"It was a genuine pleasure to meet you. I very much hope to hear from you soon. For now, I'll take my leave. Good evening to you both."
The red-faced man in the fedora gave a polite nod, tipped his hat, and disappeared through the doorway as quietly as he had arrived.
Liu Yue and Jin Hayes stood in silence for a moment, then turned and walked back into the dressing room. The moment they sat down, they were swarmed. A dozen faces, still flushed with the excitement of the draw, pressed in close, hungry for information.
"Who was that, then?"
"Was it Everton? You're in, aren't you? You're definitely getting signed by Everton!"
"Hang on, we haven't even done the Bolton game yet. Maybe he'd rather go to Bolton."
"Bolton? They're fighting relegation every year! Everton are miles better."
"Better schmetter, they're still a Premier League team. The point is, someone's interested! You can't be picky at this stage."
"He hasn't even said anything yet! Jin Hayes, come on, spill. You're buzzing for Everton, right?"
The questions came thick and fast, a chaotic chorus of envy and excitement. Jin Hui, the team's striker and captain, held up a hand, silencing them with a glare.
"Give him some space to speak. Was it an offer? Is someone trying to sign you?"
Jin Hui's eyes, unlike the others, held a genuine, unselfish hope. They had all crossed an ocean with the same dream: to be noticed by an English club. At the start of the tour, everyone had secretly fantasised about joining one of the giants. Then reality had bitten, hard and cruel. Their confidence had been shattered, their limitations exposed. Now, the dream had shrunk. Any club. Any professional contract. Just a chance to stay, to escape the familiar, broken system back home.
Jin Hui knew, with a clarity that didn't sting as much as he'd expected, that this chance belonged to the quiet kid in the corner. Jin Hayes had earned it. If he hadn't stepped up today, they'd have been remembered as a disorganised rabble, a footnote in a youth team's fixture list. No one would have looked twice at any of them.
Jin Hayes shifted uncomfortably under the weight of a dozen stares. "It's nothing concrete," he mumbled. "Just an initial approach. A trial invitation."
"But it was Everton, right? It must have been Everton!" someone pressed. "That's brilliant! You'll be teammates with Li Tie!"
For many of the boys, Everton's main claim to familiarity was the Chinese international midfielder who had spent time at the club. It felt like a connection, however tenuous.
Jin Hayes wasn't so sure about that particular omen. He shook his head slowly, enjoying the dramatic pause a little more than he probably should have.
"It wasn't Everton," he said. "It was a scout. He's invited me for a trial. With… Arsenal."
Silence.
The kind of profound, disbelieving silence that falls over a stadium when a last-minute winner goes in.
It was the difference between hoping your friend had bought a decent family car and finding out he'd just parked a Ferrari in his driveway. Arsenal. Even in 2007, with the Invincibles era fading into memory and the move to the Emirates Stadium creating financial uncertainty, the name still carried immense weight.
They were perennial Champions League qualifiers, a club with a global reputation for stylish, attacking football and a manager who trusted young players. From Highbury to the Emirates, from Thierry Henry's departure to the emerging core of Cesc Fàbregas, Robin van Persie, and Theo Walcott, Arsenal remained one of the Premier League's genuine powerhouses.
The cacophony of questions died instantly. The expressions that replaced it were a complex mixture of awe, envy, and a kind of vicarious pride. It was Jin Hui who finally broke the spell.
"Arsenal," he repeated, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Bloody hell, Jin Hayes. That's… that's incredible. Our team, the Football Kids, we're actually going to produce one."
There was no bitterness in his voice, only genuine, heartfelt admiration. Anyone who had witnessed what Jin Hayes had done on that pitch knew, with absolute certainty, that he was operating on a different level. He wasn't just the best player in their squad. He was a genuine, once-in-a-generation talent. And he was about to get the chance he deserved.
"WHAT?!"
Jin Hayes winced, holding the phone away from his ear. His mother's voice, sharpened by distance and panic, could have shattered glass.
"We had an agreement! Summer trip, then back home for high school. You worked your backside off to get into that school! Tsinghua, Peking University – that's your future! What's the point of this football nonsense?"
