The deskmate of Ryan Howard, Big Scott, who only just got a name since his first appearance, was stunned for a moment, then angrily said, “What? You still remember what happened this morning? Why are you so petty! Give me my money back, I must have been blind to pity you!”

He reached out to grab Ryan Howard, but before he could catch him, Ryan Howard had already jumped up from his seat with his schoolbag and dashed toward the classroom door.

How could the ball-shaped Emily Scott possibly catch up to the monkey-thin Ryan Howard?

He buried his head in his arms on the desk and wailed, “My pocket money! Damn you, Ryan Howard! If I ever pity you again, I’m a dog!”

※※※

Ryan Howard was pedaling hard on his beat-up bicycle—the kind that nobody would bother to steal even if it was left by the roadside—zipping through the traffic.

The wind blew straight at him, rushing into his open school uniform, making his clothes billow out behind him like sails filled with wind.

His schoolbag was placed in the basket at the front of the bike, with the strap dangling down from the basket. Every time the wheel brushed against it, the strap fluttered backward, making people worry it might get caught in the spokes.

But Ryan Howard didn’t care at all. At a hidden intersection up ahead, he braked sharply, almost throwing himself off the bike, then turned into a small alley on the right.

This was a narrow alley flanked by high walls, just wide enough for a person to pass through, but not a car. After riding a dozen or so meters down the alley, Ryan Howard suddenly found himself in an open space.

A fairly large square appeared before him.

Calling it a square was generous—it was really a wasteland. In one corner, a pile of abandoned fitness equipment—those free exercise machines you find in community parks—lay scattered in a heap, all rusted over.

Weeds fought their way out of every crack, almost swallowing up the heap of scrap metal.

Along the edge of the open space, a thick ring of weeds grew, leaving only a circle in the middle where the bare earth was visible.

Except for the entrance, the clearing was surrounded on three sides by high platforms built from blue stone. On top of the platforms sat several old brick-and-tile houses. In some places, the gray brick walls had patches where the red bricks underneath showed through, and the tiled eaves were uneven. It was clear these houses had been around for many years.

Ryan Howard knew that no one lived in these houses, because he had been playing soccer here for a month. When the ball hit those walls, it echoed with a bang, but no one ever poked their head out of the tightly shut windows to yell at him for making noise.

He had stumbled upon this place by accident a month ago. At that time, the whole clearing was almost completely overgrown with weeds, with nowhere to even set foot.

He spent two half-hours after school pulling up some of the weeds, clearing out a patch big enough for him to play soccer.

And so, this became his secret training ground.

Three days a week, his dad worked the late shift, leaving for work early in the afternoon and not coming home until after midnight. Even if Ryan Howard came home half an hour late, he didn’t have to worry about his dad finding out he’d been playing soccer. His mom knew what he was up to, but she didn’t care.

So he came here for special training, fantasizing that one day he could change his classmates’ old impressions of him and amaze them all on the soccer field.

Just thinking about the day when that really happened—proudly accepting the admiring gazes of his classmates, leaving people like Brian Lee so shocked they couldn’t speak, and making Kevin Carter bow down to him—made him feel incredibly satisfied.

When the time came, he would say that classic line to them in a cool, calm voice: “Thirty years on the east bank, thirty years on the west bank—never look down on a poor youth!”

Ryan Howard tossed his bike into the weeds at the side and ran toward his destination—since his dad didn’t allow anything related to soccer at home, the ball he secretly bought with his pocket money couldn’t be brought back. After every training session, he had to hide the ball in the weeds.

To avoid it being stolen, Ryan Howard hid the ball in a different spot every time.

Now he headed straight for the place where he’d hidden the ball last time.

He wanted to confirm one thing—was this world, to him, strange or familiar?

Just like the spinning top in the movie “Inception”—would it keep spinning, or would it eventually topple? Would the soccer ball he hid last time still be there?

Ryan Howard ran to a thick patch of weeds on the right side of the clearing.

From the outside, it looked no different from the surrounding grass.

He rushed over and parted the grass with both hands, as if discovering a hidden bird’s nest. A round object lay quietly in the weeds.

It was the soccer ball he had hidden after his last training session.

Chapter Four: He Really Looks Like a Dog

The soccer ball lay quietly in the weeds, its surface glistening with dew.

Ryan Howard carefully picked up the ball, as if holding a fragile gem.

He wanted to double-check that this was really his ball.

He turned the ball over. Near the valve, there was an English word written in black marker: “WHO”.

But here, it didn’t mean “who”—it was a play on the pronunciation of Ryan Howard’s own surname.