Where the hell am I? What the hell is going on? Damn it, I just drank a bit too much, then got into a fight with two punks and got ambushed. And then... how did I end up here? Looking at those people outside with high-bridged noses and blue eyes, speaking some gibberish, am I dreaming? Or watching a movie?

　　Dunn rubbed the back of his head, which still ached faintly.

　　Damn it, ambushed me, hit me from behind!

　　He cursed through gritted teeth.

　　He was just a football fan, liked to have a few drinks when he had nothing to do, and watch matches in crowded places, like bars... Lately, his favorite team had been on a losing streak, drawing or losing every game. Already in a bad mood, he was provoked by two rival fans. With the alcohol and his temper flaring, a fight broke out. He fought two at once, fearless. But the other side played dirty—one distracted him from the front while the other sneaked behind and clubbed him.

　　Then, when he opened his eyes, he found himself in a noisy environment, and was immediately knocked to the ground by a black man. The others were speaking words he couldn't understand—he could hear every word, every syllable, but just couldn't grasp their meaning. He felt as if his brain had been torn apart, split into two halves: one very familiar with this environment, the other completely lost and anxious.

　　“What’s my name?” he muttered to himself, then suddenly covered his mouth. Only then did he realize he’d been speaking gibberish—English.

　　“Damn it, what the hell is going on?” This time, the words came out in his hometown dialect.

　　Dunn was about to go crazy. He found that there seemed to be two completely different minds in his head. One moment he believed he was an Englishman named “Tony Dunn” (Tony Twain), the next he was convinced he was a Sichuanese Chinese named “Dunn” (Tang En).

　　He banged his head hard against the wall, finally cooling his feverish mind a little. He closed his eyes and searched carefully. Then he realized he was at a football stadium—the City Ground. And the match going on outside was an ordinary English First Division game, with his team, Nottingham Forest, playing against Walsall.

　　Having finally figured out where he was, Dunn was stunned again. This was so unbelievable that his brain, after running at full speed, simply stopped responding. He slumped down in the players’ tunnel, facing the Nottingham Forest crest, while huge boos echoed from outside. Yet all of this seemed to have nothing to do with him anymore.

　　※※※

　　“...That was the scene this afternoon at the City Ground. Acting Forest manager Tony Dunn was knocked down on the sidelines by one of his players and appeared to lose consciousness briefly. When he got up, he walked straight into the players’ tunnel. Des Walker took over for the rest of the match and attended the press conference. But at the conference, Coach Walker refused to reveal any information about Coach Tony Dunn.”

　　So where was Dunn at this moment?

　　He was at home, wrestling with his reflection in the mirror.

　　Compared to the brightly lit, lively homes of his neighbors, Coach Tony Dunn’s house was as gloomy as a haunted castle. Eight o’clock at night, and it was still pitch black inside, not a single light on. By the faint glow of the streetlamp outside, Dunn stood in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. A middle-aged foreigner with a prominent nose, deep-set eyes, blue irises, and slightly wavy brown hair.

　　But in reality, Dunn from Sichuan, China, was only twenty-six years old. The man in the mirror even had forehead wrinkles! Thirty-four years old! That was Tony Dunn’s age. By now, Dunn had already been forced to accept another fact: it was no longer 2007, the year he got into that fight, but 2003—January 1, 2003. The price for accepting this fact was a shredded Nottingham Forest 02–03 season family photo New Year calendar.

　　Not only had he inexplicably ended up in the body of an Englishman, he’d also traveled four years and three months back in time!

　　He’d never thought of himself as particularly handsome or able to attract many women. But after seeing that face for twenty-six years, he’d never grown tired of it. Now, suddenly having to accept another self, another face, just made him feel irritable.

　　“Who the hell is this?!” he roared at the mirror, then punched it, shattering it. Instantly, his reflection became countless fragments, the pieces clattering to the floor, a multitude of faces staring at Dunn as if mocking him.

　　Dunn felt dizzy. He took a step back, leaned against the smooth wall, and gasped for breath.

　　Why me?

　　After sitting quietly in the dark for a few minutes, Dunn gradually calmed down. He decided not to think about such complicated questions for now. Back in China, he had a habit: whenever something upset him, he’d go find a place to drink. Bars were everywhere in Chengdu—maybe he’d even get lucky and have a one-night stand. In his mind, he habitually treated Nottingham as Chengdu and decided to go out and find a bar to drown his sorrows. He didn’t care what identity he had now.