1: Chapter 1: The dream begins here, and it also ends here.

July 3, 2015, London, Hale End.

The afternoon sun was somewhat dazzling, filtering through the leaves of the tall trees beside the training ground, casting flickering patches of light onto the tender green lawn.

Several standard-sized pitches stretched out quietly, the turf meticulously trimmed, and the white lines glaringly clear.

In the distance, on the wall of the slightly old red-brick main building, the Arsenal crest reflected the sunlight.

Everything around was quiet, so quiet that one could hear the faint sound of traffic from the distant road, and closer by, the rhythmic and lonely hissing of an automatic sprinkler system starting up on one of the pitches.

Gunners fans call the children who come out of here "Hale Enders."

Dreams mostly begin here. And mostly, they wake here too.

On the second floor of the main building, in the office of Academy Director Andries Jonker, the air felt heavy.

The blinds were half-closed, slicing the sunlight into strips that fell onto the dark carpet.

Jonker's voice seemed to come through a layer of water, somewhat muffled. Yu Bai only caught the last few words: "... This is the end."

The office suddenly became very quiet, and one could hear the distant, muffled thud of a ball being kicked outside the window.

His throat tightened, as if someone were gripping his windpipe with their hand, and all the words he had prepared... the words he had practiced countless times at night to prove himself... turned into a heavy stone, plummeting straight down and causing his stomach to cramp.

He moved his lips, but in the end, he only gave an almost imperceptible nod.

...

The corridor seemed endless.

There was a crack in the third floor tile on the right-hand side; he had almost tripped there when he was 11.

On pitch number three outside the window, he had once struck a beautiful volley, and Nketiah had rushed over to jump on his back and cheer.

The changing room door was half-open, and he could almost still smell the sweet, cloying scent of the cheap champagne everyone had sprayed wildly when they won the title last year.

Every piece of scenery reached out to tug at him.

He wore a practiced smile of just the right width on his face, nodding at the air.

It wasn't until he turned the last corner that his smile instantly collapsed, his mouth twitching slightly from the effort of maintaining it.

He quickened his pace, almost fleeing back to the dormitory.

"Arsenal..." he murmured, a hint of bitterness spreading on the tip of his tongue.

There was only one bed left in the dormitory. His roommate, Nketiah, had already been promoted to the U18s, and before moving out, he had grinned and said that if there was a chance, he would live in the same room with him again.

In February of this year, when the legend Henry returned to take the reins of the U16s, Yu Bai and Nketiah were his sharpest blades—one supplying the ammunition, the other delivering the final blow.

He turned on the tap and buried his whole head in the sink. The icy water soaked from his roots to his scalp, making his temples ache.

He just braced himself against the edge of the sink, motionless, until the air in his lungs ran out, then jerked his head up, gasping for breath.

The person in the mirror was pale, hair plastered wetly across his forehead, looking like a ridiculous castaway.

"Knock, knock."

The door wasn't closed, and Henry knocked symbolically twice before walking in, just in time to see him in this state.

"Yu Bai," Henry looked at him, his voice lower than usual, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Yu Bai tugged at the corner of his mouth and reached out to wipe his face. Water droplets dripped down his jawline, indistinguishable as tap water or something else.

Henry was a very different kind of manager, with no airs. When they first met, he even seriously asked Yu Bai how he should address him to be respectful. Yu Bai said at the time, according to his hometown custom, just calling him "Yu Bai" was fine. Since then, Henry had always called him that.

"Kid, you played great under me; you are the Beckham of our team."

Henry stepped closer, his hand pressing onto his wet shoulder; the palm was thick and warm. "But some people, those guys sitting in offices who probably can't even trap a ball, they only use a ruler to measure your height and a spreadsheet to frame your future. They are wrong. I have always believed that you can establish yourself in the Premier League in the future."

"Thank you, sir."

Yu Bai's voice was dry; he didn't dare look into Henry's eyes, where the trust and pity were more embarrassing than any rebuke.

He stared at the club crest on Henry's training kit, feeling that the red was incredibly glaring. "Mr. Jonker is right; my physical condition... my talent is just what it is."

