Droylsden is an amateur team that has been playing in England's lower leagues for many years. Their stadium is a run-down ground that can hold at most 3,000 fans, most of whom have to stand.
Among the more than 7,000 football clubs in England, Droylsden is just another ordinary amateur team. Their owner, David Pace, is a not-so-wealthy clothing businessman in Manchester, though his large size makes him stand out. In fact, throughout Droylsden's history, their home ground has almost never been full.
But it was this kind of amateur club, in such a shabby stadium, that suddenly became the focus of attention across England, and even in the wider European football world, overnight.
Droylsden itself clearly didn't have this kind of appeal. What truly drew the attention of the media and fans was Manchester United — not the old one, but a new Manchester United, just decided to be founded. They were currently holding open trials to select players, funded entirely by United's most fanatical supporters.
For a time, the car park outside Droylsden's Butcher's Knife Ground was jammed with cars belonging to fans and media. Even Market Street traffic was badly delayed.
Although this wasn't the city center of Manchester, to avoid disrupting the lives of nearby residents, the police sent several officers to the scene. Alongside volunteers, they helped maintain order and direct traffic.
"Hello, where is the registration office?" A young man carrying a football travel bag approached the security office at the stadium gate.
"Turn right up ahead, it's the busiest place," the elderly security guard replied, stretching his hand out of the window to point.
"Thank you!" The young man immediately jogged inside.
Entering the ground through the tunnel, he found the stands completely packed with fans. All of them wore red Manchester United jerseys. Anyone who didn't know better would think a real Manchester United match was being held here.
Looking at the sea of red, the young man smiled. Scanning the ground, he noticed it had been divided into three areas. On the outer edge was the registration office the guard had pointed him to, swarming with people. A sign reading "Registration" hung from a high parasol.
"Hey, I'm only 62, not as old as you think. I can still play, and my skills are decent. If you don't believe me, ask them!" An old man with white hair protested angrily, pointing to the group of elderly companions behind him, who were clearly there to take part in the trials too.
"But… they're so old. Can they still run on the pitch?" The young man thought, amused, but at the same time, he was deeply moved by their determination.
He knew they must have come for the same reason he had, to carry their love for Manchester United into this new, unique club.
"Uh, do we have to take a fitness test?" A middle-aged fat man, who looked to weigh at least 100 kilograms, pointed nervously at the fitness testing area, sweat dripping down his face.
Looking at his build, it was doubtful he could run at all once on the pitch.
"Forget it, I'm just here to make up the numbers. If I'd known so many people would come today, I wouldn't have shown up," the fat man said cheerfully when his turn came. He leaned toward the registration officer and added, "By the way, my name's Jim, I'm a taxi driver. Here's my number. Call me if you need anything. I'll come anytime, for free!"
After saying that, he left happily and headed for the stands.
"Hello!" It was now the young man's turn. He stepped forward and greeted the staff politely.
"Hello," the registration officer replied, studying him for a moment before asking, "Excuse me, how old are you?"
"Thirteen!" The boy grinned. "I came from London."
The surrounding queue erupted in surprise. A thirteen-year-old had come all the way from London just to join the new Manchester United trials?
The staff looked at the boy with sympathy. They didn't want to discourage him, but rules were rules.
"I'm sorry. This round of selections requires players to be at least sixteen. Unfortunately, we can't make exceptions," the staff member explained politely.
The boy froze, then grew anxious. "No, please, look, I may only be thirteen, but I'm not shorter than a sixteen-year-old. I'm strong too. I've trained hard since I was little. I play center back. Believe me, I can meet the team's standards!"
"I'm really sorry," the staff said again, full of regret. After all, this young Manchester United fan had traveled all the way from London.
The boy stood there stunned, his optimism fading. His eyes dimmed, something welling up inside them.
"I... I don't need wages. I could even be a substitute. I... I..."
"I'm sorry, but this is a rule from the Football Association. I really can't help."
The boy bit his lips, fighting back tears, forcing a smile. He nodded and said softly, "Sorry to trouble you."
Then he turned and left.
