Feeling the chill, Dunn realized he was still only wearing his underwear. He hurriedly put on some clothes and then went to the bathroom to wash up.

The place where Coach Tony Dunn lived was called Branford Gardens, a very ordinary residential area located in the Wilford district on the south bank of the River Trent. It was a typical red-brick house commonly seen in England, with a small garden—nothing more. For the single Dunn, the house wasn’t small, but by Nottingham standards, it definitely wasn’t big. The rent was very cheap, and most importantly, it was very close to both the Forest team’s training base and youth academy. Walking northeast for just over twenty minutes, you could see the entrance to the training base nestled among the trees.

After finishing up in the bathroom, Dunn planned to go to the kitchen to find something to eat.

When he reached the fridge, he discovered that the door was covered with sticky notes. He opened the door, found a carton of milk and a piece of bread, and simply stood in front of the fridge, curiously reading the notes while eating his simple breakfast.

The most eye-catching was an A4-sized schedule. After glancing at its contents, Dunn felt dizzy.

6:30—7:00, morning run.

7:00—7:20, breakfast.

7:00—7:40, reading the newspaper.

7:40—8:00, go to the training ground (note: different arrangements on match days).

...

It was an extremely detailed daily schedule, with times precise to the minute and plenty of notes. From the very second he opened his eyes in the morning, this schedule was faithfully followed, all the way until he lay back in bed and closed his eyes to sleep.

“This damned obsessive-compulsive maniac!” For the laid-back Dunn, dividing life up by the minute and filling each segment with specific tasks was pure torture. Every day’s activities were already set before he even opened his eyes—what to do at what time, from when to when, even wishing he could schedule bathroom breaks for better planning. He finally understood why Kenny Burns had been so shocked to see him drinking yesterday—previously, Tony Dunn had been a complete workaholic, utterly lacking in fun, totally unable to enjoy life, rigid, stubborn, mechanical... That someone like this could live for thirty-four years was nothing short of a miracle!

Around the white schedule were also some yellow, green, and red sticky notes. Each color had a different purpose: yellow for memos reminding him of meetings at certain times, green for jotting down phone numbers—there weren’t many green notes, so it seemed those numbers had made it into Tony Dunn’s private phone book. The red ones were the most numerous, listing the day’s important plans—there was one every day. Dunn scanned the fridge door line by line, and finally found the red sticky note he’d put up yesterday morning.

Aside from the date, there was only one sentence:

“First match as head coach of the first team—must win!!!”

After seeing so many of Tony Dunn’s schedules and memos, this was the first time he’d seen such emotionally charged punctuation, and there were three exclamation marks.

Looking at the messy handwriting on the red note, so different from the usual memos, Dunn could almost imagine the expression and actions of the person writing it. He must have clenched his fist, gritted his teeth, full of anticipation and fighting spirit, pouring all his strength into writing this vow on the note.

Unfortunately... Dunn thought of what the TV news had said yesterday: Forest lost 0–3 at home to the underdog Shrewsbury. Was it his sudden arrival that had stolen the victory? Dunn stared blankly at the fridge door covered in notes, lost in thought.

He must have made the most thorough plans and told his players the day before the match. But what good did it do? They still lost. There’s a Chinese saying: “Plans can’t keep up with changes.”

Dunn reached out and peeled the notes off the fridge door one by one. In the end, only the red note with “must win” written on it was left.

Then he threw the notes and the milk carton into the trash, clapped his hands, and walked out of the kitchen.

Back in the bedroom, daylight was already bright. Although it was still raining, there were more and more people and cars on the street.

Dunn remembered seeing on the schedule that he was supposed to go to the training ground at eight o’clock. He looked at his watch—it was exactly 7:40.

No matter how absurd or terrible reality was, he had become Tony Dunn, taken the place of this unlucky guy, and naturally had to do his job. Dunn was not an irresponsible person. Besides, he never believed that victory would come out of nowhere when watching football. He put on his coat, grabbed a black umbrella at the door, then opened the door and stepped out into the rain.

※※※

The Forest team’s training base was also in the Wilford district. Here, the east-west flowing River Trent made a sharp N-shaped turn, creating a large expanse of flat land through alluvial deposits. A century ago, this was still fertile farmland and forest. Nottingham was just a small area on the north bank. Now, the city’s development had crossed the River Trent, and this was already a sizable residential area. The Forest club bought this land and built their own training base here.