A once highly anticipated genius has vanished without a trace.

Until today, when his photo on a street soccer field was posted online.

So he’s still alive. Judging by his smile, he seems to be doing quite well.

That’s how it should be—maybe you stop playing football, but life always goes on. Failing to become the star who changes the future of Chinese football, or the first player to make it in a top club, isn’t the end of the world. You can live your life in another way, with a new identity, and if you live well, that’s a kind of happiness too.

Why care what others say?

But for me, the genius who once brought me joy and hope—he’s gone.

—A netizen, “The Death of a Genius”

Chapter One Brian Clark

The eleven-year-old Owen Brooks was dressed in a full tracksuit, juggling a soccer ball between his feet as he walked. Each time the turf shoes—designed for artificial grass and hard surfaces—touched the pavement, they made a crisp, pleasant sound.

Every passerby who saw Owen Brooks juggling the ball as he walked would glance over, and some even praised him: “Wow! This kid’s amazing!”

Hearing such praise, Owen Brooks juggled the ball with even more enthusiasm. He especially enjoyed this kind of attention, because it made him feel like a real soccer star.

The ball danced up and down between his feet. Occasionally, he’d use his thigh to cushion it, making slight adjustments. He’d kept the ball off the ground for many touches in a row—he wasn’t counting, though, because he was afraid that focusing on counting would distract him from juggling. He didn’t dare to multitask yet; he had to concentrate fully. That’s also why, even when he heard the compliments, he didn’t dare look up to see who was praising him.

Just then, a startled voice sounded behind him: “Watch out!”

Owen Brooks’s foot slipped, and the ball skidded off his shoe into a nearby greenbelt.

“Jie!” Owen Brooks said angrily.

“That was dangerous! You almost ran into a tree. I told you not to play with the ball while walking…” Behind Owen Brooks, a long-haired girl with delicate makeup walked up, carrying a small sports bag and wearing a reproachful look.

“I’m training my ball control!” Owen Brooks protested as he ran to retrieve the ball.

“Ball control? Who practices on the sidewalk?” His sister gently patted his head. The bristly crew cut rubbed against her palm, and she couldn’t help but ruffle his hair a bit more, enjoying the feeling.

But her brother clearly didn’t like this affectionate gesture and dodged away.

“Jie, you don’t even understand football. Why are you tagging along?”

“How could I let you come practice alone? There are so many cars on the road—it’s dangerous!” The girl smiled. “Besides, I’m carrying your bag. I’m basically your beautiful assistant! With this kind of treatment, what more could you want?” She lifted the sports bag in her hand.

“Why didn’t you come with me before? You only started last month…”

“I was busy before… After graduating college, I was job hunting. Kids can’t imagine how busy adults are.”

Out of her sight, Owen Brooks rolled his eyes.

“Then why did you put on makeup just to come out?”

“Silly, would you want your teammates to say your sister is ugly? Of course I have to look nice to make you proud! I’m doing this for you!”

Hearing this, Owen Brooks forced a smile. “Well, thanks, Jie!”

Seeing her brother’s smile, which looked worse than crying, the girl laughed too. “No need to thank me. After all, you’re my little brother.”

Her smile was even brighter than the afternoon sun.

When they arrived at the entrance of the soccer training center, Owen Brooks’s sister’s eyes lit up. There, a tall boy was chatting with two middle-aged men, seemingly seeing them off.

Sunlight slanted across the boy’s face. He shook his head with a smile, and the light seemed to dance on his features, dazzling the girl. She screamed inwardly, “How can someone be so good-looking? How can someone be so handsome?”

Suddenly, Owen Brooks found his sister stuffing the bag into his arms. “Hurry to the field, your teammates are waiting!”

Hugging the sports bag, he noticed his sister’s gaze was glued to that tall figure, unable to look away, and he snorted.

But clearly, his sister didn’t hear his protest. Instead, she gave him a little push and waved her hand in a “shoo” gesture.

……

After seeing off the two visitors, Brian Clark turned around and saw a girl standing in front of him with a bright smile. He was startled—literally startled—he jumped back a step. “Whoa!”

“Pfft!” The girl was amused by his exaggerated reaction.

“Owen Brooks’s sister, I think you really have the makings of an excellent man-marking defender.”

“Huh? Why?” The girl widened her eyes, curious.

“Your ability to appear silently behind people is something defenders dream of. If I’d had the ball on the field just now, you’d have stolen it from me for sure.” Brian Clark said, snapping his fingers.