Leicester City’s youngsters launched a frantic fightback in the final ten minutes.
Just before the final whistle, the Foxes finally pulled one back.
A Villa center back sliced his clearance, sending the ball ricocheting off a teammate’s back and into the path of an opposing forward, who finished first time.
2-1.
Fortunately, there was barely any time left.
Villa U18 held on through the late scare to secure their first win of the season in the cup group stage.
After exchanging celebratory high fives with his teammates, Zayn immediately spotted Mr.
Chen and his daughter on the touchline.
Evelyn stood beside her father, smiling warmly at him.
Mr.
Chen was beside himself with excitement, whipping his Villa scarf through the air and shouting something.
Zayn could not make out the words from halfway across the pitch, but judging by his lips, he seemed to be alternating between “What a goal!” and “Fucking brilliant!”
Zayn called out to Hughes, then headed toward the touchline.
“Mr.
Chen, you really came.”
“Of course!
I said I’d come, so I had to come!” Mr.
Chen slapped Zayn on the shoulder.
“Two goals!
Not bad, kid!
That thunderbolt had shades of Super Frank Lampard!”
“I got lucky.
That’s all.”
Zayn responded modestly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Evelyn studying him, so he nodded to her.
“Evelyn, you came too.”
He had learned at the restaurant the day before that Evelyn was a first-year student at the University of Birmingham, so she was probably eighteen.
Evelyn paused and looked up at the blond teenager, who stood nearly two heads taller than her.
“You make me sound old.
How old are you?”
“I turned seventeen today.”
In fact, Zayn would not even have known it was his birthday if his family had not mentioned it that morning.
Evelyn blinked in surprise and took another look at the blond boy in front of her.
She had assumed that since Zayn played for the U18s, he must be around her age.
Listening to their conversation, Mr.
Chen suddenly realized something.
“Today’s your birthday?
Then why didn’t your parents come to watch?”
Zayn explained, “My dad’s working overtime at the factory today.
One of his coworkers covered half a shift for him last week.
My mom’s working late at the accounting firm, dealing with Jade Tower’s taxes.”
Mr.
Chen’s smile stiffened.
He rubbed his hands together awkwardly.
“Oh, this is embarrassing.
Ms.
Anna is working through the weekend because of my lousy accounts, while I’ve left everything to her and come here to watch football.”
“It’s fine.
My mom said she’s nearly finished.
Everything should be wrapped up by next Monday.”
Zayn waved it off.
“Besides, they said they’d come home tonight to celebrate my birthday, so it won’t interfere.”
Mr.
Chen nodded.
His attention returned to the match, and the more he thought about it, the more impressed he became with Zayn’s performance.
“Seriously, kid, those two goals were fantastic.
The second one reminded me of Drogba.
That same unstoppable feeling.
Just charging through everyone and scoring anyway!”
“You’re giving me too much credit, Mr.
Chen.
Their center back got his feet tangled, and I took advantage.” Zayn spoke modestly, but he could not stop the corners of his mouth from rising.
“What do you mean, you took advantage?
That run and that sprinting speed weren’t luck.”
Zayn was beginning to feel embarrassed by all the praise and was about to play it down again when Mr.
Chen abruptly changed the subject.
“By the way, judging from today’s match, you must be the team’s main man.
You played so well.
How much does Villa pay you a week?”
“I’m not the team’s main man.
I earn four hundred pounds a week.”
“How much?
Four hundred?”
“That’s right.”
Mr.
Chen looked as though he had just checked his stocks and discovered they had crashed.
“Listen, kid.
Do you know how much seventeen-year-olds at Chelsea get on their first contracts?
At least seven hundred pounds a week.
The better ones can earn over a thousand.”
“It must have been around 2010.
Chelsea had a kid named Josh McEachran.
You know him?
Zayn’s mouth twitched.
Mr.
Chen truly was a die-hard Chelsea supporter of twenty years.
First Lampard, then Drogba, and now McEachran.
