of a hat, relations between Everton and Liverpool fans were truly amicable. Still, when an argument started, faces flushed and voices clashed, creating an absolute racket. Right when the dispute reached its peak, the bartender behind the counter leaned over and waved toward David. "David! Phone for you!" Hearing this, David stopped arguing with the Liverpool fans, walked to the bar, and grabbed the receiver. Against the noisy backdrop of the pub, the voice on the other end was a bit muffled, yet clear enough for David to make out every word. His earlier bluster froze instantly, replaced by an even sharper surge of excitement, his face flushing red. His breath caught in his throat. "What? Du An? Where? I'll be right there!" In just a few words, he slammed down the phone. Turning around, he fished some change from his pocket and slapped it onto the bar counter. Seeing this, the fans behind him broke off their bickering, erupting into a round of good-natured jeers. "Haha, what's going on? Our scout's got another lead?" "Found another boy wonder, have you? Same old routine!" The crowd bantered. Year in and year out, David scouted young players around Merseyside, always boasting that he'd found a real gem, yet he had never managed to produce a single professional player who truly made a name for himself. Over time, it had become a standing joke among the pub's regulars. David casually straightened his collar, turned to the laughing Liverpool fans, and said, "Go on, laugh all you want." "The lad I found this time isn't like any of the others. Just you wait. In a few years, he'll be wearing Everton blue, leading the team, and battering you lot at Liverpool!" Without another word, he turned and strode out of the pub. The laughter behind him didn't fade; it only grew louder. Everyone assumed he was just talking big again. Nobody took it seriously. Nobody gave it a second thought. David soon arrived at the hospital. At the end of the corridor, he spotted the three figures at a glance. He hurried over. Before he could speak, Dalglish turned toward him and got straight to the point. "David." "You said before that Du An has top-tier football talent." David nodded at once, his eyes shining. Dalglish looked at the silent boy beside him and continued, "This lad needs an opportunity right now—a chance to play football. Since you rate him so highly, why not let him show you in person?" Hearing those words, David's face lit up with excitement. "Of course! Absolutely no problem!" "I'll arrange things at Finch Farm Training Ground right now! I'll talk to the youth coach and book a pitch for a trial!" David turned to Du An, toning down his excitement a little, and said in all earnestness, "Du An, trust in our Everton youth academy." "You must know Wayne." "Wayne Rooney, who's at Manchester United now, is a boy who came through our Everton academy." "In 2002, that curling long-range strike against Arsenal ended the Gunners' thirty-match unbeaten run. Before that moment, he was just like you, waiting for the world to hear his story of early brilliance." "Now the whole world has seen him." "He's the street wizard from Croxteth, and you can be the next him." "Our very own West Derby boy wonder!" Du An looked up at David. He didn't understand the merits of youth academy systems, nor did he know the legendary tales of football stars. All he knew was that playing football meant an opportunity—a way out. And he needed a way out. His grandmother was in the hospital and needed medical fees, the family savings were gone, and there was no future or security for him and his brother. Right now, he didn't need passion. He only needed a chance to earn money, to support this family on the verge of falling apart. Football was the only lifeline he had. At least, it was the only chance he could see. Was he supposed to listen to Teacher Johnson and train in other sports instead? Compared to that, he had more faith in football. Ethan loved football. Du An nodded softly. "I'll go." Standing nearby, Ethan felt hope kindle in his eyes. This was a chance to reach the Premier League. Maybe in a few years, he would see Du An on a Premier League pitch. Watching Du An, Dalglish gave a slight nod, a trace of relief showing on his face. Of course, he could have helped this family directly with money. Yet he preferred to let them find their own way forward. Money ran out, but the ability to earn supported a person for a lifetime. As for why Everton—he didn't want to steal David's find. And besides, red blood was never meant to flow into blue territory. Without further ado, the four of them set off immediately. David pulled out his phone and made a call. "Hey, Lynn, listen, set up a match for me right away. I'm bringing a lad for a trial—" He glanced at Ethan and corrected himself, "No, two boys, twelve or thirteen years old. Get it sorted, quick."