Dunn shook his head. He was an atheist, he didn't believe in religion, and he didn't care what religious camp others categorized him into.

Burns came out from behind the bar and waved at Dunn by the door. "Since you're here, don't leave. I'm bored all by myself anyway—how about keeping me company for a chat? Of course, drinks are on me."

At that moment, Dunn was also looking for someone to talk to. He blinked. "The purest Scotch whisky?"

Burns burst out laughing. "That's right, straight from my hometown, the most authentic Scotch whisky! But whatever you do, don't press your glass into my face."

"Ah! About that... I must sincerely apologize to you."

"It's nothing, fights in bars are common. People get a bit rowdy when they've had too much, especially when there's a football match on..." Burns nodded in understanding.

Chapter 3 The Past of Tony Dunn

Since the bar wasn't officially open, the lights were off inside. The blinds outside the window were half-drawn, and light slanted in, bringing some brightness to the dim interior. Dust motes swirled in the light, like stage effects made with mist. This kind of environment wasn't suitable for reading books or newspapers; in fact, the two people in the middle of the bar didn't need to read at all. One was inside the bar, the other sat on a high stool outside the bar. In front of them sat two heavy glass tumblers, each filled with golden liquor.

Such a quiet and dim environment was perfect for conversation.

"Tony, you know what? Your performance last night really opened my eyes—and surprised me a lot." Burns refilled the empty glass.

"Oh?" After downing five shots of strong whisky in a row, even a heavy drinker like Dunn was a little tipsy.

"You've been here for seven years. I saw you when you first arrived—you were so young then. I've never seen you get into any conflict with anyone. You have a good temper, though a bit withdrawn. But you always face others with a smile. That group of old guys last night were all drunk. If they'd been sober, they definitely wouldn't have done something so out of line when they saw you. But I never expected your reaction to be so intense... You moved nothing like a football coach."

Dunn gave a wry smile. He hadn't expected that, in others' eyes, he used to be a good person. "Maybe you're right... but I can't really remember..." Dunn pretended to rub the back of his head, his expression pained. "I've... forgotten a lot of things." He realized he really had a talent for acting. "I don't remember how I used to train the team, and I feel very unfamiliar with Forest. The match is the day after tomorrow, but I don't even know how to lead them..."

Dunn buried his head in his arms in anguish. He found that he was already immersed in the role—not just in this scene, but in the whole act of being the acting head coach of Forest, Tony Dunn.

Seeing Dunn slumped over the bar in pain, Burns also realized things were more serious than he'd thought. "So... you're saying you've basically forgotten all your abilities as a coach?"

"You could say that..." Dunn said with his head down.

"That's really bad. Does that old guy Doherty know about your situation?"

"I haven't told him." Dunn shook his head.

Burns tapped his fingers lightly on the bar, as if pondering a solution.

Dunn looked up at him. "Kenny, can you tell me how I used to be as a coach?"

Burns clapped his hands. "That's a good idea. Maybe you'll remember something about yourself from the past. Hmm, let me think—you came to Forest seven years ago..."

※※※

For a football fan, they're always used to measuring time by football, marking unique imprints on the timeline with the sport. When they look back on a certain year, they won't say what they were doing at the time—because maybe they don't even remember. But they can clearly tell you what happened in the football world that year, what major tournaments were held, which players burst onto the scene, which players faded away, which players achieved greatness, and they'll even throw in some fun anecdotes and gossip.

Dunn was the same. In 2003, he was not yet twenty-three, just graduated from university. Counting back seven years from there, in 1996 he was still a middle school student. He couldn't remember what he did that year, but he still remembered that summer. Because the ninth European Championship was held in the summer of 1996, and the host was England. He secretly stayed up late to watch the matches, and the next day used his pocket money to buy sports newspapers, poring over the reports and all kinds of news about the previous night's games.