In the passages of attack and defence that followed, the change was visible to the naked eye.
The opponent tried the same feints, the same shifts and pulls to change direction, but Dean no longer lost his balance so easily.
His footwork adjusted at incredible speed—he still couldn’t quite keep up, not entirely but he could use his physical advantages to hold his defensive position, cutting off the passing and dribbling lanes.
The success rate of his marked man’s attempts to shake him off dropped sharply.
In the span of just a few minutes, he went from a hapless novice getting beaten again and again to a defensive wall his man couldn’t shift.
When his teammates occasionally panicked and passed to him in a scramble, his shortcomings still showed clearly.
Years of having zero football foundation couldn’t be fixed in an instant—his ball control was rough, his first touch was prone to mistakes, and carrying the ball forward himself simply wasn’t within reach.
Dean adjusted his approach immediately, choosing to release the ball first-time, every single time.
His technique was rough, with none of the finesse of a proper passer, but every ball he played found exactly the right spot, even if his weight of pass still lacked a bit of precision.
He could always find the emptiest space on the pitch.
What looked like careless, off-the-cuff passing kept punching straight through the opposition’s loose defensive lines, time after time.
On the sideline, David’s eyes lit up all at once, delight breaking across his face.
He muttered to himself, “Yes, yes, yes!
That’s it!
That’s exactly it!”
A flicker of delight passed through Dalglish’s eyes as well.
He nodded silently to himself, the judgment forming in his mind was growing clearer by the moment.
Dean absolutely had natural, God-given talent!
Mrs.
Mason had simply held him back!
But it wasn’t too late.
He was only thirteen.
There was still more than enough time to train.
Dalglish felt, from the bottom of his heart, genuinely happy for Dean.
Lynn, standing nearby, hadn’t caught any of it.
His eyes stayed fixed on Ethan, who kept making mistakes out on the pitch, watching his slightly clumsy attempts to compete for the ball, filled with irritation and nothing but regret.
Privately, he grumbled to himself: this whole thing was a complete waste of time.
Even though this particular batch of academy boys was already on the weaker side, they were still far too strong compared to these two—the gap in attacking and defensive rhythm was crushing, not even the same level of competition.
This trial meant nothing at all.
Half an hour of high-intensity match play came to an end.
Nearly every academy player on the pitch was left panting, bent over with hands on knees, breath coming ragged, their energy thoroughly drained.
Dean alone, though breathing a little heavily himself, kept his breathing steady, still holding on to plenty of energy.
Years of running, and that mysterious red bead, had given him a physical constitution that far outstripped anyone his age—if he hadn’t picked up a basic understanding of the rules along the way, that barging into someone counted as a foul, Dean thought he could probably have sent every last opponent flying.
Beside him, Dalglish watched, and his smile only deepened.
Stamina like that was the foundation of football.
A defensive midfielder who never seemed to run out of legs was a nightmare for any opponent.
The trial ended.
Dean walked straight off the pitch, striding quickly over to David.
David snapped back to attention at once, nodding with a smile, without a moment’s hesitation.
“Of course you can.”
Lynn, hearing this, gave a half-hearted glance over.
Though he was thoroughly unimpressed with both boys’ performance, having two extra bodies around as sparring partners for the academy squad made no real difference either way—it wouldn’t cost much in the way of resources—so he didn’t bother arguing the point.
Ethan flashed a wide, toothy grin, clearly delighted.
Just as everyone assumed the matter was settled, Dean spoke up again, asking the one question that actually mattered most.
“So how much money can I make a month?”
Lynn’s pupils contracted slightly, his face flooded with disbelief, staring blankly at Dean.
Utterly incredulous, he said: “Sorry?
At your current level, you think we’re going to be paying you?
Shouldn’t it be the other way round—you paying academy training fees to come use our facilities and improve yourself?”
The moment Lynn’s words landed; David’s expression darkened completely.
He turned and looked Lynn dead in the eye.