Every example he used had to involve Chelsea.
Mr.
Chen continued, “By the time he was eighteen, he was earning two million pounds a year.
That works out to…
Let me see…
Evelyn, what would that be per week?”
Evelyn was clearly accustomed to her father jumping from one thought to another.
She answered casually, “Divided over fifty-two weeks, about thirty-eight thousand pounds a week.”
Mr.
Chen stared at Zayn as though he were looking at a perfectly good cabbage being sold for pennies.
“Look at him, then look at you.
Four hundred pounds!
Villa might as well be tossing spare change to a beggar!”
Zayn did not know whether to laugh or cry.
“Mr.
Chen, that’s Chelsea.
Chelsea’s owner is Abramovich.
How can you compare them to Villa?
Besides, I’m nowhere near McEachran’s level.
Ancelotti brought him into the first team when he was seventeen!”
Mr.
Chen paused, then burst out laughing.
“That’s true.
But hasn’t McEachran become a failed wonderkid now?
Maybe all that money corrupted him when he was young.”
Let money corrupt me a little too!
Zayn nearly blurted out what he was thinking.
Mr.
Chen failed to notice the subtle change in his expression.
He stroked his chin, and his eyes suddenly lit up.
“Kid.”
“Hmm?”
“I’ll sponsor you for a thousand pounds.
In exchange, you take a few photos for me to hang in my restaurant.
What do you think?
Consider it a birthday present.”
Zayn froze.
Truthfully, he had known Mr.
Chen and Evelyn for less than two full days.
He had been treated to roast goose at Jade Tower the night before.
Today, Mr.
Chen had come to watch him play and was now offering him a thousand pounds on the spot.
For a moment, Zayn wondered whether Mr.
Chen could read minds and had heard him thinking, Let money corrupt me.
“Mr.
Chen, that’s…”
“What?
Is it too little?” Mr.
Chen glared at him.
“No, no.” Zayn hurriedly waved his hands.
“I just don’t understand.
Why do you suddenly want to sponsor me?”
Mr.
Chen laughed.
“Kid, do you think this is some impulsive decision?
I have several perfectly good reasons.
Think about them carefully.”
“First, I’ve been watching football for twenty years, so I’d say I have a decent eye for talent.
I think you’ll make it.”
“Second, people in Britain care a lot about their local communities, and football is a huge part of that.
Jade Tower has only just opened.
Hanging up photos of a local Villa academy player would help the restaurant gain acceptance in the community.”
Mr.
Chen counted off the reasons on his fingers, explaining each one with complete confidence.
Zayn fell silent for a moment.
He had assumed Mr.
Chen was simply a wealthy, good-natured man who was a little foolish with money and had made the offer on impulse.
He had not expected the seemingly rough businessman to have calculated everything so carefully.
The first reason was subjective and depended entirely on personal judgment.
The second, however, made perfect sense.
Community ties were strong in England, and football was at the heart of local culture.
Displaying photos of a local club’s academy player was indeed an effective way for a newly opened restaurant to connect with the neighborhood.
Mr.
Chen looked honest and straightforward, but he was clearly a seasoned operator.
Most of Zayn’s doubts disappeared.
Mr.
Chen was not joking or boasting after a few drinks.
He genuinely intended to pay him, and his reasoning was sound.
There was no reason to hesitate.
This was the perfect opportunity to complete Main Quest 2.
The system quest specifically required a “commercial contract.” If he accepted the money without signing anything, who knew whether the system would count it?
Everything had to be put in writing before it became official.
“Mr.
Chen, I appreciate the offer.
But since this is a sponsorship, we need to sign a formal contract.”
Zayn’s expression became serious.
“I need to make something clear first.
Youth academies in England strictly regulate their young players’ commercial activities.
Sponsorships and endorsements have to be handled through proper contracts.
You can’t just hand me an envelope of cash and call it done.
If the club investigates, I could get into serious trouble.”
Rather than finding the process troublesome, Mr.
