At seven o'clock in the morning on August 8, Gao Bo woke up on the camp bed inside his office.
For weeks, his schedule had been relentless. To get the team into rhythm as quickly as possible, he spent his days on the training pitch—conducting sessions, overseeing tactical drills, and preparing for friendlies. At night, he reviewed every detail: training reports, player data, tactical adjustments, and the progress of individual development plans.
Most nights, he didn't sleep until three or four in the morning.
John Aston and the other assistants could help him with the day-to-day coaching, but when it came to the deeper tactical analysis and system management, Gao Bo could only rely on himself. It reached the point where he simply moved into the club's training base—he had barely visited the apartment the club had rented for him.
In the small office bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face to drive away the exhaustion. Then, standing before the mirror, he zipped up his Luton training jacket and hung his whistle around his neck—his trademark gear.
A sticky note was attached to the mirror. He pulled it off and read the handwritten schedule:
"August 8 – Morning: Counterattack routine drill + 45-minute match.
Afternoon: Passing training + Pre-match press conference."
Compared to his usual days, there was one extra item today—the press conference.
Tomorrow, on August 9, Luton Town would kick off their League Two campaign with their first official match of the season—at home, against Port Vale.
The day's training went by quickly. Since matchday was only a day away, Gao Bo shortened the afternoon session, emphasizing rest and recovery. Before dismissing the players, he announced that no one was allowed to go home before the game. Everyone had to stay at the training base—unless they were playing away, in which case they'd stay in a team hotel.
Later that afternoon, Gao Bo and team captain Kevin Nicholls headed to the conference hall on the first floor of the office building. Before every home match, this small hall was temporarily converted into a press room.
It wasn't large, but it didn't need to be. A League Two pre-match press conference rarely drew national attention. Apart from local journalists from Luton and Port Vale, there were only reporters from Sky Sports and the BBC, who kept correspondents stationed around the country.
The room was half-empty, reporters scattered sparsely across the seats. At the front was a long table. John Aston—acting as makeshift press officer—stood at the side, while Gao Bo and Kevin Nicholls sat behind the microphones.
Every reporter's gaze was fixed on Gao Bo. For most of them, this was the first time they'd ever seen a Chinese head coach managing an English club.
Gao Bo hadn't bothered to dress up for the occasion. He still wore the same training tracksuit he'd had on since morning—and the whistle still hung from his neck. Whatever aura of mystery the media had imagined vanished instantly. Apart from looking relatively handsome, there was nothing about him that resembled a traditional English manager.
In fact, he looked younger than his captain.
Among the reporters sat a woman in the front row, wearing a fitted black business suit. Her sharp expression and faintly touched-up makeup projected confidence—but there was an edge of irritation in her eyes.
Her name was Rae Shaw, a reporter from The Hat Seller—Luton's largest local newspaper. The name itself reflected the club's nickname: The Hatters.
Rae was a lifelong Luton fan. Her family had supported the team for generations, and she took that pride seriously.
Now, as she looked at the young, foreign coach sitting casually before the microphones, frustration bubbled inside her.
In her mind, David Morton, the club's new owner who had returned from the United States, was already a disaster. An American running an English football club? And now, he'd hired a 27-year-old Chinese to manage her beloved team.
To her, it was an insult.
Rae glanced at her notebook, adjusted her posture, and placed her right hand firmly on her thigh—ready.
The moment the press officer signaled the start of the press conference, she shot her hand into the air, eager to seize the first question.
John Aston didn't make Miss Rae wait long.
"Now we'll begin twenty minutes of open questions," he announced.
The words had barely left his mouth when Rae's hand shot into the air. She was determined to strike first.
Her sharp gaze locked onto Gao Bo.
Luton isn't a team just anyone can manage, she thought bitterly. Let's see how this boy gets out of this one.
Rae rose to her feet, the movement drawing attention from every eye in the room. Sitting in the front row, her height suddenly became apparent — and so did her figure.
Gao Bo, who had looked calmly at her face before, found his eyes caught off guard for a second as she stood. He cleared his throat, quickly looking away.
A few chuckles rippled through the room. Even the other reporters noticed the young coach's momentary embarrassment.
Rae's expression darkened, her brows furrowed in irritation. She didn't bother to hide her displeasure anymore.
"Mr. Gao Bo!" she began, her tone cutting. "You brought three players from amateur clubs into Luton this season. Do you even understand the intensity of League Two football?"
Her voice carried a note of challenge. She stood tall, almost daring him to lose composure.