“You don’t understand.”
“The talent Dean’s shown deserves a proper academy contract.
I can go to James right now and put in the application myself—cover the full cost of his training during the academy period, all his facility fees, all his equipment, completely free of charge, and on top of that, the club can also provide a dedicated youth development stipend, plus performance bonuses.”
The words came out with total confidence, but the moment they reached Dean’s ears, his heart sank at once.
Free training?
A stipend?
Bonuses?
All of it, too slow.
What he needed right now wasn’t a free chance to train, wasn’t some reward hanging vaguely somewhere off in the future.
Grandma’s medical bills, the debt Marina had already covered, the family’s savings sitting at absolutely nothing—every single one of those was a hole demanding to be filled right now.
He needed cash in hand, immediately.
Ethan, standing beside him, caught the gap in all this too, and leaned in close to Dean’s ear, his voice dropped low, trying to talk him round.
“Dean, you could stay and train here for now.
I’ve heard the academy players on the pitch talk about it—if you play well enough that another club comes to poach you, they’ll pay a decent signing fee.
Hang in there a while, and the money will come eventually.”
Dean lowered his eyes and said nothing.
He understood the logic well enough.
But right now, he simply didn’t have the means to hang on and wait.
Just as he stood frozen, caught between two impossible choices, Dalglish—who’d been quietly watching the whole time—suddenly spoke up.
“Dean.
Come with me.
To Liverpool.”
“I can get you a training contract that pays you directly, right away.”
A single point of light flared to life in a heart that had gone completely dark.
Dean’s head snapped up. This chapter was taken from novelping.com without permission.
“Really?”
Dalglish gave a slight nod.
He’d seen it all too clearly.
Dean’s spatial awareness, his instantaneous adaptability, his physical reserves, his gift for defending without the ball—these were the marks of an exceptionally rare prospect.
As for the basics—technique, control—at his age, that could still be hammered into shape through sheer hard training.
Dalglish himself was a Premier League–winning manager.
He understood, better than almost anyone, exactly how much value talent like Dean’s could bring to a team.
He had no doubt at all that Heighway, Liverpool’s academy director, wouldn’t turn down a player he’d personally recommended.
On the other side, Lynn, watching this play out, simply gave an indifferent shrug.
He’d never rated Dean and Ethan much to begin with, given their complete lack of football background, and didn’t think this particular boy was worth fighting over at all.
He immediately raised a hand and called out to the players on the pitch, telling everyone to break and go do their own thing.
David, by now, was thoroughly panicking.
“It’s not like that!
Dean, listen to me!”
“I can go talk to James again, I’m certain I can get you a monthly stipend approved!
Everton’s academy system suits you far better than Liverpool’s does!”
“Liverpool right now—Benítez doesn’t care about the academy at all!
He’s tearing down everything Melwood’s youth setup was built on, the young players there get no real chance to break through!
Go to Liverpool, and all that’ll happen is you’ll get buried, with no future to show for it after all that grinding!
But Everton can give you that!
We’re willing to develop you properly, give you steady training, real chances to play!
Just put in three or four solid years, earn your place in the academy side, and you can absolutely push your way into the first team, playing in the Premier League!”
David laid out the whole future in front of him.
But Dean just looked at him quietly.
“Mr.
Coleman.
Thank you for thinking about all this for me.
But I can’t afford to think about what happens three or four years from now.
You don’t understand my situation—my family owes a huge amount of money, my grandmother’s still lying in a hospital bed, and I need money right now.”
“I’m sorry.”
With that, he turned straight to Dalglish and asked again.
“Kenny, can Liverpool really give me a paid contract, right now?
I’ll train properly, I’ll give everything I’ve got out there, I promise you I won’t waste a single chance.”
Dalglish looked at the hope in the boy’s eyes.
Something in him softened at once.
He stepped forward, put his arm around Dean’s shoulder, and smiled down at him.
“Son, they will.
They’ll give it to you.
I promise.”