Claire grew increasingly irritated as his captain kept bringing up his childhood sweetheart. It felt like his heart was being fried in a pan of boiling oil.
"Ugh, whatever. I saw her with a boyfriend not long ago."
Paul didn't miss the bitterness in Claire's expression but simply grinned, guiding him to sit on the bench.
"Remember when we beat Chester FC last time?"
"You set me up for three counterattacks—three assists, three goals!"
"After we pulled off that upset against a League One powerhouse, the coach gave us the night off. We celebrated at that pub by the Thames. Ring any bells?"
Claire's dark eyes darted around as he racked his brain. The memory was there, but the details of that night? Completely fuzzy.
Paul chuckled and gave Claire's shoulder a firm slap, making him wince.
"Yeah, thought so. You spilled everything when you were drunk."
"Your parents died in a terror attack."
"At 13, with nowhere else to go, you moved in with your uncle."
"You left behind your childhood sweetheart—couldn't even help her when her parents divorced."
"Your uncle used the compensation money to buy you an apartment near Old Trafford."
"Your grandad was Asian, your grandma was Native American, your mom was Irish… and your uncle? None other than Manchester United's 'Mr. Reliable,' Denis Irwin."
"He still blames himself for not being there when your mom died—he was playing a match."
"I know it all. Even that she used to call you 'little reindeer.' Right?"
"Look, kid…" Paul's tone turned serious. "When you make it to United, don't go blabbing everything after a few drinks."
"Big clubs are cutthroat. You gotta watch your back—don't let people play you."
"Like last time! You blew your savings to rent out a cinema for her movie premiere, thinking it'd fix things?"
"No wonder you got robbed carrying all that cash!"
"And let's be real—you hadn't spoken in seven years. She might not even recognize you now."
Claire stared down as Paul, like an older brother, knelt to help him with his socks and cleats.
His eyes stung—not from reflex this time, but emotion. Since his rebirth, few had shown him real warmth. Most kept their distance. Only Paul, this veteran who'd given seven years to QPR, treated him like family.
Feeling a lump in his throat, Claire muttered, "What if… I don't make it to United?"
"Don't talk nonsense!" Paul scoffed. "Your uncle pulled strings to get Brighton's reserves here for this friendly—a League One team!"
"He's retired. That kind of favor doesn't come easy anymore."
"Don't let him down."
The stern "I expect better" look on Paul's face summoned memories of Claire's uncle—Denis Irwin. For seven years since his parents' deaths, the man had raised him unconditionally, shielding him from judgment while securing his place in United's academy.
Football was a global obsession, and United's youth system? Even if Claire never cracked the first team, that pedigree could land him a solid career elsewhere.
A spark of determination flickered in Claire. Leaning in, he whispered, "So… I should go for it?"
Paul's grin widened, revealing slightly yellowed teeth as he gripped Claire's shoulders.
"Damn right! Believe in yourself!"
(Latest updates at 6-9 Book Bar!)
"Remember that through-ball from training yesterday? Pure class!"
"And word is, that new #7 from Sporting Lisbon? He's struggling at United."
"If you get in, you'll likely play support for him. Seize the chance!"
With a final pat to Claire's head (despite the height difference), Paul jogged onto the pitch.
Claire stared at the emerald grass underfoot.
"One trick? That's all I need? Master the assist, feed Ronaldo?"
"Use football as a springboard for business?"
"Too bad there's no cheerleaders in soccer. Maybe I should ask Uncle about the NBA…"
"Or—score a goal, get a hit song? Hollywood star on the side?"
[Ding! System activated. Score in the upcoming match to receive a popular Euro-American song.]
Claire jolted at the sudden voice in his head, then cursed under his breath:
"Son of a—!"
Shaking it off, he rubbed his face vigorously, as if scrubbing away the absurdity.
By the time he stepped onto the field for warm-ups, he was all smiles again.
[Simp Diary]
"I'm here" — seems like I'm always the one saying it to them.