“So even though I first came here when I was only twelve, no one showed any dissatisfaction. They really liked me.” Emily Clark pointed to a wall on the side, which was covered with all kinds of photos. Brian Carter had seen them before, and after working here for a while, he realized that those photos were all of the regulars.

“There’s even a photo of me over there. It’s a picture of me and my dad.”

Hearing her say this, Brian Carter suddenly wanted to go over and look for it right away.

“At that time, my family lived nearby, right next to the Plough Lane stadium, so starting from my great-grandfather, everyone in my family has been a Wimbledon fan.”

I see. Brian Carter said this in his heart.

“Three years ago, I moved. Now I’m thirteen blocks away from here, so it’s not so convenient to come anymore, and at that time I also had to prepare for university entrance exams. So I haven’t been here since then.”

Emily Clark pointed to the glass next to her: “A minute has long passed, Carter.”

“Huh? Uh…” Brian Carter hurriedly picked up the glass, added a bit of foam, and then handed it to Emily Clark. “Sorry…”

“Do you like playing football, Carter?”

Emily Clark asked again, unexpectedly. This time, before Brian Carter could say anything, she continued, “Three days ago, I watched your match.”

Brian Carter thought for a moment before realizing which match she was talking about—the international student friendly at Wimbledon School of Art, with the Chinese international student team playing against the British student team. In that match, they were thrashed by the British team, losing by five goals. It was a match Brian Carter didn’t want to remember, because he hated losing, and hated even more the feeling of being utterly powerless. Besides losing, he also hated his teammates who had no fighting spirit, because they made him feel alone, and he really hated that feeling—he’d hated it ever since three years ago.

“You played very well.”

“Getting played like a monkey, and that’s considered playing well?” Brian Carter sneered. “You’re not here just to make fun of me, are you, Princess Dons?” He still remembered that match vividly, and had a big argument with his temporary teammates because of it, and things were a bit awkward with his roommate Olivia Harris too. All in all, it was an unpleasant experience. He really wished he hadn’t played in that match. Thinking back now, he didn’t know what he was thinking—Olivia Harris had asked him to help out because they were short of players, and he’d agreed. But before that match, he hadn’t touched a football in three years…

Now this girl brought up that match again, stirring up Brian Carter’s unhappy memories, so his tone was not very friendly.

Emily Clark shrugged. “Even though you lost, and lost badly, I still think you played very well. Losing wasn’t your fault—the responsibility was with your teammates…” At this point, she noticed Brian Carter looking up at her. “Uh, they didn’t cooperate with you at all. Defense isn’t a one-man job.”

“I didn’t expect you to know so much about football,” Brian Carter said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Because I’m a girl?” Emily Clark didn’t mind the sarcasm in Brian Carter’s tone.

Brian Carter nodded. In his nearly nineteen years, he’d met very few girls who liked football and actually understood it—he could count them on his fingers. Some girls liked football just to follow the trend or because they liked celebrities. For example, if you lined up all the female football fans, and said they were all David Beckham fans, that would be unfair; but if you said every other one was a Beckham fan, some would still slip through the net. Brian Carter didn’t look down on celebrity-chasing fans, but talking football with them often left him feeling powerless, so he rarely discussed football with female fans.

“Are you a bit of a male chauvinist?” Emily Clark asked.

Male chauvinism refers to the belief that men are inherently superior to women, and its scope and meaning are quite broad.

“No.” Brian Carter denied reflexively. Admitting to racism in front of a Black person would be like tearing off the mask. There was no need to be so blunt with a girl he’d only just met, even if he did admit he had a bit of that mindset. For example, he thought many sports weren’t really suitable for women, football included, because women’s football only had technique, but lacked the power and speed that made the sport exciting. That’s why women’s football never got much attention—not for lack of promotion, but because of its own shortcomings.

Emily Clark looked at Brian Carter, the corners of her mouth slowly turning up. Clearly, she didn’t believe Brian Carter’s denial, but she didn’t press the issue.

“Do you want to play for our team?”

“Your team?” Brian Carter was a bit surprised, then remembered it must be the new Wimbledon team that Emily Clark and the regulars had discussed, funded by the fans.

“Yes, our team. The soon-to-be-established new Wimbledon.”

“I still have to work.” Brian Carter shook his head and refused, without a moment’s hesitation. After that match the other day, he realized that quitting football three years ago had been the right choice, even though he’d been reluctant at the time.