Let's see how you talk your way out of this, you arrogant fool.
Next to Gao Bo, captain Kevin Nicholls frowned slightly. He knew The Hat Seller wasn't just any paper—it was Luton's biggest local outlet, practically the mouthpiece of the fans. If even they held this much hostility toward Gao Bo, it meant the supporters had already written him off.
But Kevin also knew better than most—this man wasn't ordinary. The system Gao Bo had built, his ideas, and even the players he'd brought in—every one of them had shown real quality in training. To Kevin, those players could easily compete in the Championship, not just League Two.
Gao Bo, meanwhile, wasn't angry. He leaned back slightly, studying the young English reporter with a look of mild amusement.
He'd expected this kind of attitude from the British media. He hadn't even bothered dressing up for this press conference, and now he was being challenged right on cue.
But still—if all press conferences came with scenery like this, maybe they weren't such a waste of time.
He sat forward, voice calm and even.
"The players I brought are more than capable of handling League Two. In fact," he said, pausing slightly, "even in League One—or the Championship—they'd still hold their own."
Rae's eyes flashed. "League Two is a professional league, Mr. Gao Bo!" she shot back, her tone sharp.
"Miss Reporter," Gao Bo replied coolly, "I'm the head coach of a professional club. I think I understand professionalism better than you do."
The tension in the room spiked instantly. The local paper's reporter was now openly arguing with the club's head coach, and the other journalists were loving it—smirks, whispers, the sound of pens scratching faster across notepads.
When the press conference finally wrapped up, Gao Bo rose from his seat. Before leaving, he glanced back toward Rae.
"Vardy and Austin," he said evenly, "are the best forwards in League Two. And Kanté—he'll prove he's the best defensive midfielder in the league. You'll see soon enough, Miss Reporter."
Then he turned and walked out, his back straight, leaving the room in stunned silence.
Rae's jaw tightened, her lips pressed together as she glared after him.
Best forwards? Best defensive midfielder? What a delusional idiot.
Her nails dug into her notebook. We'll see how long your arrogance lasts.
Around her, the other reporters sat stunned.
"…Wait," one muttered. "Wasn't that supposed to be our turn to ask questions?"
...
...
What had happened at the press conference didn't trouble Gao Bo in the slightest.
After nearly two months of nonstop work, his team was finally settling into rhythm. The structure, the understanding, and the spirit were all beginning to take shape. For the first time in weeks, he could afford to breathe.
Tomorrow was matchday. All the preparation was done; now, everything rested on the players' shoulders.
When the press conference ended, Gao Bo didn't return straight to his office. Instead, he took a quiet walk around the training ground, observing the empty pitches under the fading evening light. Then, hands in his pockets, he stepped out through the gates of the base.
For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to think about something other than tactics, formations, and fitness drills.
The new season filled him with anticipation.
Over these two months, he'd recruited several key players, built a solid starting lineup, and molded the team into something unmistakably his own. Five of his main players were personally scouted and brought in from different places. Combined with the few veterans who remained from the old squad, they'd quickly adapted to his tactical system.
The training card had been a revelation. Boosting training efficiency by fifteen percent, it had made Luton's improvement visible—almost tangible—day by day.
Now, with the first match of the season approaching, Gao Bo couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement. The Football Edge System had promised him a new card draw after their first official victory. The thought of expanding his deck made him grin.
At present, he held two cards—one usable only in training. But the real power, the kind that could influence matches, was what he wanted next. Once the season began, each victory would bring new chances to draw, new opportunities to strengthen his arsenal.
That anticipation made him feel alive.
By the time he left the base, the sun had dipped low, painting the streets of Luton in a soft amber hue. Dusk was falling, but the city was still lively. Gao Bo decided to take a short walk before heading home.
He'd been buried in work for weeks—constantly between the pitch, the office, and the analysis room. It was time to unwind, even just for a moment.
Luton was known for more than its football club. Once famous for its straw-hat weaving industry, it was also a hub of automobile manufacturing and precision engineering—ball bearings, motors, textiles, instruments. Still, for visitors, it was the old landmarks—St. Mary's Church, Wardown Park, and the Luton Museum—that carried the city's charm.
Gao Bo didn't visit any of them. He simply strolled through the streets, taking in the distinctive British scenery.
Here and there, pubs lined the corners—warm light spilling from their doors, the faint hum of laughter and conversation drifting into the cool evening air. Gao Bo smiled. A good pint had always been one of his favorite ways to unwind, and every time he tasted English beer, he found himself marveling at the craftsmanship.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he just wanted peace.
