Football Card System

"Come on, Adam! You can do it!"

"I know! Alan, Mr. Charles said I can definitely make it! I'll be a star earning thousands of pounds a week! Those sneakers you like will just be a day's salary for me!"

"Can I have a tracksuit too?"

"Of course!"

Near the training ground of Luton's youth academy, two black boys—one older, one younger—were enthusiastically cheering each other on, their arms crossed and voices loud. Their banter caused the people around them to burst into laughter.

The two boys looked alike, suggesting they were brothers. Both had curly hair. The older one, Adam, wore a red vest that hung loosely over his small frame and a pair of sports shorts that were too big, making them look like a skirt on him.

"What are they here for?" Gao Bo asked, turning to his youth academy director, Steve Powell.

Steve, seemingly just as curious, called over a youth coach for clarification.

"They're here for a trial, sir!"

"A trial?"

"Yes, recommended by Mr. Charles, one of our part-time scouts," the coach explained.

Steve elaborated further, "Mr. Charles is a PE teacher at a local school here in Luton. We have a scouting agreement with him—if we sign a player he recommends, he earns anywhere from £100 to £1,000."

Gao Bo nodded in understanding. Part-time scouts like Charles were common across England. Interested in how the English scouting system worked, Gao Bo decided to watch the trial.

His presence, however, had an unintended effect. The players on the field, eager to impress the first-team coach, started treating the match as a personal showcase. Strikers refused to pass and attempted to take on the entire defense by themselves.

Gao Bo frowned and turned to the youth coach. "When will the trialist get his chance?"

"We usually bring them on during the second half," the coach replied.

"This match is already pointless," Gao Bo remarked, pointing to the chaotic play on the field.

Steve agreed, shaking his head. Football was a team sport, and the kids were turning it into an individual competition.

"Let him play now," Gao Bo instructed.

Soon, Adam White was ready to step onto the field. The other kids on the sidelines chuckled, clearly doubting him. Adam, small and wiry, didn't look like much of a footballer—more like a street kid from the local neighborhoods. Even Tom, the youth coach, seemed skeptical.

"What do you think of him, Tom?" Gao Bo asked.

"He's too thin and too short, sir," Tom replied candidly.

"How old is he, and what's his height?"

"Seventeen, born in 1991. He's 166 cm tall," Tom said, reading from the data sheet.

Gao Bo glanced at the player's name: Adam White. He noticed Adam was listed as a winger.

"He's had no formal training," Tom continued. "At 16, it's already late to start professional football. Honestly, if it weren't for Mr. Charles's recommendation, he wouldn't even have this trial. I think this is just a waste of time."

Gao Bo said nothing but nodded thoughtfully. The road from youth academy to professional football was steep, and not everyone made it. For a lower-league team like Luton, producing stars was even rarer, as top clubs often scouted talented players early on.

Adam was placed on the wing, his natural position. The coach used the break to refocus the other players, reminding them to play as a team. When the match restarted, the chaotic, selfish play had somewhat subsided.

Adam soon got his first touch. A diagonal pass came his way, and he stopped the ball with a delicate touch, his instep cushioning it perfectly.

Gao Bo's eyes lit up. Good ball control!

But almost immediately, Adam lost possession. Trying a feint against the defender, he stumbled and fell to the ground, losing his balance entirely.

The players on the sidelines burst out laughing. Embarrassed, Adam got up and tried to recover, but he tripped again after just a few steps.

Tom shook his head. "His balance is terrible," he muttered.

Adam's trial continued, but it didn't get any better. He was repeatedly outmuscled by defenders and struggled to keep up with the pace. Despite his good first touch, he couldn't capitalize on it. By halftime, Adam walked off with his head down, clearly dejected.

"It's over," Tom said, closing his notebook.

The two brothers began packing their belongings, knowing the trial hadn't gone well. Even Gao Bo felt a twinge of pity. Adam's touch on the ball had shown promise, but his performance overall had been poor. Something didn't add up—players with good ball control usually had decent balance.

"Let me see his information," Gao Bo said suddenly.

Tom handed him Adam's profile. It was brief:

Adam White

Strengths: Quick, good technique

Weaknesses: Street football background, poor tactical awareness

Quick? Gao Bo thought. He didn't seem fast during the trial.

As Adam slung a worn khaki backpack over his shoulder and prepared to leave, Gao Bo noticed something odd—Adam's shoes. They were clearly too small, pinching his wide feet.

"Wait a minute!" Gao Bo called out.

Adam turned, startled.

"Your trial isn't over yet," Gao Bo said firmly. Turning to Tom, he added, "Get him a proper pair of shoes!"