After the training match, Jin Hayes noticed a distinct shift in the atmosphere around him. The Arsenal players, who had largely ignored him or treated him with polite indifference, now looked at him differently. There was a new wariness in their eyes, a grudging respect.
None was more transformed than Cesc Fàbregas.
The Spanish prodigy, who had debuted as a child and grown into one of Europe's most coveted young midfielders, carried himself with an arrogance that was barely concealed beneath his shy, introverted public persona. He moved through the world assuming everyone knew his name, his reputation.
Now, as Jin Hayes sat on the sideline recovering, Fàbregas approached him with none of that confidence. He looked almost hesitant.
"Hey, mate."
Jin Hayes didn't look up, focused on his water bottle.
Fàbregas pressed on, undeterred. "You're Jin, right?"
"Jin Hayes."
"Jin... Hayes." Fàbregas stumbled over the syllables. "How did you do that? That move, back there?"
He tossed a ball at Jin Hayes's feet and attempted a clumsy imitation of the sequence he'd witnessed, failing miserably.
Jin Hayes nearly choked on his water.
During the match, he'd received the ball on the edge of the box, brought it down with his chest, and executed a series of tight, controlled turns that had left Gilberto Silva and William Gallas grasping at air. It was a move that, in theory, belonged in a street football highlight reel, not a Premier League training ground. Flashy, impractical, the kind of thing that gets you mocked if it fails.
But Jin Hayes had adapted it in the moment, instinct taking over. A useless trick, in the right hands, had become a weapon. He'd shaken off two world-class defenders and slipped a pass to Adebayor for an easy finish.
The impact on Fàbregas had been profound. He'd spent over a decade mastering the Barcelona way, the tiki-taka philosophy of simple, efficient passing. He'd never seen the game played like this, this fusion of street football flair and genuine effectiveness. Arsenal's entire first-team defence had been rendered helpless by a fifteen-year-old. Only brute physicality had stopped him.
Fàbregas, for all his talent, knew he couldn't do what Jin Hayes had just done. And that knowledge humbled him.
Jin Hayes looked at the ball, then back at Fàbregas.
"You can't learn it," he said simply, setting down his bottle and walking away, leaving the Spanish midfielder standing alone, deflated.
It wasn't cruelty. It was truth. Fàbregas's genius lay elsewhere – in his vision, his passing range, his ability to dictate tempo. Holding onto the ball, trying to replicate Jin Hayes's style, would only diminish him. His game was about releasing the ball quickly, finding the killer pass, not dancing through defences.
Jin Hayes found Wenger by the touchline. The professor was watching him approach, a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"So, coach," Jin Hayes said, cutting straight to the point. "Can I stay?"
He'd just dismantled Arsenal's first-team defence. If that wasn't enough, nothing was.
Wenger chuckled softly. "Your talent, Jin Hayes, is extraordinary. The most naturally gifted player I have ever seen at your age. Truly… interesting."
Interesting. Jin Hayes had been in England long enough to recognise that word. When an Englishman called something 'interesting,' it was rarely a compliment. It was polite code for 'problematic.'
"But?" Jin Hayes prompted.
Wenger's smile faded. He crossed his arms, a habit born from the constant frustration of having no pockets in his training jacket. "You're direct. I appreciate that. So I will be direct with you."
"There is no denying your technical ability. It is world-class. But you are fifteen years old. In a normal situation, you would be in the youth academy, learning your trade, developing physically."
"I understand you want to play first-team football. To be a starter. But the Premier League…" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "It demands physicality, pace, and efficiency above all else. Your style, as it stands, is not suited to it. If I am being brutally honest, even with talent that surpasses Fàbregas, on a Premier League pitch, I would still choose him. Do you understand why?"
Jin Hayes nodded slowly. He understood. Football wasn't just about what you could do with the ball. It was about what you could do without it, about positioning, about physical battles, about the relentless, unforgiving pace of the game. His body, still slight and underdeveloped, would be a liability.
"I want you to stay," Wenger continued. "Train with the U18s. Play youth team matches. Get used to the English game. The physicality, the pace, the mentality. It will be invaluable."
He hesitated. "There is another issue. You have no prior professional background. No international caps. Applying for a work permit under the special talent exemption is… complicated. The board would need convincing. Without a permit, you cannot play. Not even for the U18s in competitive matches."
He braced himself for the reaction he expected: anger, disappointment, the sulking of a spoiled genius. Instead, Jin Hayes met his gaze with a calm, almost adult composure.
"I understand. And I accept that. What's the alternative?"
Wenger blinked, momentarily wrong-footed by the maturity of the response. He recovered quickly.
"There is one. We could sign you to a professional contract and immediately loan you out to a club where you can play competitive first-team football. If you prove yourself there, we can go to the FA with a much stronger case for a work permit."
