Alien Dad?

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Jerry stared at the card in his hands again. He saw Per's name written on it, along with his contact details. He released a small sigh and stashed it inside his bag, trying not to think too hard about the weight of the decision ahead of him.

Unlike the offer from Liverpool, he would probably need to give a lot of thought to the one from Arsenal. Even though they were Manchester United's direct rivals back when his dad was playing, he didn't think there'd be so much enmity between his dad and the club that his dad wouldn't allow him to play for them. At least, that was what he hoped.

"Jeremiah Hayes?" Just as Jerry was about to leave the building entirely, another voice called out his name, causing him to stop in his tracks.

"For fuck's sake," Jerry muttered under his breath. He turned around, searching for the source of the voice.

Staring back at him was a man who looked like he was in his late thirties, a tad younger than the other scouts Jerry was used to seeing. The man wore a completely casual outfit and couldn't easily be identified as a scout. If not for the notepad in his hand, where Jerry noticed he ticked off a name, Jerry would've assumed he was just a passerby.

"Hi," the man said as he approached and stretched out his hand. "My name is James Perkins. I'm a scout from Manchester United."

Jerry shook his hand firmly. "You already know who I am, and nice to meet you."

James smiled, seemingly amused. "Alright, so let me not beat around the bush. Your football's been insane over the last couple of matches, and I want you to sign for Manchester United."

"To sign?" Jerry furrowed his brows, confused. The other two offers he had received were invitations to trials.

"Yes," James nodded. "We want you to join our under-sixteens as fast as possible—if you're willing, of course."

"What if I want to join the under-eighteens?" Jerry asked, tilting his head slightly.

"That's easy," James replied without missing a beat. "You'll be able to join if your performance is good enough for the under-sixteens or when you turn seventeen… that is, assuming you decide to accept my proposal."

Jerry smirked at James. He was good. "I'll think about it."

"Alright then," James said with a nod as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. "You can get my contact details from this card. Relay your decision to me before the end of next week."

"Oh… okay. Thanks," Jerry said, taking the card.

"Have a good day," James said before hurrying off. Jerry assumed he was trying to catch up to his next target before they left.

Jerry stared at James's card for a few seconds before slipping it into his bag. He walked into the street slowly, occasionally pausing in case any other scouts decided to approach him. At the end of the day, though, he left with just the three offers he had already received.

As Jerry walked back home, he let his mind wander to the offers he had received. He had already made up his mind that he wouldn't accept the offer from Liverpool. However, the offers from Arsenal and Manchester United were harder to decide between.

If he accepted the offer from Manchester United, he would already be guaranteed a spot in their youth programs. From there, how he progressed would depend entirely on him. It was the most secure option. On the other hand, the offer from Arsenal required him to go on trial. While his progress there would also depend on him, there was still the off chance that he wouldn't make the cut.

The thought of failure made him uneasy, and he mulled it over as he walked. Arsenal's youth program had an excellent reputation, but so did Manchester United's. The latter, however, had a legacy that felt closer to home. It was impossible to ignore how many legendary players they had produced over the decades—Marcus Rashford, David Beckham, and, of course, his father.

Jerry stopped walking for a moment, standing under a streetlight as the decision clicked in his mind. His father played a huge role in his choice; it wasn't like Jeremiah Hayes would let him join a team not named Manchester United in the first place.

"Alright then, it's decided," Jerry muttered as he resumed his walk home.

When he finally stepped inside his house, he felt an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. Without saying much to anyone, he headed straight to his room, took off his clothes, and collapsed onto his bed. He needed to get some rest before his dad came in to talk to him.

The hours passed in a blur, and Jerry wasn't sure how long he had been asleep when he heard a knock on his door. The door opened moments later, revealing Jeremiah Hayes. His father stepped into the room without hesitation.

Jerry waited, bracing himself for the inevitable lecture. He expected Jeremiah to start shouting at him about the importance of discipline or the legacy of Manchester United. But to his surprise, Jeremiah said nothing for a while. He just stood there, observing him.

"You did well today," Jeremiah said slowly, breaking the silence.

Jerry blinked, staring at his father as if he had grown a second head. Out of all the things he expected to hear from his father, "you did well" wasn't one of them.

"Thank you," Jerry finally managed to say, his voice uncertain.

Jeremiah didn't respond immediately. He continued to stare at Jerry, his expression unreadable, making his son feel increasingly uncomfortable. After a few moments that felt like an eternity to Jerry, his father spoke again.

"What position do you want to play?"

Jerry was taken aback by the question. It wasn't something he had expected, and it wasn't something he had a clear answer to, either.

If Jeremiah had asked him a few days ago, he would've confidently said he wanted to play as a number ten. But after playing on the left wing in today's match, he realized he liked it. He liked running at defenders, dribbling past them, creating from the flanks—he liked it all. Yet, the system said he was best suited to play as a number ten, leaving him conflicted.

"I don't know," Jerry said after a minute of thought. "I don't know," he repeated, watching his father's expression closely.

"That's okay," Jeremiah said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "I didn't know I wanted to be a striker until Ruud Van Nistelrooy got injured, and Sir Alex decided he needed a quick replacement." Jeremiah chuckled softly at the memory. "Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that you don't need to be a striker like I was. You're your own man. You get to decide how you want your story to be written."

With that, Jeremiah turned and left the room, leaving Jerry alone with his thoughts.

Jerry stared at the door for several seconds, still processing what had just happened. His dad… actually behaved like a dad? Was there some kind of alien invasion or something?

He didn't dwell on the subject for long. Instead, he turned over on his bed, closed his eyes, and let sleep take over again. He needed all the rest he could get. He didn't have a recovery day tomorrow, so he was bound to feel like shit if he didn't rest enough.