After grabbing a quick serving of fish and chips from a small shop tucked in an alleyway, he glanced up at the darkening sky. The stars were faint behind the urban glow. It was time to head back—to the apartment he'd only slept in once since taking the job.
For all his discipline, Gao Bo was no ascetic. The camp bed in his office was serviceable, but nothing compared to the comfort of a proper mattress. A soft bed, a quiet room, maybe a bit of warmth beside him—he smirked at the thought.
As he approached the apartment courtyard, he suddenly slowed.
At the gate stood a woman—a beautiful one, her figure illuminated by the dim light above the door.
The courtyard was shared between two apartments, both owned by the Shaw family, long-time supporters of Luton Town. They had happily agreed to rent one of their properties to the club for its new coach.
And now, standing there in the fading light, Gao Bo found himself looking directly at a familiar face.
The night was sultry and the lights were dim. If two people met in this setting, something was bound to happen. But what if the two had just quarrelled at a press conference? Something would actually happen.
Miss Rae Shaw raised her eyebrows and stared at the man who appeared at her door.
Bastard, did this guy follow me here?!
Rae flared with anger—this guy was not only a liar, but a brazen pervert!
"What are you doing here!!!" Rae shouted. Dressed in a black business suit, she slipped off her high heels and gripped them in her hand, pointing the sharp end at Gao Bo. "I warn you, this is a private residence!!" Her slightly trembling tone betrayed a trace of fear.
Gao Bo was about to take out the key to open the gate to the apartment courtyard when he heard Rae's sharp shout. He saw the well-endowed reporter from the press conference, barefoot, holding her heels. A few beads of sweat slid down her delicate face; even under the dim light, he couldn't help being struck by her sensuality at first glance.
Bastard!!! Rae seethed again.
Gao Bo raised a hand, ready to explain.
"Don't move!!!" Rae lifted a heel above her head as if holding a grenade, ready to go down fighting.
Gao Bo stopped and glanced at Rae's bare feet. "I am—"
"I know who you are!!!" Rae cut in sharply. "You'd better not have any bad intentions!!! You liar!!!"
Gao Bo's face darkened. What is wrong with this woman? Was she really going to block the gate just to berate him?
"Who do you think is a liar!?" he snapped.
"You!" Rae shot back. "You must have fooled Luton's owner and cheated your way into the head coach job! And those amateur players you brought—take them out of Luton!! You big liar!"
Gao Bo looked at her oddly. Rae curled her lip, chest heaving with anger.
"Big chest and no brain…" he muttered under his breath.
"What did you say?!" Rae's eyes flashed.
Gao Bo couldn't be bothered with this neurotic woman. He slid his hand back into his pocket and walked toward the gate.
Whoosh!
Sensing the rush of air behind him, he jerked aside. A black high heel slammed into the iron gate with a harsh clang.
Bloody hell, my skull nearly got split by your damned shoe…
He'd only just exhaled when Rae charged again, brandishing the other heel.
This woman is really sick.
Gao Bo caught her wrist mid-swing and set his other hand on her shoulder, pinning her to the wall. "Are you sick?!" he barked, anger rising.
The strength gap was huge. Rae couldn't break free. Pinned against the wall, she suddenly found him very close. The strong masculine scent on him filled her nose; his heavy breathing unsettled her. She stared wide-eyed at the man glaring back. The ambition and aggression in his gaze made Rae nervous.
"What are you doing?!" she stammered.
A middle-aged man's voice, thick with a London suburban accent, rang out in anger. "What d'you think you're doing?!"
"Uncle Elliot!"
"Dad!!"
Gao Bo and Rae turned their heads and shouted almost in unison. Then they looked back at each other, equally stunned.
Elliot Shaw's lungs were about to explode. Returning from his dental practice, he had come upon his daughter and Luton's coach at the courtyard gate—entangled in a very ambiguous posture.
Elliot was a Luton fan. He'd welcomed renting his flat to the club for the new head coach. Before this moment, he'd had a very good impression of Gao Bo. A veteran supporter with ties to club staff, he'd heard from Magis, the training-base security, how hard the new coach worked. He knew Gao Bo had led Chelsea's U18s to the FA Youth Cup. With the club beset by internal and external troubles, Elliot believed the fans should at least give the man a chance.