Chen nodded approvingly.
“Formal is good.
That’s how business should be done.
Everything should be kept clear and separate.
I’ll have the restaurant’s legal adviser draft a contract.
You can look it over and sign it if everything is in order.”
Legal adviser.
A Chinese restaurant with its own legal adviser.
Just what kind of background did Mr.
Chen have?
Zayn decided not to dwell on it.
“Then it’s settled, Mr.
Chen.”
“Settled!” Mr.
Chen laughed and slapped Zayn on the shoulder again.
“A thousand pounds to sign a future superstar.
I can’t lose on a deal like this!”
“Then I’ll have to work hard so you don’t lose your money.”
They looked at each other and burst out laughing.
The older man and the teenager shamelessly talked each other up, completely ignoring everyone around them.
They got along as naturally as old friends who had known each other for years.
Standing beside them, Evelyn frowned slightly.
Hadn’t Zayn struggled to speak Chinese at Jade Tower yesterday?
How had he suddenly become so fluent today?
…
Elsewhere, Neil Dewsnip closed his notebook and walked toward the Villa U18 coaching bench.
David Hughes had just seen off Ashby, who had come to assess him, when he noticed someone in a black coaching jacket approaching from the corner of his eye.
He looked up and nearly dropped the marker in his hand.
“Mr.
Dewsnip?
What are you doing here?”
“I originally came to watch Leicester City’s Luke Thomas,” Dewsnip replied bluntly.
“But that blond kid of yours made it difficult to look away.”
Hughes was delighted, though he managed to keep his expression composed.
“You mean Zayn Ryder?”
“Zayn Ryder,” Dewsnip repeated.
“What’s his background?
Why haven’t I heard of him before?”
Hughes thought for a moment and decided to begin with the most basic information.
“The kid turned seventeen today.
He was only promoted from the U16s a little over a week ago…”
Hughes continued talking, but Dewsnip’s mind was already racing.
He had only been promoted to the U18s a little over a week ago, and he had turned seventeen today.
Under the normal development schedule in English academies, most players moving from the U16s to the U18s were promoted at sixteen and a half, or even earlier.
Someone like Zayn, who had only been promoted at the last possible moment, just before turning seventeen, had probably not stood out at U16 level.
He was likely one of those players on the verge of being released who had barely managed to earn a promotion.
Dewsnip could not help feeling disappointed.
It seemed the blond boy’s two goals today had probably been a stroke of luck.
He had seen this far too many times.
A young player would suddenly catch fire and produce an incredible performance in one match, then disappear without a trace.
A truly outstanding prospect would not still be trying to climb out of the U16s at nearly seventeen.
In his mind, Dewsnip quietly lowered Zayn Ryder’s evaluation by one level.
He turned toward Leicester City.
The Foxes’ youngsters had already changed and were heading toward the team bus in small groups.
After all, his purpose in coming to Bodymoor Heath was to scout Luke Thomas.
Dewsnip scribbled a few brief notes on Zayn’s page, intending to give Hughes a polite farewell before leaving.
David Hughes, however, had clearly failed to notice the senior FA official’s subtle change in expression and continued talking without pause.
Dewsnip’s thoughts returned to Leicester City’s Luke Thomas.
He listened absentmindedly, offering the occasional murmur of acknowledgment.
“…So I really do admire Mr.
Cowans now.
No wonder he’s a European Cup winner.”
Hughes finally finished.
Dewsnip nodded perfunctorily and prepared to leave.
Then, as his attention returned to the conversation, he suddenly realized that Hughes had just said something extraordinary.
He slowly turned his head, his expression changing from disinterest to complete seriousness.
“Hmm?”
Hughes felt a chill run down his back under Dewsnip’s stare.
Could Dewsnip have some secret grudge against Cowans?
Hughes had just spent quite some time praising the older man.
“Wait, Hughes.
What exactly did you just say?”
“This kid played in defense for seven years, switched to striker only two weeks ago, and has scored six goals in three matches?”