Chapter 21: Preparing for the Leap (5)

The afternoon after the match against Liverpool.

In the town of Burnley, within the Burnley Borough of Lancashire, England, four teenagers wandered aimlessly.

A 20-year-old midfielder, a 19-year-old midfielder, an 18-year-old midfielder, and a 19-year-old forward—all roughly around 180 cm tall with sturdy builds.

They were none other than Burnley's four loanees, out for a stroll in the town on their day off.

"Ugh, why'd we bring him along?"

Karim Adeyemi grumbled irritably, pointing at Hannibal Mejbri, who sighed with every step he took.

"Hey, he's been staring at the wall since yesterday's match. Were we just supposed to leave him behind?"

Nicholas Seiwald's response made Karim shake his head in annoyance.

"The manager said it's fine, didn't he? He should just shake it off and move on."

"Yeah, right. Remember when you missed that penalty kick and didn't say a word for a whole week?"

"Tch!"

Karim Adeyemi bristled as his same-aged friend brought up an embarrassing memory.

Watching the exchange, Jacob Ramsey, the unofficial eldest of the group, chuckled and said, "You guys get along well, huh?"

"Yeah, whatever," Karim brushed off Jacob's comment, though he seemed to feel a bit sorry for his dejected teammate. He pointed at a McDonald's up ahead. "Hey, let's grab something there!"

"Are you crazy? If we eat that, Coach Morao will make us do a hundred extra hell-sprints!"

"What, how would he know if we just have one?"

"Are you kidding? Daily blood tests, glucose checks, body fat measurements, weigh-ins—how do you hide that?!"

Nicholas Seiwald countered incredulously as the noise from the four teenagers began drawing the attention of passersby.

Ever the mature one, Jacob Ramsey, sensing the shifting atmosphere, shook his head and murmured, "Guys… maybe we should get moving?"

"Why? Sure, Burnley's got nothing going on, but once training starts tomorrow, we'll be stuck in Padiham again."

Though Burnley was a town of 70,000 with no real downtown, Padiham—a much smaller village—was where the loanees were holed up, a "considerate" arrangement by Arthur and Hyung-min to keep them focused solely on football. Tired of it already, Karim Adeyemi's complaint prompted Jacob Ramsey to whisper, "The vibe's getting a little weird…"

Even Hannibal Mejbri, lost in his gloom, lifted his head to look around. Sure enough, sturdy young men from Burnley were gathering around them with stern expressions.

"W-What's going on?"

"Some kind of vigilante group punishing outsiders or something?"

Nicholas Seiwald clicked his tongue at Karim Adeyemi's remark.

"Dude, did you fall asleep watching *Peaky BlXinders* again? It's the 21st century, idiot."

"Who knows? In a rural English place like this, anything could happen! I mean—"

Jacob Ramsey cut off Karim Adeyemi's rambling.

"Enough! Let's just get inside somewhere!"

While the three debated, unable to decide—Hannibal still silent—a burly young man, the most imposing of the gathering Burnley locals, stepped forward.

"Hey, you lot."

"Uh? Y-Yeah…?"

The young man pointed straight ahead.

"That's Hannibal Mejbri, right?"

Tensing at his stern expression, Nicholas Seiwald, Karim Adeyemi, and Jacob Ramsey quickly lined up in front of Hannibal to shield him from view.

"Nope, wrong guy."

"…Looks like him, though."

Jacob Ramsey flinched at the man's confident assertion.

"W-Well, what if it is?"

At Karim Adeyemi's question, the young man replied in a low voice, "Tell him to step forward."

"No way, that's not happening—"

"Move it!"

As Karim tried to protest again, Hannibal Mejbri, who'd been silently listening, pushed past his teammates and stepped forward.

"I'm Hannibal Mejbri! What do you want?!"

"…Could you sign something for me?"

---

"Hey! Line up properly over there!"

The burly young man, introducing himself as Henry Tyler, shouted, and a gruff voice barked back from the end of the long line that now filled the street.

"Damn it, people keep pushing from behind!"

"Then hold your ground! Can't you handle that?!"

"You think I'm you or something?!"

Ignoring Henry Tyler, who was sweating buckets managing the crowd with a hoarse voice, Burnley's four promising loanees sat at tables they'd "borrowed" from McDonald's, chatting with the people lined up in front of them.

"So, what's your name?"

"Hannah! Hannah Johnson!"

"Then, 'To Hannah,' okay?"

"Yep!"

A little girl, maybe six years old, proudly handed over her jersey while holding her dad's hand. Hannibal Mejbri wrote a greeting and a stylish signature on the back, where his number was printed.

Karim Adeyemi, whose much shorter line had already finished, watched Hannibal enviously and muttered, "Ugh, why's everyone just getting his autograph?"