"Hey!" The staff suddenly called out.
The boy turned, surprised.
"Can you leave your phone number? When our youth team is formed, we'll contact you."
The boy's face lit up. He nodded firmly, ran back, picked up a pen, and carefully wrote down his address and number. He wrote each letter neatly and clearly, as though afraid it wouldn't be read. At the end, he added his name.
Curtis Davies.
"What a devoted boy," the staff murmured with a smile, watching him go.
…
This scene at the registration desk didn't attract much attention, but Ethan, who was walking past, saw everything clearly. It shocked him deeply.
As a passionate football fan, Ethan asked himself if he had the same persistence and devotion as that boy.
Suddenly, Ethan understood why Walsh and the others, despite doing everything voluntarily, always wore smiles full of satisfaction.
"Well, I really envy you," a chubby middle-aged man said as he walked over. It was David Pace, Droylsden's owner. "Our Droylsden has never been treated like this. Your club is something different."
"Mr. Pace, you're too modest. With your leadership, Droylsden are improving steadily. I'm sure they'll reach the National League soon. With more effort, promotion to League Two isn't out of reach," Ethan replied.
Although he had only woken up earlier that morning, Ethan had spent the entire morning in the office, forcing himself to accept the fact that he had transmigrated, while absorbing the original Ethan Yu's memories to avoid exposing himself through his words or actions.
"It's not that simple," Pace said with a smile. "Football nowadays is all about money. Without money, you can't play. If your team wants to make an impact, you still have a long way to go."
When Ethan first began preparing to establish a new club, David Pace had given him advice and help, even lending Droylsden's ground for free. If not for his shared identity as a Manchester United fan, he likely wouldn't have been so generous.
In addition, as a clothing businessman, Pace had also offered to provide free jerseys and socks for every player in Ethan's club. Ethan was deeply grateful for this.
But Pace's reminder made Ethan realize once again how crucial funding was for a football club.
And yet, as a brand new team starting in the lowest league in England, finding sponsorship would be extremely difficult. For now, Ethan could only solve financial issues on his own.
"By the way, what name have you chosen for your club?" Pace asked, lighting a cigarette. He knew Ethan didn't smoke, so he didn't offer one.
"We originally wanted to register as FC United, but the FA rejected it. So we proposed four alternatives: FC United of Manchester, FC Manchester Central, FC Manchester United, AFC Manchester 1878, and Newton Heath United FC."
"Oh, those are all closely tied to Manchester United's history. No matter which you choose, fans will support you," Pace said happily. From those names alone, he felt reassured that helping Ethan had been the right decision.
"Still, you'd better hurry with registration. It's already June, and the season starts in August. Time is tight." Pace's expression grew serious. "I also checked for you. There are vacancies in the North West Counties League Division Two this year. Since you're a new club, you should be able to apply directly and join the competition."
Ethan nodded. Every new club had to start from the bottom. Even if the media nicknamed them the "New Manchester United," that couldn't change FA rules.
Then Ethan suddenly realized a huge problem. His team didn't have a head coach yet.
Oh no. They had all been so busy lately that they had actually forgotten something so important.
"Alright, I'll let you get back to work. I still need to check on my factory," Pace said, noticing Andy Walsh hurrying toward them. He guessed something urgent had happened, so he took the initiative to leave.
As soon as Pace left, Walsh rushed over, looking mysterious.
"Ethan!"
"Yeah," Ethan replied absentmindedly, still worrying about the head coach issue.
"You know what? Someone remarkable just came to the registration desk," Walsh said excitedly.
"Who? David Beckham?" Ethan joked with a smile.
"No, no. Beckham is in France preparing for the World Cup. He doesn't have time for us," Walsh said, shaking his head.
"Then who? Did he come to sign up?" Ethan was intrigued.
"Of course," Walsh said firmly.
Ethan took the bait. "A superstar?"
Walsh nodded.
"From Manchester United?"
Another nod.
"Who?" Ethan's eyes widened with excitement.
"Ryan Giggs," Walsh said slowly, word by word.
Ethan was completely dumbfounded.
(To be continued.)