Looking at Brian Clark's smile, Director Harris breathed a sigh of relief and turned his gaze to Yvonne Foster.

That kid was being grabbed by the collar by George Allen: “What the hell are you trying to do!?”

“George Allen, I didn’t mean it…” Yvonne Foster grinned cheekily, trying to explain himself.

“You almost ruined him just now!”

“George Allen, come on, does he even need me to ruin him?” Yvonne Foster spread his hands.

George Allen stared at him coldly: “Let me tell you, this is their turf. If you keep messing around, when they come after you, I won’t step in.”

The grin froze on Yvonne Foster’s face. Then he saw the unfriendly expressions of the Red Light Team players, and of course, the college students who had already rushed to the sidelines, each of them looking like they wanted to tear him apart.

Yvonne Foster chickened out, lowered his head, and said nothing.

Although the head referee only gave a yellow card, George Allen patted him on the shoulder: “Take yourself off, don’t stay on the field.”

Yvonne Foster clenched his teeth, but in the end, he walked off the field with his head down. Off the field, the college students made way for him, but each one stared at him with very unfriendly eyes.

Knowing he had angered everyone, Yvonne Foster didn’t dare make a sound and just ran off. As he ran, he didn’t even dare glance in Brian Clark’s direction, afraid the students would see it as provocation… For the first time, Yvonne Foster felt so humiliated, yet completely powerless.

Meanwhile, on the other side, Mr. Cooper also decided to substitute Brian Clark out. The current score was enough for them to win the match, and at this point, the result wasn’t the most important thing—Brian Clark’s health and safety were.

“Go to the hospital for an X-ray, get checked out, okay?” Mr. Cooper was very worried.

But Brian Clark smiled and shook his head: “I’m fine, Mr. Cooper, I dodged it.”

“Really don’t need to go to the hospital?”

“Really don’t. If there’s nothing else here, Mr. Cooper, I’d like to head back. You can just give the money to Mr. Harris.”

“Don’t worry about the money. Let me have my driver take you…” Mr. Cooper was very attentive.

But Brian Clark shook his head and politely declined Mr. Cooper’s offer: “I’ll just grab a cab myself.”

Director Harris quickly said, “No, I’ll take you home.” At this point, he didn’t really care about the money anymore.

Mr. Cooper shook Brian Clark’s hand enthusiastically: “I’ll transfer the money directly to Little Harris’s account later, don’t worry! Go home and get some good rest. I really have to thank you this time, you’ve opened my eyes. I’ve been a football fan for decades, and your skills are top-notch even in our country, I can say that for sure! What a pity…”

He sighed.

Brian Clark knew why Mr. Cooper was sighing, and he smiled: “Nothing to pity, everyone has their own fate.”

But unexpectedly, Mr. Cooper shook his head vigorously: “I don’t believe that. I used to be a bricklayer on a construction site. If I accepted my fate, I’d be a bricklayer for life. Everything I have now, I fought for myself. So, Little Clark—I’m older than you, hope you don’t mind me calling you Little Clark?”

Brian Clark quickly shook his head: “Not at all, not at all…”

“So Little Clark, don’t go on about fate at such a young age. Fate is just an excuse losers make for themselves—bad luck, ha! Alright, I won’t hold you up any longer. Don’t worry about the money, I, Mr. Cooper, have been in business for years, and everyone knows I’m the most trustworthy!”

“I believe it, I believe it, Mr. Cooper looks like a very generous person!” Brian Clark gave a thumbs up, offering a little flattery. He didn’t feel the least bit embarrassed about buttering up a sponsor—he’d gotten used to it over the past year.

…

Amid Mr. Cooper’s hearty laughter, Brian Clark and Director Harris said goodbye to him and left the lively university football field in their well-worn Iraqi car.

Unlike the cheerful banter with Mr. Cooper earlier, once in the car, Brian Clark fell silent.

Even Director Harris, who was driving, found it odd: “What’s wrong, Brian? Is your left foot still bothering you?”

Brian Clark shook his head: “No. So this is the runner-up team of the amateur league you mentioned? Didn’t seem that impressive to me.”

“Hey, that’s because you’re amazing, Brian! But you seemed a bit different today…”

“How so?” Brian Clark turned to look at Director Harris.

“You seemed… more invested, more fired up than in previous matches…” Director Harris shared his observation.

“Correct.” Brian Clark snapped his fingers. “I was indeed more invested.”

“Why? Because I said this opponent was stronger?”

“Yeah, I wanted to see if facing a stronger opponent would make the game more interesting.”

“And the answer?”

“Boring.” Brian Clark stretched in the passenger seat. “This match was boring, and so were the previous ones. Mr. Harris, I don’t really want to play this kind of football anymore.”

Director Harris laughed: “You were never meant to play this kind of game. So you’ve decided?”

“Yeah, I’ve decided. Tomorrow I’ll go kneel in front of the old man, cry my eyes out, and say: ‘Coach, I want to play professional football’…”

Chapter 9: A Letter from Italy

That morning, when David Young arrived at the training center, Brian Clark had just finished his daily morning workout.