As someone who had been reborn into this world, Claire Lee initially couldn't speak a word of English. Yet, he understood every syllable of Ball's British accent perfectly.
At first, everything seemed normal. Claire was relieved to learn he had an incredibly influential uncle—something to be grateful for. But when Ball mentioned how his past self had obsessively practiced the through ball technique, Claire's entire body stiffened like a startled rooster. Swallowing hard, his voice trembled as he asked, "I… I used to love playing through balls?"
Too concerned to notice Claire's odd reaction, Ball answered bluntly, "Yeah! Didn't you say every star player needs a signature move? So you drilled through balls for half a year. Gotta admit, though—you've got real talent for it."
Claire's already pale face turned a deep shade of purple. Without hesitation, he switched to Mandarin—completely ignoring the fact that his captain was right there—and shook a fist at the sky, cursing:
"Damn it! No wonder my system has a 'through ball' skill! So it's all because of you?! Why couldn't you just be a striker? Had to go and be a damn defensive midfielder?! And the worst part—"
He cut himself off mid-rant, as if suddenly remembering something. His eyes widened, and he put on an exaggerated scowl before demanding, "Wait… Did I also have some stupid dream about becoming a singer?!"
Ball stared at him, bewildered. But when his gaze landed on the thick bandages wrapped around Claire's head, he made the sign of the cross and muttered under his breath, "Lord, please don't let this poor kid be brain-damaged from that burglar's attack…"
Claire opened his mouth to snap back, but the words died in his throat.
Oblivious, Ball continued, "You didn't forget your childhood sweetheart too, did you?"
"You got drunk at a bar once and told me you wanted to be a part-time pub singer—just so you could perform theme songs for that superstar ex of yours!"
Claire's face twisted. Switching back to Mandarin, he flipped off the sky again:
"You absolute idiot! A broke-ass loser like you dreaming of banging a Hollywood star?! What were you thinking?!"
But before he could finish, a sudden, seizing pain shot through his chest. His body convulsed violently, and he collapsed onto the grass like a man struck by lightning.
Curled into a fetal position, Claire writhed like a dying insect as teammates rushed over in alarm. Captain Ball dropped to one knee, eyes full of concern.
Though Claire couldn't speak, his mind was still screaming curses. He knew exactly what this was—the side effect of transmigrating into this body. He'd experienced it before, back in the hospital.
The original Claire had been a living, breathing person—a 19-year-old killed by a burglar in his own apartment. His memories, his obsessions, his unfinished business… They didn't just vanish.
But Claire never expected the reaction to be this intense when it came to the "childhood sweetheart." As the team medics moved to carry him off, he waved them away weakly, voice hoarse:
"I'm fine… Just a headache. Let me rest. I'm not giving up the chance my uncle fought for me."
Truthfully, he wanted to quit. But football was one of the original Claire's deepest fixations. Back in the hospital, when he'd muttered, "Screw this football crap. No one's stopping me from running home," his body had rebelled—landing him three extra days of "observation."
The coaches and teammates, moved by his determination, gave him thumbs-up. Some even whispered praises:
"Claire's got real grit. Playing through pain like that? He'll go far."
"Hope he makes it back to Manchester United—even if it's just the reserves."
"That through ball of his last week was insane."
Lying on the pitch, Claire rolled onto his stomach, stuffed a handful of grass into his mouth, and glared at the sky with bloodshot eyes, pounding the ground in frustration.
Ball, misreading the situation, patted his shoulder. "You good?"
"Y-Yeah, Cap. Just… nerves. Need a minute."
Ball hesitated, then settled for a light kick to Claire's rear. "You'll be fine. We've known each other a year—I know you're not the type to push yourself past your limits."
Claire forced a strained smile. "Yeah… Totally not about the money."
As Ball walked away, Claire muttered under his breath: "Who says it's not about the money?"
Soon, Coach Bruno Elin approached, his shadow blocking the sun. Claire didn't bother moving.
With a chuckle, Bruno nudged him with his foot. "I know you'll impress Sir Ferguson today."
Claire put on a dutiful expression, but inside, he was cursing his system—which, infuriatingly, remained silent no matter how much he raged.
Bruno added, "Don't sweat the stolen cash. You're young—plenty of time to earn it back."
"Even as a reserve at United, your salary could buy you round-trip tickets to Hollywood."
"Though who knows if your 'sweetheart' will even recognize you now?"
The jab was loud enough for others to hear. Instinctively, Claire's face flushed—a reaction his body remembered, even if he didn't.
[Dog Lover's Diary]
"A 7-second voice clip… I've kept it saved for 7 years."