For Gao Bo, as the season gradually settled into rhythm, the work done before kickoff was finally showing its value. There was no doubt that Luton's preseason preparation had been thorough, and the results were now reflected directly on the pitch.
Two months passed quietly, and at last, October 11 arrived — Round 10 of League Two: Luton Town vs Darlington.
The entire town seemed to be in a frenzy. Everywhere on the streets, fans wore Luton's bright orange shirts. They held up scarves, shouted slogans, and sang club songs that echoed through Luton's narrow roads.
The bars didn't have to worry about business today. Nearly every supporter in town had left home, and with Kenilworth Road far too small to hold them all, they crowded into pubs of every size. Watching matches in a bar was practically a national tradition, and even in the packed spaces near the stadium, not a single seat was open — not that anyone wanted to sit.
Standing while watching football was another English habit. Even indoors, Luton supporters remained upright, shoulder to shoulder, as if standing brought them closer to the team.
On the pub's television screens, both sets of players were walking out onto the pitch.
When the camera focused on Gao Bo, a wave of cheers erupted through the bar.
"Gao Bo!!! Gao Bo!!!"
Even though he wasn't physically there, the fans still chanted his name. At the stadium itself, the noise was deafening — the kind of roar that made the old, slightly shaky stands tremble. Several reporters glanced around nervously, wondering if this small ground could handle such a thunderous atmosphere.
To Luton supporters, Gao Bo was a hero.
They had won all nine of their opening League Two matches, scoring 36 goals and conceding only three. Twenty-seven points from a possible twenty-seven.
If not for the thirty-point deduction, Luton would be sitting eight points clear at the top of the table.
And this match — the tenth round — carried more meaning than usual. If Luton won today, their points total would finally reach… zero.
Zero points. It sounded absurd, even comical, but in Luton's situation it meant everything. Reaching zero meant they were finally out of the negative and no longer using each victory just to fill the hole created by their deduction. From that moment on, every point would count toward survival.
Luton had clawed back the deficit incredibly fast: nine straight wins and twenty-seven points earned. For the first time this season, the wider media had turned their attention toward the club.
A Chinese head coach.
A club stripped of thirty points.
A squad missing most of last season's core players.
Nothing about this team should have inspired optimism. In every preseason prediction, Luton had been widely considered a relegation favourite.
And now they were one win away from wiping out the entire deduction in ten matches.
Across all professional English leagues, no team besides Luton had managed nine consecutive wins this season. Chelsea remained unbeaten in the Premier League, but their record was eight wins and two draws — not nine straight.
If Luton won today, they would reach ten consecutive league victories.
A little-known Chinese coach leading a relegation-tipped League Two side to ten straight wins — it was the perfect media headline. Under England's massive media ecosystem, the entire country now knew about this unbelievable run.
A team no one believed in was storming through the league, and the English press had begun calling Gao Bo "the magic Chinese coach."
Luton, once ignored by everyone, had suddenly become the story of the lower divisions. And thanks to the hype, countless fans now wanted to see whether Luton could complete the tenth win — and finally erase the thirty-point deficit.
Luton's home match was held on a Friday. With no Premier League fixtures on that day, the scheduling worked in their favour — it meant Luton's match would be broadcast live on television. Sky Sports chose this game, giving a League Two club a rare spot usually reserved for Championship or Premier League coverage.
For Luton supporters, this was a huge advantage. Even those who could not make it to the stadium could finally watch the match live instead of relying on the radio.
But Magis was still using the radio. He was a very serious man at work — he couldn't watch TV while guarding the gate of the training base. Even listening to the radio demanded all his attention.
Magis quietly took out a small bottle of whiskey and looked around cautiously.
Alcohol was strictly forbidden at home. His wife had banned him from drinking, and he hadn't touched a drop in a long time. But today felt special. After all, Luton's points might finally reach zero. Magis felt he needed to celebrate somehow — and so he brought the whiskey to work at the training base.
"Gao Bo! The Chinese coach who has led Luton to a miraculous nine-match winning streak! If they win tonight, Luton's negative points will finally be cleared!" commentator Letkinson's voice boomed from the radio. "It may sound funny to 'clear' points, but for a team that started the season with a thirty-point deduction, Luton could not be recovering faster!"
On television, the cameras kept cutting to Gao Bo — everyone understood who was behind the transformation of this team.
Everything pointed back to the young manager.
"A twenty-seven-year-old Chinese coach leading Luton to a miracle…" Wright-Jensen said with genuine admiration as the broadcast focused on the composed, sharp-looking Gao Bo on the touchline.
As a veteran commentator, Letkinson had to admit that he had never seen a coach of East Asian background standing on the bench of an English professional team.
In truth, coaches from ethnic minorities of any background were still rare in England at this time. Although the number of non-white players on the pitch was significant, the coaching world — especially in the professional leagues — remained overwhelmingly white.
...
...
Shanghai — inside a dormitory at Jiaotong University — Lin Sen carefully adjusted the satellite TV receiver fixed to the balcony railing.
He was a die-hard football fan. His biggest hobby was watching matches from anywhere in the world — the big five European leagues, Brazil, Argentina, even the Mexican league. If it was on satellite TV, Lin Sen would watch it.
There were no Premier League games today, and no early kickoffs in other leagues either. But Lin Sen remembered that Sky Sports occasionally filled such gaps by broadcasting Championship matches.
After adjusting the receiver, he heard the commentary from inside becoming clearer and rushed back into the dorm room.
…This isn't the Championship?
England… League Two?!
If Sky Sports had no Premier League broadcast, showing the Championship made sense — but League Two? Lin Sen was stunned. Why would they air a fourth-tier match?