"He scored in his debut match."

"It was my assist! I could've scored myself, but I passed it to him!"

"Nah, that's a stretch. You were way outside the penalty box."

"Ugh…"

Karim Adeyemi pouted at Jacob Ramsey's blunt remark, while nearby, Nicholas Seiwald was diligently signing autographs.

The handsome, tall, blonde midfielder was quite popular with Burnley's female fans—though, unfortunately for his love life, it was mostly older women eagerly lining up for him rather than young, pretty girls.

They liked his earnest, hardworking attitude, apparently.

"So, what should I write?"

"To Liz. Write 'To Liz.'"

Nicholas Seiwald smiled kindly at a woman in her late 50s who winked at him, signing her item and even posing for a cheerful selfie.

"Dude, you're unreal. How do you keep up with all that?"

"They're fans. You've got to give fans service—they're the ones paying our wages. A club can't exist without them."

It was a glimpse of the upright, principled Austrian, Nicholas Seiwald.

"Hey! What are you guys doing?!"

After about two hours of this impromptu autograph session, just as the exhausted quartet began to wonder if every Burnley resident had gotten a signature on this rare sunny Sunday afternoon, an incredulous shout rang out from across the street.

Paulo Morao, Burnley's new fitness coach, stood on the sidewalk with shopping bags tucked under his thick arms, staring at them in disbelief.

"Uh… Coach… So, um…"

Where do they even start? Was this even explainable?

Realizing the situation, the four prospects broke into cold sweats, exchanging glances.

---

"So, they asked for autographs, and you gave them?"

"Yes!"

"And then more people kept coming, so you took tables from McDonald's…"

"We borrowed them! Borrowed! We put them back!"

"…And then even more people lined up?"

The four prospects nodded desperately in front of Helena's desk as she recounted the story.

Helena clicked her tongue in disbelief, and Nicholas Seiwald stepped forward.

"Miss Cartwright…"

"President."

Nicholas Seiwald's face paled slightly at Helena's sharp correction but pressed on.

"Uh, I mean, President. This was like fan service at the request of Burnley fans… a kind of community outreach…"

"Enough."

Helena bit her lip, trembling as she mulled something over, then waved her hand to wrap it up.

"Since it doesn't seem like you caused any trouble or harm, I'll let it slide this time."

"Thank you!"

The four beamed, relieved that it seemed to resolve smoothly.

"But all four of you are grounded for a while!"

Their faces darkened again at Hyung-min's sudden disciplinary announcement, delivered as he'd been called in to assess the situation alongside Helena.

"Well, you're free to go now."

At Helena's dismissal, the four loanees, shoulders slumped, shuffled out of the office under the watchful eye of Coach Paulo Morao, who stood with his thick arms crossed intimidatingly.

As the door closed, Hyung-min turned to Helena and said, "Helena, I'm really sorry. I'll talk to them and—"

"Pfft-hahahahaha!"

Unable to hold it in any longer, Helena burst into laughter, tumbling out of her chair.

"Hey, are you okay?!"

"Pffft-hahahahahaha!"

Helena cackled and rolled on the floor under her desk as Hyung-min stared in bewilderment.

Wondering if the club president had finally cracked under the strain of her workload and stress—debating whether to rush her to the ER or call the team doctor—Hyung-min watched as Helena, panting, shakily grabbed her desk and climbed back into her chair with trembling legs.

"Whew… It's been a while since I laughed this hard."

Still catching her breath and giggling, Helena said to Hyung-min, "They're… they're really cute. Or maybe that's not the right word? Upright, perhaps? They're so genuine, not like typical kids these days."

If Arthur were here, he'd have said, "You're 'kids these days' too," but he wasn't.

So Hyung-min nodded sagely.

"Good players don't always have good character. But promising talents with good character are far more likely to become great players. Football isn't a solo sport, after all."

"Team spirit and sacrifice, that sort of thing?"

Helena asked, still chuckling.

"That's part of it… But fundamentally, if you can consider others, you can share ideas with them. And if you can do that, you can work together to solve the game. Football's like a puzzle we all solve together to break open the opponent's goal."

"A puzzle solved together…"

Helena echoed his words with an intrigued tone.

---

Anyway, the morning after this minor yet significant incident—caused by Burnley's four loanees adjusting to life at a small rural English club through various shenanigans—

Helena arrived at work and, with a puzzled look, carried her laptop into Mike Garlick's office next to hers.

"Mike, what's this? It's from the Premier League office."

She turned her laptop screen toward Mike Garlick.

The email, written in stiff, formal language, curtly demanded the attendance of Helena Cartwright, representative of the Cartwright Fund.

"Owners' and Directors' Test?"