The House of George did not care whether Allen actually wanted to play football.
In their eyes, the infant had made his choice during the sacred Choosing Ceremony.
As his family, it was their absolute duty to provide him with the greatest cultivation possible.
The ancient aristocratic family knew very little about the sport itself.
However, a lack of knowledge had never stopped the House of George.
They deployed their intelligence networks to analyze the landscape of English football.
Their logic was ruthlessly simple.
They would find the strongest, most dominant team in the country and raise Allen as their most loyal supporter.
He would learn to love the game by watching the absolute best.
Naturally, the undisputed kings of the era entered their crosshairs.
They chose Liverpool Football Club.
Throughout the late 1970s and early 1980s, Liverpool had established a tyrannical grip on English and European football.
They had recently secured four top-flight league titles and two European Cups, dispatching titans like Real Madrid and Roma.
Based purely on the data, Liverpool was the absolute apex predator of the sport.
In May 1985, the tragic Heysel Stadium disaster cast a heavy shadow over the continent.
The resulting UEFA sanctions exiled all English clubs from European competitions for five years, with Liverpool receiving a severe seven-year ban.
The ban marked the beginning of a dark, declining era for the club.
But to the fiercely proud locals of Merseyside, and to the George family, none of that mattered.
In their eyes, Liverpool was still the undisputed sovereign of the pitch.
Determined to immerse his grandson in the culture, Hammond ordered the family to Anfield.
They secured a luxury box for the Merseyside Derby, the legendary, blood-boiling clash between Liverpool and their bitter cross-town rivals, Everton.
Everton was a genuinely terrifying squad during this era.
The tension in the stadium was suffocating.
As the match unfolded, the infant Allen watched the pitch.
His mindset slowly began to shift.
The disdain he harbored for his “accidental” career choice started to melt away.
Inside Anfield, the atmosphere was a roaring, tribal inferno.
The crowd screamed with a fanaticism that bordered on religious fervor.
On the pitch, Liverpool relied on their two lethal assassins: Ian Rush and Kenny Dalglish.
Midway through the match, the two forwards executed a flawless give-and-go sequence.
Dalglish slipped past the defense and fired a perfect strike from a notoriously tight angle.
The ball smashed into the back of the net.
Anfield erupted like a detonating volcano.
The sheer acoustic force of tens of thousands of screaming fans physically rattled the stadium.
There was no sweeter victory than drawing blood from a bitter rival.
The raw, unfiltered passion of the crowd pulled Allen in.
He had to admit that the chaotic, beautiful game possessed an intoxicating gravity.
It made people weep, scream, and bleed.
More importantly, Allen looked at the players and saw something familiar.
They were not just athletes.
They were warriors fighting for turf.
They battled for victory with absolute, uncompromising intensity.
It resonated deeply with the battle-hardened soul of Jack Vance.
Back when he was a lethal operator for Task Force Black, he had bled with that exact same drive to complete his mission.
Liverpool ultimately secured a 2-1 victory over Everton, propelled by the brilliance of Dalglish and Rush.
When York finally carried his son home, he suddenly realized the absurdity of the situation.
He had just brought a baby less than a year old into one of the most hostile sporting environments on the planet.
He chuckled to himself, assuming the infant had no idea what was happening.
York had no idea that his son understood the tactical nuances of the game better than most of the adults in the stadium.
Following the Derby, the family doubled down on their indoctrination program.
York commissioned custom-tailored miniature Liverpool kits.
The estate was flooded with premium footballs.
Hammond spent hours rolling the ball across the carpet, urging the baby to chase it.
I am a grown man, Allen often grumbled in his mind.
Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?
But since he was trapped in the body of a toddler, he had no choice but to play along.
He would offer a toothy smile, chase the rolling ball, and endure Hammond’s booming laughter.
Before he knew it, seven years had passed.
The boy who had once despised the idea of playing sports had grown into a genuine fanatic.
Every time Liverpool played at Anfield, Allen practically dragged his parents to the stadium.
In truth, he never had to ask.
York and Anna were relentlessly consistent.
Rain or shine, they took him to every single home game.
Their immersion strategy had worked flawlessly.
Any child raised in that environment would inevitably become obsessed.
But his parents did not know that Allen had made peace with his new life years ago.
He had realized he could never return to his old black-ops unit.
God had given him a second chance at life, complete with the loving family he had always craved.
He had decided to honor their bizarre traditions and throw himself fully into the world of football.
Five years ago, the family had officially relocated to the city of Liverpool.
According to the George family mandate, the heir had to live among the common people to strip away the arrogant entitlement typical of ancient nobility.
Because of this, Allen was raised without any knowledge of his family’s true, terrifying power.
Hammond, unable to bear being separated from his only grandson, had abandoned the family headquarters as well.
He dumped the absolute control of the underground empire onto John’s shoulders, claiming it was a “learning opportunity” for the younger brother.
Now, Hammond lived with them in Liverpool, acting as a doting, entirely ordinary grandfather.
Over the years, the fearsome patriarch had genuinely transformed into a die-hard Liverpool supporter.
“Little Allen,” Hammond beamed as they walked out of the Anfield gates together after a thrilling match.
“Tomorrow is the big day.
You are officially joining the Liverpool youth academy!
Are you excited?”
Hammond had poured limitless resources into cultivating his grandson’s physical conditioning.
He had no idea if the boy was actually talented, but he desperately wanted to see Allen wear the legendary red kit.
“Do not worry, Grandfather,” seven-year-old Allen replied, effortlessly slipping into the bright, cheerful tone of a child.
“I am going to be the greatest player in Liverpool history.
I will be even better than Kenny Dalglish and Ian Rush.”
Hammond threw his head back and roared with laughter.
He scooped the boy up and planted a massive, sloppy kiss on his cheek.
Allen sighed internally.
Even with a grown man’s mind, there were some grandfatherly hazards you just could not dodge.