He was about to change the channel when a shot of the touchline appeared on the screen.
The camera locked onto a coach — and what caught Lin Sen's attention instantly was that the head coach was East Asian.
Which country was he from?
China? Japan? Korea?
Lin Sen suddenly found himself interested. In his memory, there were essentially no Asian coaches working in English professional football.
The more he looked, the more he felt this man must be Chinese — at least ethnically Chinese.
The broadcast kept cutting to Gao Bo. In the third minute, Luton launched their first threatening attack: Vardy's shot inside the box was saved. Immediately, the camera zoomed in on the touchline.
Gao Bo, who had been standing with arms folded, suddenly threw an arm upward and leaned back in frustration, the disappointment written all over his face.
"At the start of the match, Luton launch a dangerous attack — just look at Gao Bo's reaction and you can tell how close that effort was!!" Letkinson said enthusiastically.
Lin Sen's English was good. He had spent years at Jiaotong University, already passed CET-4 and CET-6, and although he majored in mathematics, he was naturally gifted with languages. For the sake of watching football, he had even taught himself Spanish, German, and French.
He immediately caught the key name.
"Gao Bo?!"
Lin Sen stared at the screen. The surname Gao, the double-eyelids, the facial features — he didn't look Korean, and he didn't resemble a Japanese coach either. His name also matched Chinese naming conventions.
This had to be a Chinese. Definitely a Chinese.
Lin Sen felt a spark of excitement. A Chinese man coaching an English League Two side? If the domestic media knew, they would have material for entire columns.
As a veteran football fan, Lin Sen understood how rare an East Asian head coach was in England. His curiosity toward Luton's manager rose rapidly.
At that moment, Letkinson continued:
"Luton have been energetic right from kickoff. Their attacking approach is very direct, and Darlington are struggling to adapt. The movement of the two forwards, Vardy and Charlie Austin, is extremely difficult to defend. This young Chinese coach has clearly built a well-organized team."
Chinese.
Lin Sen heard the word again, but he also knew that the English term "Chinese" covered many possibilities: Chinese national, ethnic Chinese, overseas Chinese — all described with the same word. In Chinese, these distinctions were clear; in English, they were not.
So he only knew that Gao Bo was ethnically Chinese. As for nationality, he wasn't yet certain.
But that didn't stop Lin Sen from supporting him. As a football-loving fan without a fixed home team, he watched everything. And as a Chinese student studying abroad, seeing someone with the same black hair and shared heritage standing on an English touchline stirred a sense of connection.
Even if he knew nothing about Gao Bo's journey, he was certain it could not have been an easy one. Of course he would support him — even if only spiritually.
But as the match went on, Lin Sen found himself captivated by the football itself.
Luton's tactics… he had never seen anything like this from any other team.
There were clear traces of Dutch influence, yet it wasn't pure Dutch football, and it certainly wasn't typical English football either. It felt like a new evolution built on the principles of collective attack and defense.
The first thing Lin Sen noticed was Luton's extremely compact shape. He couldn't see the entire formation through TV coverage, but every on-screen moment showed Luton's players closer together and more coordinated than their opponents.
This level of compactness only came from impeccable discipline — clear proof of the coach's control over the team.
Then he spotted something else. Luton didn't value possession at all. Their attacks were simple, direct, often just a few passes before a shot. And when they lost the ball, they recovered it almost immediately with high pressing.
Their defensive pressure started from the strikers. Several players formed triangular traps around the ball. Once they regained possession, the player on the ball instantly had at least two passing options.
It was a suffocating style of play.
Lin Sen was fascinated. The coach who designed this definitely had real talent. He had a hunch that Gao Bo would become famous one day. And from the TV screen, Gao Bo looked incredibly young.
He might not be much older than me…
Lin Sen thought.
At that moment, Luton's attack broke through again.
The midfield intercepted Darlington's counterattack and immediately won the ball back. Drinkwater pushed it to the right, and after captain Kevin Nicholls received it, he delivered a direct cross.
Charlie Austin didn't reach it first, but his movement disrupted the defensive line — and Vardy, arriving centrally, leapt above everyone and thumped in a header.
A brilliant goal.
Lin Sen couldn't help admiring it.
From winning the ball to finishing the counterattack, everything happened in seconds. Before Darlington had time to react, three quick passes tore them apart.
"Vardy scores!! Luton lead one-nil! Around seventy minutes remain between Luton and a ten-match winning streak!! If they win today, their points will finally return to zero!!" Letkinson cried.
Ten straight victories?
Zero points?
Lin Sen was confused. Ten wins would be thirty points — how could the total be zero?
The commentator couldn't possibly have made such a basic mistake. Zero and thirty didn't sound similar, and no professional would mix them up.
Lin Sen opened his laptop, logged onto Google, and searched for "Luton Town."
Within seconds, he found news that shocked him.
Luton had started the season with a thirty-point deduction.
Their main lineup from last season had collapsed due to financial crisis.
Most remaining players were inexperienced youngsters.
And yet this team had won nine league matches in a row — and were now close to a tenth.
Lin Sen quickly found Gao Bo's profile on the club's official website.
It turned out Gao Bo was indeed Chinese. The word "Guangdong" appeared in pinyin — unmistakably mainland Chinese usage.
Gao Bo was only twenty-seven.
Lin Sen was stunned again. In professional football, that was unbelievably young for a head coach. This man on the touchline was only four years older than him.
On the website, he saw Luton's results from the past two months.
There was no denying it — Gao Bo had achieved something miraculous.
He had taken a broken team and built it into what it was now.
Watching the young man in a black suit on the TV screen, Lin Sen couldn't help but feel genuine admiration.