He repeated the words that had sentenced him to death, as if this way he could accept it a step earlier, but his voice choked uncontrollably. "Not giving me a contract... is helping me realize reality sooner."

He opened his mouth to smile, to prove he had truly "realized," but as his mouth twitched, hot tears fell first. He immediately turned his face away in embarrassment. He understood the logic, but that fire in his heart had been burning for so many years—why should it just be extinguished on command?

Fuck football!

Henry's hand pressed firmly on his trembling shoulder, not letting go immediately.

"Nketiah, your roommate, Chelsea didn't want him either. But he came here, and in just half a year, he became the top scorer and made it into the U18s. Why can't you do it?"

"Then what... should I do?"

Yu Bai heard his own voice, hoarse and harsh, like sandpaper rubbing against wood.

"Go and try, kid. The EFL Championship, EFL League One, or even lower-level Leagues. I know it's very hard, but don't stop."

Henry let go and patted his back, as if sending him onto the pitch. "Once you lie down on the spot, you will never be able to get up again."

...

Henry left.

The door closed gently, making a soft "click."

Yu Bai stood there for a while, then slowly, one by one, began to pack his luggage.

He folded the red and white training kit, which had been washed until it was somewhat faded, over and over, until the edges were as neat as a block of tofu. He had once dreamed of wearing the Arsenal armband, retiring here, and having his own locker with his name pinned on it in the changing room. Now, thinking about it, it felt like a bad joke.

Did he not work hard enough?

This thought was like a needle; a gentle prick made him flinch.

When his parents divorced, 8-year-old him was at the dining table, tapping the edge of his bowl with chopsticks he still couldn't hold very steadily, announcing to his parents after their argument: "Whoever takes me to London to join Arsenal, I will go with them."

At 11, his mother squatted down in front of the security gate at Heathrow Airport, her eyes red as she touched his face: "Xiao Bai, Mom can't keep running. Come home with me, or stay and play football—you choose one."

He remembered that he had almost no hesitation; he took a step back, pulling away from his mother's hand. The light in his mother's eyes went out. At that moment, he had used his childhood to buy a one-way ticket to this place.

From then on, it was double the living expenses, shorter and shorter phone calls from his mother across time zones, and "guardians" arranged by his father who were always polite but distant.

His life contained only football; football was his heartbeat, his breath, his entire world.

And now, this world didn't want him anymore.

Give up.

This thought was so clear for the first time, bringing a tempting sense of relief. Forget it, seven years, it was enough to be worthy of himself. Mom's company seemed to have grown very large; go back and concede, life might... He thought numbly, his fingers unconsciously picking at a piece of peeling leather on his football boots. That was torn at the end of last season, and he hadn't been able to bear replacing them.

Just when he was about to be submerged by this grey tide, deep in his mind, without warning, and extremely clearly—

"Ding!"

[After being politely rejected by Arsenal, you come to Barcelona, only to be rejected again. You are disheartened and decide to go home to accept your mother's arrangements. At 21, you officially debut as a Korean trainee. Relying on your mother's status and resources as the head of an entertainment company, your acting career goes smoothly.]

[Ten years later, you are the "Yu Dog" in the eyes of netizens. Your ex-girlfriends are enough to rank among the four great actresses of the Chinese entertainment industry. Everyone says you are a playboy scumbag, but in reality, in every relationship, you treated them like Arsenal.]

[At 32, you receive a script for a football movie. The director holds the script and says this lead role belongs to no one but you, as you have the best football skills in the entertainment industry. Hearing the praise, you actually cry. You regret it deeply, sighing about how good it would be if time could turn back.]

[Thinking of "white-cut chicken," you look at your body again. Over these years, you still often play pickup football, and as an entertainer, you have kept your physique in great shape. Rapper J. Cole joined the CBA at 41; you feel that you, at 32, can do it too, so you make up your mind to start your comeback.]

[Successfully join a professional team, Reward: Newbie Gift Package]

...

.

.

PS: No Chinese National Football Team!