But now, the way Elliot looked at Gao Bo was nothing like before. In his eyes, Gao Bo was a pig eyeing his cabbage. No father would stay calm seeing his daughter and a man so intimate in public—especially when he noticed his girl had taken off her shoes…
I've spent 25 years protecting my precious cabbage, only for a pig to come along and try to eat it right in front of me!
Anyway, Elliot found nothing to like about Gao Bo at this moment.
At this moment, the scene between Gao Bo and Rae truly looked ambiguous.
Rae, her back pressed against the wall, was holding one high heel above her head, her face flushed red. Gao Bo, one hand gripping the heel and the other on her shoulder, was leaning close. To make matters worse, Rae, in her panic to keep him away, had lifted her knee — and it ended up pressed right against Gao Bo's waist.
Under the dim light, a young man and woman, hands caught, shoulders and waists almost touching… it was no wonder Elliot Shaw had misunderstood.
The two froze, looking at each other, both realizing just how compromising this looked. Rae finally shoved Gao Bo away, her anger still simmering.
"Dad!! What is going on here!!!" she shouted, voice trembling with fury and embarrassment.
"Dad?" Gao Bo scratched his head awkwardly. It seemed things had gone from bad to worse — a complete misunderstanding.
"I should be the one asking that!" Elliot roared, his face dark red. "Who is he— no, what is he?! What's going on here?! What's your relationship?!"
"Uncle Elliot…" Gao Bo tried to explain.
"Shut up!!" father and daughter shouted at him in unison.
The misunderstanding was eventually cleared up, but that didn't mean Gao Bo escaped unscathed. Neither Rae nor her father gave him so much as a polite glance. With a helpless shrug, Gao Bo turned and returned to his own apartment.
There were two flats in the courtyard — one occupied by the Shaws, and the other rented by the club for Gao Bo. So that night, there was no more interaction between them.
Finally alone, Gao Bo collapsed on the large soft bed. It was the most comfortable sleep he'd had in two months. When morning came, he stretched lazily, his joints cracking, satisfaction written all over his face.
After sitting for a moment, he got up, washed, and pulled out a black suit from the closet. Today was the day — his first official match as Luton Town's head coach. A formal occasion deserved proper attire.
He fried an egg, toasted two slices of bread, added a banana and a glass of juice — a simple but complete breakfast. Setting it on the table, he went to the mailbox by the door and took out that morning's paper.
As a Chinese man, reading the newspaper over breakfast wasn't a habit, but living in England, Gao Bo had decided to adapt.
Just as he turned to go back inside, a familiar voice came from behind.
"After today, your lies won't fool anyone anymore. Whatever tricks you've used, you'll have to prove yourself on the pitch, Mr. Gao Bo!"
He turned his head.
Rae Shaw stood there, fresh from a morning jog. She was wearing a white sports vest and tight shorts, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. The outfit left little to the imagination — and certainly made running seem… challenging.
"Miss Rae, you don't have to concern yourself," Gao Bo said calmly, closing the mailbox lid and rolling up the newspaper. "Whether I'm a liar or not isn't for you to decide."
"Oh? Really?" Rae sneered, stepping closer. "Then maybe you should read what Sam Parkin said in today's Hat Seller. Page nine — you'll love it."
Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
Gao Bo raised an eyebrow, opened the paper, and turned to page nine. It was a piece covering Port Vale's pre-match press conference — and there, in bold print, were Sam Parkin's words.
"There's no doubt Gao Bo is a liar. He deceived Chelsea, and now he's deceived Luton's owner, David Morton. He claims to have a UEFA A coaching license, but no one's ever seen it — not once. And his actions since joining Luton prove he's a fraud.
He brought in two players from amateur leagues — a bricklayer and a mason! I feel sorry for those kids, dragged into professional football by someone who doesn't understand the game.
He's narrow-minded, arrogant, and refuses to listen to anyone. From day one, he's tried to make himself a tyrant at Luton. But tomorrow, I'll show Mr. Gao Bo what professional football really means."
The article took up nearly half the page, filled with Parkin's bitter words. Yet Gao Bo read it with a faint smile, almost entertained.
"Enjoying your reviews, liar?" Rae said coldly. "After this match, be ready to pack your bags and leave!"
She turned sharply and walked toward her door.
Gao Bo's eyes followed her — the curve of her hips under those fitted shorts, the sway of her waist, the smooth white skin of her back visible through the open design of her vest.
"I don't think so, Miss Rae," Gao Bo murmured, rolling the newspaper in his hand, a confident grin tugging at his lips.
"This match will be the beginning of a great coach's career."
With that, he turned and headed toward the training ground, the morning sun rising behind him.