The first entry was written on March 21, 1998, and the last one stopped at December 31, 2002. Turning one more page, this thick notebook comes to its end. The entry for December 31, 2002, is filled with notes, all about the next opponent, Warsaw, and his own countermeasures. He calculated many possible scenarios and strategies, but he never considered that he would be possessed by another Dunn.

Dunn let out a sigh. He didn’t plan to record anything more in this notebook. First, because there wasn’t enough space, and second, because he didn’t want to ruin this person’s hard work by adding anything more. Holding the notebook in his hands, Dunn felt its heavy weight.

Chapter Five: This Is Professional Football

That night, Dunn had another sleepless night. Ever since he arrived in Nottingham, he had suffered from insomnia for three consecutive nights. The first two times were due to a bit of panic about the unpredictable future, but this time, his sleeplessness had nothing to do with those trivial matters. After this night passed, he would face his very first professional match as a real coach.

An ordinary fan who used to get excited watching others play football on TV, a pitiful shut-in who could only vent his passion for football through computer games, a sad virgin with no luck with women who could only pour all his energy into football—he actually had the chance to stand on a professional football pitch and command those professional players who always seemed so impressive and awesome. To enjoy the thunderous cheers of the crowd, to be interviewed by countless media after the match, and whatever he said would have an influence on the public...

To Dunn, this all felt like a dream. This wasn’t FM or CM; this was a real miracle happening to him! Just thinking about tomorrow’s match made him so nervous and excited that he couldn’t sleep. He just stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, imagining how he would present himself the next day.

He didn’t know what time he finally fell asleep, but he knew he hadn’t slept enough. From the moment he got up, he kept yawning—while getting dressed, while washing up, while eating breakfast, and even on the way to the training ground.

The gatekeeper at Wilford Training Ground, Ian McDonald, was surprised for the third time to see the team’s head coach so early in the morning. “Tony...” He opened his mouth, but Dunn cut him off.

“I know, the match is in the afternoon, and there’s no training in the morning. I just want to start my work now, is that not allowed—huh—!” Dunn yawned again.

“Uh, of course it’s allowed.” McDonald came out and opened the iron gate.

As Dunn walked past him, he heard him say, “Good luck, Tony.” So he stopped, turned around, and looked at McDonald.

This white-haired old man had a stable source of income—the government pension after retirement—but he still came here to work, insisting on taking a symbolic salary of one hundred pounds a month. After the club fell into a financial crisis, he even stopped taking that one hundred pounds. He did all this simply because he loved the club, loved the team, and saw working here as an honor. He was always polite to everyone, always looked at the players and coaches coming and going each day, as well as the occasional chairman, with respect. Even when the team performed badly, no one ever heard him complain or sigh.

McDonald was startled by the look in Dunn’s eyes. The old Tony Dunn was quiet and reserved, but always gentle to everyone. He would politely look at your face for a moment, then lower his head slightly to greet you, and then turn and leave. He would never stare at you now... with such an intense, almost unsettling gaze.

McDonald didn’t know that, back in China, Dunn was often looked down upon for always giving people this “very rude” look. But Dunn never thought about changing his ways.

Just as McDonald was feeling a bit uneasy under Dunn’s gaze, Dunn suddenly grinned: “Ian, do you like winning?”

McDonald was stunned for a moment, then reacted and nodded: “Of course, who likes losing?”

Dunn’s smile grew even brighter, his mouth almost reaching his ears. He said, “Me too. Where will you be watching the match?”

McDonald pointed to the gatehouse behind him: “I’ll be here listening to the radio, just like at the City Ground.”

Dunn nodded: “I hope you’ll keep hearing news of our goals on the radio. Goodbye, and good luck to you too, Ian.”

“Goodbye...” Watching Dunn’s back as he walked away, McDonald stood there in a daze. He still hadn’t recovered from the conversation just now. He had never seen Tony Dunn so talkative, so full of energy, with such a clear smile on his face.

Could a bump on the head really change someone’s personality? Puzzled, he reached up and touched the back of his own head.

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