"Ma, listen, it's just a trial, I—"
"Don't you 'Ma' me! I don't have a son who throws away his education for a game!"
In the background, he could hear his father's calming murmur, instantly silenced by a fierce retort. "And you! Look at your son! All he cares about is kicking a ball around. What happens when this falls through? He'll be picking rubbish out of a bin!"
"It's just a trial," his father's voice reasoned, placating. "Nothing's guaranteed. He might not even make it. He'll be back before you know it, don't get yourself worked up."
Jin Hayes, with the reckless confidence of a fifteen-year-old who had just discovered he possessed a superpower, couldn't resist. "Actually, I'm pretty confident I'll make it. I don't think I'll be coming back."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "Jin Hayes! You… he's never been away from home! England is so far away! Who's going to make sure he eats properly? Who's going to make sure he gets enough sleep? He'll be all alone over there…"
Her voice cracked, the anger dissolving into something raw and frightened.
Jin Hayes fell silent. The truth of her words hit him. His mother had never really been his enemy in this. Every time, as a kid, he'd begged for a new ball, for an authentic jersey, she'd grumbled about the cost, about wasting money. But she'd never said no. He remembered the pristine Beckham Real Madrid shirt, number 23, hanging in his wardrobe back home, still looking as new as the day she'd bought it. She'd wash it by hand, carefully, proudly. She'd stand on the touchline at his school games, pretending not to watch too closely, but always there.
She wasn't trying to stop his dream. She was terrified of losing him to it.
"Ma," he said, his voice softer now. "I'm fifteen. I know what I'm doing. I know what I'm getting into. Don't worry about me. When I start earning money playing football, I'll bring you both over. We'll get a nice house. You won't have to worry about anything."
"Pfft, a child like you, earning money…" But her voice had lost its edge. The phone was wrestled from her.
"Jin Hayes." His father's voice was firm, but warm. "If this is what you truly want, then we're behind you. One hundred percent. But you listen to me. Don't you dare sign a thing without us. We'll find you an agent, someone proper, to look over any contract. These foreign clubs, they'll try and trick you if they can."
"I know, Dad."
"And keep up with your studies! Football or no football, an education is something no one can take from you. Even if you're playing, you still need to learn. And another thing…"
His father, usually a man of few words, had become a fountain of anxious advice. A member of the production team was gesturing urgently from across the hotel lobby.
"Dad, I have to go. The TV people need me. I'll call you soon. Don't worry. Love you both. Bye."
He hung up.
In their apartment in Guangfu, Ding Ru stood motionless in the middle of the living room. Her husband, Chen Jianping, stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. He could feel the tension, the fear, the love, all coiled tightly inside her.
"He'll be fine," he murmured. "He's going to be a star."
She sniffed. "The food there is supposed to be terrible. How's he going to cope?"
Chen Jianping smiled into her hair. "We'll send him care packages. Chilli oil, pickled vegetables. The works."
"Chilli oil? That's your solution for everything!"
The farewells were quick. The "Football Kids" team boarded the bus for Liverpool John Lennon Airport, heading home. Jin Hayes stood outside the hotel with Steve Rowley, watching the bus disappear around a corner. The reality of his situation settled on him. He was alone in a foreign country.
"Where's your luggage?" Rowley asked, eyeing the small backpack at Jin Hayes's feet.
"This is it," Jin Hayes replied. He'd travelled light, a few changes of clothes, his boots, and not much else. It felt more like a weekend trip than the start of a new life. His parents, via the production team, had managed to get him some money, converted to about £320. It wasn't much, but it would keep him going for a few weeks. If he managed to secure an apprentice contract with Arsenal, he'd be on a weekly wage of around £50. Enough to survive.
The drive was long, five hours on the motorway in Rowley's unremarkable Volkswagen. They spoke little. Jin Hayes watched the English countryside roll past, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and half-formed plans.
Finally, they arrived in North London. The car turned off the main road and approached a set of gates. A sign, flanked by the familiar Arsenal cannon crest on one side and the club's name on the other, came into view. Below it, in clear, welcoming lettering, was a single line of text.
Welcome To Arsenal Training Centre.