November 15, Birmingham.
Zayn dragged his luggage inside, awkwardly dodging Biscuit’s excited headbutts after several days apart.
Aside from Biscuit, only Lucy was home.
British primary school pupils finished early, so she was already back by three in the afternoon.
“Zayn, you’re in the paper!”
Lucy waved a copy of the Birmingham Mail in her hand.
Zayn took the newspaper and glanced at it.
In a palm-sized corner, the headline read: Villa Youngster Helps England U17 Win Four Nations Tournament.
The article was only about a hundred words long, and eighty of them were spent reviewing England U17’s brilliant year.
The part that mentioned him was just the final two sentences.
“Aston Villa academy forward Zayn Ryder scored five goals in the tournament and won the top scorer award.”
“That’s it?” Zayn clicked his tongue and tossed the paper back onto the sofa.
He had thought he would at least get a photo.
“Be grateful!” Lucy rolled her eyes at him.
As a local newspaper, the Birmingham Mail’s sports section always gave priority to the first team during the season.
The fact that her brother had managed to get two lines already counted as future star treatment.
Biscuit was still stubbornly nudging Zayn with his head, so Zayn had no choice but to crouch down and give the dog his full attention.
…
Early the next morning, Bodymoor Heath.
Zayn reported back to the squad.
When he stepped onto the U18 training pitch, the way his teammates looked at him was noticeably different.
Especially Dimitri Sea, the “French young bull.”
He had previously been thinking about training hard, pushing himself, and competing with Zayn for a starting place.
Then Zayn had gone straight to the national youth team and won the Golden Boot.
Even if it was only the Four Nations Tournament, which was essentially a warm-up event, that was enough to leave Dimitri far behind.
When David Hughes saw Zayn return, he made a rare joke.
“The Golden Boot is back.”
“It’s all thanks to your coaching,” Zayn said modestly.
Hughes smiled and patted him on the shoulder.
“Smooth talker. How long have I even been coaching you? You did well this time. After training, go to Ashby’s office. He’s waiting for you.”
Zayn nodded.
After the morning session ended, he showered, changed into a clean training kit, and walked toward the administration building where the academy offices were located.
When he knocked and entered Ben Ashby’s office, Ashby was not alone.
Gordon Cowans’s unmistakable bald head was also there, bobbing around on the sofa.
The old man smiled when he saw Zayn come in.
“Zayn, come on.
Ashby pointed to the chair opposite Cowans.
His attitude was far warmer than during their first meeting.
After greeting them both respectfully, Zayn asked, “Mr. Cowans, what brings you here too?”
“I came to see our future star,” Cowans said cheerfully.
“Dewsnip called me a few days ago.”
“Oh?” Zayn was a little surprised, but after thinking about it, Cowans was only a few years older than Dewsnip, and their playing careers had indeed overlapped.
“He praised you to no end, then thanked me for changing your position and pushing you up front.”
Cowans had clearly been savoring that phone call for several days, as if the old man who had stood beside the training pitch and told Zayn, “I don’t believe in you,” had been someone else entirely.
Zayn’s mouth twitched.
But he did not expose him.
Let the old man have his moment.
Ashby cleared his throat from the side.
Clearly, he had heard Cowans brag about this more than enough recently.
He pushed a document across the desk.
“Zayn, let’s talk business.”
Here it comes.
Zayn immediately perked up.
“The club has decided to offer you a new contract.”
Ashby’s tone was clean and direct.
He clearly had no intention of adding any empty preamble.
“Your previous weekly wage of four hundred pounds was based on the standard for a new U18 player at the time you signed. But what you’ve shown over the past three weeks, to be honest, was beyond anyone’s expectations.”
“Based on your current potential and performances, we’ve decided to raise your weekly wage from four hundred pounds to one thousand five hundred pounds. Your other bonuses and promotion related clauses will also be increased accordingly. This is currently one of the highest salary levels the club can offer to a U18 squad player.”
£1,500!
After only three weeks, the weekly wage in his new contract had nearly quadrupled.
More importantly, Zayn had deliberately asked around about the U18 squad’s weekly wages before.
If he remembered correctly, the current top wage in Villa’s U18 squad was around £1,500.
The highest weekly wage in Villa U18 history had been the £2,000 given to forward Keinan Davis in 2015, but he had already been promoted to the first team earlier this year and would no longer appear on the U18 wage ranking.
The objective of [Main Quest 3: Making the List] was only to enter the top three of the squad’s weekly wage ranking.
Now it seemed his previous assumption that the quest would “make progress” had been far too conservative.
This was clearly completing it in one go.
Zayn worked hard to control his facial muscles so the corners of his mouth would not stretch all the way to his ears.
He took a deep breath, picked up the contract, and carefully read through the terms.
“What’s wrong? Not satisfied?”
Seeing Zayn stay silent for so long, Ashby thought he felt the offer was too low.
The four hundred pound contract he had given Zayn three weeks ago had actually been a lowball offer.
Among Villa U18 players in the same age group who had signed professional contracts in 2017, most had started at around five hundred pounds a week.
Zayn had only received four hundred because Ashby had not rated him highly at the time.
A heavy defensive midfielder who had spent seven years playing defensive positions and could barely control the ball in training two days earlier had simply been pushed up front and scored twice.
Since Cowans had recommended him, Ashby had signed him as a favor to the club legend.
But he was not going to pay too much.
If Zayn turned out to be a flop, at least it would not hurt.
So he had pushed the price down when they signed the contract.
Three weeks later, however, Zayn had not flopped at all.
Instead, he had scored four goals in two U18 matches and five goals in three matches for England U17.
Every time Ashby watched footage of one of Zayn’s matches, it felt as though someone had slapped him across the face.
That was also one of the main reasons he had been so eager to get Zayn to sign a new contract the moment he returned.
After this trip back from St George’s Park, Zayn had attracted attention from quite a few clubs.
A weekly wage of four hundred pounds was nothing even to a lower table Premier League side.
So this new £1,500 contract was not only a necessary move to keep a talent, it was also Ashby secretly patching over his own mistake.
Zayn, of course, knew nothing about Ashby’s little calculations.
Nor did he know that his first contract had actually been undervalued.
On the system panel, his £400 weekly wage had ranked fourteenth in the U18 squad, placing him in the middle.
So Zayn had always assumed that was the normal rate.
In reality, he had overlooked the fact that the U18 squad included several younger players who had been promoted early but were not yet old enough to sign professional contracts, so they were only receiving apprentice wages.
There were also two or three unlucky players who had already turned seventeen but, due to poor performances, were still self funded trainees.
Those players had pushed him into the middle of the ranking.
“I’m satisfied. Very satisfied.”
Zayn put the contract down.
His expression finally returned to normal, with a smile resting at the corners of his mouth.
Beside him, Ashby finally let out a breath of relief.
All because he had pushed the price down by one hundred pounds last time, he now had to add an extra five hundred pounds this time.
He had gone over the numbers in his head again and again, and had finally filled the hole.
Zayn did not notice that Ashby had gone through his own internal struggle.
He smiled and said, “Thank you for the club’s recognition. I’ll call my parents now and ask them to come after work to sign it.”
Cowans looked at the joy Zayn could barely hide and smiled as he shook his head.
He had not made a special trip here today just for a £1,500 contract.
“Don’t celebrate too soon, kid. There’s one more piece of good news.”
Zayn looked up.
“Mr. Steve Bruce watched your national youth team match footage.”
Cowans deliberately paused, watching Zayn’s reaction, before continuing slowly.
“He wants you to report to the first team next week and train with them.”