He named a few possibilities. "We have a good relationship with Ajax. Their development record speaks for itself. We could guarantee you first-team minutes there, in the Eredivisie. It's a league known for nurturing young talent. It would be an excellent foundation."
Jin Hayes considered this.
The Eredivisie was a proven factory for future stars. A launching pad. Before his transformation, before the inexplicable gift that now hummed in his veins, Jin Hayes would have jumped at any European opportunity, even an unknown club in Eastern Europe. Now, with this talent burning inside him, his ambition had grown. He wanted to test himself against the best, as soon as possible. Ajax was a good step. But was it the right step for him?
Wenger, observing the thoughtful silence, raised an eyebrow. "If the Netherlands doesn't appeal to you, there is another option. A club we have a good relationship with."
Jin Hayes looked up. "Which one?"
"Their situation is… complicated," Wenger said carefully. "Significant debt. Instability in the management structure. Frankly, there's a real risk of financial collapse. I cannot guarantee you would get regular playing time there. I wouldn't normally recommend it for a young player."
"Which club?" Jin Hayes repeated.
Wenger paused, then said, "Borussia Dortmund. In Germany."
As Jin Hayes walked away, Pat Rice, Arsenal's long-serving assistant coach, fell into step beside Wenger. His expression was curious.
"You're seriously considering him for the first team, aren't you? Not the U18s."
Wenger didn't deny it. "If he can replicate even half of what he showed in that training match, in a real game, he could be devastating."
"That good?" Rice asked, genuinely surprised. He'd seen Wenger nurture countless talents, from Anelka to Fabregas. The last youngster the professor had spoken of with such quiet intensity was a fifteen-year-old in the academy named Jack Wilshere.
"How does he compare to Jack?" Rice pressed.
Wenger smiled, a small, enigmatic expression. He turned and walked away without a word, hands clasped behind his back in his characteristic pose.
Rice stood for a moment, then hurried after him. "Come on, Arsène! I need to know! Who's better?"
"So let me get this straight," his mother's voice crackled through the phone, thick with suspicion. "You've been in England for five minutes, and now you're going to Germany?"
"That's right, Ma."
"Jin Hayes, are you in some kind of trouble? Is this one of those trafficking things? If you're in danger, just say the word. Your father will be on the next plane."
Jin Hayes closed his eyes and counted to three. His mother's imagination was a force of nature.
His father's voice came on the line, calmer, more measured. "Ignore your mother. She's been watching too many crime documentaries. Germany is fine. Dortmund… well, I've read they're having a difficult time. Financially. But if Arsenal think it's a good move, and you think it's right, then we're behind you. Go and give it everything."
"Thanks, Dad."
A pause. "And son. If you need money, any at all, you tell us. Don't try to be a hero and struggle on your own."
The line went dead. Jin Hayes stared at his phone for a long moment, a small smile on his face. The future was uncertain, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once. But he wasn't facing it alone.
His choice of Dortmund wasn't random. It was driven by something he couldn't explain, those strange flashes of premonition that had haunted him since childhood. He didn't know how he knew, but he was certain: Dortmund, despite its current chaos, was on the verge of something extraordinary. A storm was coming. And he wanted to be part of it.
The next few days were a blur of activity. He trained with Arsenal's youth squad in the mornings, his body slowly adapting to the increased intensity. In the afternoons, there were meetings, paperwork, and contract discussions.
Since Jin Hayes had no agent, Arsenal's legal department, with his parents' remote approval via countless transcontinental phone calls, arranged for an independent solicitor to review the contract terms. It was unusual, but Wenger had insisted on doing things properly.
The legal reality was straightforward: Jin Hayes was still six months away from his sixteenth birthday. He couldn't sign a professional contract. Instead, he signed a scholarship agreement, a standard arrangement for academy players, with a weekly wage of £100. Attached to it was a clause: upon his sixteenth birthday, the scholarship would automatically convert to a three-year professional contract.
The terms were generous for a player his age. Base salary: £5,750 per week. Appearance fees: £1,300 per first-team match. Bonuses for goals and assists. A 25% annual salary increase clause. Dortmund, in their current financial state, couldn't cover these wages. Arsenal agreed to pay 100% of his salary for the duration of any loan.
And so, in a small conference room at the Emirates Stadium, Jin Hayes sat beside Arsène Wenger, signed his name on the dotted line, and shook hands for the cameras.
The photograph – Jin Hayes holding an Arsenal shirt with the number 24, his name printed across the back – appeared on the club's official website later that day. It was a minor news item, buried deep in the transfer round-ups. A fifteen-year-old signing was not headline material.
Only a small newspaper, the Daily Star, gave it a brief mention in a corner of their back pages:
*"Arsenal have signed 15-year-old Chinese midfielder Jin Hayes to a professional contract. Wenger describes him as a 'rare talent.' The youngster, who has not played for any previous professional club, is expected to be loaned to a Bundesliga side to gain first-team experience."*
No one noticed. No one cared.