Joss blew the whistle.
The kids clustered near the center circle immediately scrambled toward the ball in a chaotic swarm.
Jack Vance had warfare flowing through his veins.
As an elite operator, he naturally gravitated toward the point of attack.
From the moment he understood his new reality, he had been meticulously preparing his body for combat.
Years ago, the moment he could speak in full sentences, Allen had shocked his aristocratic family by demanding a custom-built, state-of-the-art playground.
The family happily complied, assuming he just wanted an elaborate jungle gym.
In reality, Jack had designed a perfectly scaled-down JSOC obstacle course.
He had spent the last few years relentlessly rebuilding his operator physique.
The resulting core strength, balance, and explosive power far exceeded normal human biology for a seven-year-old.
Allen sprinted toward the loose ball.
Unfortunately, his own undisciplined teammates drifted directly into his vector, creating an immediate friendly-fire bottleneck.
He was forced to decelerate to avoid trampling them.
Because of this delay, an opposing player wearing a number nine kit secured the objective.
Allen locked his eyes on the target and initiated a direct assault.
He closed the distance in three explosive strides.
When he was just three feet away, he unleashed a guttural, terrifying roar from the depths of his chest.
It was a classic psychological warfare tactic.
The sudden shock and awe completely paralyzed the untrained seven-year-old.
The boy stared in wide-eyed horror as Allen smoothly stripped the ball from his feet.
A second later, the boy collapsed onto the grass and burst into tears.
Allen ignored the collateral damage.
An enemy defender immediately stepped into his path.
Allen lightly tapped the ball to the defender’s left and accelerated to the right.
He completely bypassed the hostile, reuniting with the ball behind enemy lines. This chapter was copied from novelping.com without permission.
It was a flawless, zero-contact breach.
“Brilliant!” someone shouted from the sidelines.
The parents lining the pitch erupted into applause.
They did not understand military tactics, but they definitely recognized a beautiful knock-and-run maneuver.
On the touchline, Joss stood perfectly still, but his heart was hammering furiously against his ribs.
Explosive pace.
Immediate reaction time.
Terrifying composure.
The kid had executed the move without a single wasted motion.
Joss wondered if God had decided Michael Owen was not enough, and had sent Liverpool the ultimate weapon instead.
Meanwhile, the enemy reorganized.
A swarm of eight angry children charged toward Allen, looking to trap him in a chaotic pincer movement.
Allen checked his blind spots.
No friendly support.
He was entirely isolated.
A solo infiltration it was.
Allen did not panic.
In Task Force Black, he had operated behind enemy lines for weeks at a time.
A handful of frantic toddlers did not even register as a threat.
He approached the defensive mob.
Instead of attempting a complex dribble, he exploited their basic human survival instincts.
He planted his left foot and aggressively drew his right leg back, simulating a massive, high-velocity strike.
They flinched, turned their backs, and ducked for cover.
Allen instantly aborted the shooting motion.
He lightly tapped the ball through the newly opened corridor and jogged past them.
He repeated the tactical feint against the next wave of defenders.
It worked flawlessly every single time.
He carved through their ranks like a ghost.
Soon, he had bypassed the entire defensive perimeter.
Only the goalkeeper remained.
The boy in the oversized number ten shirt let out a high-pitched yell and charged forward.
He shuffled side-to-side like a crab in a desperate attempt to close the angle.
Allen approached the final target.
He aggressively dropped his shoulder and sold one last, lethal feint.
The keeper committed entirely.
He dove sideways to the turf to block a shot that never came.
With the final hostile neutralized, Allen stepped around the prone goalkeeper.
He casually walked the ball across the goal line, successfully securing the objective.
The sidelines exploded.
The Liverpool supporters went absolutely berserk, screaming at the top of their lungs.
They did not care if their own kids made the academy or not.
They were just thrilled to witness the birth of a generational predator right in their own backyard.
Joss lost his mind.
He leaped into the air, his fists pumping furiously.
He was absolutely certain he had just found the most lethal striker in English football history.