"I don't believe it. Is he the real deal?"
"Patience, my friend. Just watch. The best is yet to come. I've sent you another clip."
On the other end of the phone, Steve Rowley allowed himself a small, knowing smile. His eyes, however, never left the pitch. The game was still very much alive.
Two minutes into his debut, Jin Hayes had announced himself with a piece of skill that bordered on the surreal, followed by a finish that bordered on the comical. The Everton players, momentarily stunned by his mazy run past four of their teammates, had erupted into laughter at the shot that followed – a skied effort that threatened low-flying aircraft.
"Is he trying to put a satellite into orbit?" one of them called out.
"Most creative finish I've ever seen! Definitely deserves a highlight reel of its own!"
Even his own striker, Jin Hui, approached him with a hesitant pat on the shoulder. "Ignore them. That dribble was something else. Keep your head up."
Jin Hayes nodded, barely registering the words. As a top student with fluent English, he'd understood every taunt. But the noise faded into the background. He was still trying to process what his body had just done. The feeling was extraordinary, like a switch had been flicked in his brain, connecting his thoughts to his feet with impossible speed and precision.
How did I do that? he wondered. Let's find out.
The game restarted. Everton, still 4-0 up, were playing with a casual arrogance, their attacks languid and predictable. A speculative shot sailed harmlessly wide, and possession returned to the Chinese team.
The simple pass from defence to midfield was anything but simple. Everton's press, though not intense, was perfectly coordinated, closing down passing lanes with the ease of a team operating on autopilot. Yang Xiaolong, struggling in the holding role, looked up in despair, saw Jin Hayes drop deep to offer an option, and played the ball to him without hesitation.
The moment the ball left Yang's foot, three Everton shirts converged on Jin Hayes from different angles. They'd been embarrassed by this slight figure once. They weren't about to let it happen again.
Jin Hayes saw them coming. The pass was still in the air, but in his mind, he'd already mapped out their trajectories, their intentions. A few months ago, in this situation, he'd have lost possession instantly. The physicality, the tactical awareness, the sheer speed of the English game – it would have swallowed him whole.
In the commentary box, Huang Jianxiang shook his head. "This is trouble. He's isolated. The pass is on, but the pressure is immense. Only a world-class talent could…"
On the pitch, Jin Hayes remained utterly calm.
The first defender, Dansmore, Everton's defensive midfielder, lunged in, confident. He'd predicted the boy's touch, his momentum. This time, there'd be no fluke.
Jin Hayes's body swayed. It was a feint so sudden, so sharp, it seemed to defy physics. As Dansmore committed, Jin Hayes flicked the ball with the outside of his boot, nutmegging him in the same motion. The ball slid perfectly between the defender's legs.
Through his legs!
Dansmore spun, desperate to recover, but his two teammates were already closing the gap. There was no way out.
Except there was.
As the ball bounced up, Jin Hayes's toe hooked it gently, lifting it just as he accelerated into the narrowing channel between the two converging defenders. In the same fluid motion, as he squeezed through the gap, his heel flicked the ball forward, over his own head and beyond the reach of the outstretched arms.
A sombrero flick. In heavy traffic. At full speed.
In the blink of an eye, Jin Hayes had evaded three players and was bursting into the penalty area.
"BEAUTIFUL!! A piece of circus magic! Jin Hayes is through! HE'S THROUGH!" Huang Jianxiang's voice cracked with sheer, unadulterated excitement. He was witnessing something he'd never seen from a Chinese player, something that belonged in a highlights reel of the world's very best.
On the touchline, the Chinese coaching staff and the television crew were on their feet, any pretence of professional detachment abandoned. This was no longer a reality TV show. This was raw, breathtaking talent.
Everton, for their part, finally snapped out of their complacency. Panic rippled through their defence. Players swarmed back into the box, a tide of blue shirts converging on the single figure in white who had made them look ordinary not once, but twice in the space of three minutes.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Jin Hayes's heart hammered against his ribs, but his mind was preternaturally clear. He was inside the box now. A goalkeeper, rooted to his line but flustered. A centre-back sliding in from the left. The recovering defenders closing from behind. He was surrounded.
His instincts, honed from years of playing as a forward, screamed at him to shoot. Any other day, he'd have lashed at it. But as his foot drew back, that strange, unbidden thought echoed again.
But at what cost?
Was this the price? Was his new-found genius somehow linked to the loss of his finishing ability? That first shot had been inexcusable, the kind of miss that would haunt a Sunday league player for weeks. It was as if his brain, now capable of processing impossibly complex dribbling patterns, had no processing power left for the final act.
He looked up. Time seemed to dilate. The goalkeeper's positioning, the slide-tackler's angle, the recovery runs of the chasing pack – it all laid itself out in front of him like a tactical diagram.
A shot now would be blocked. A low cross would be cut out. Cutting back onto his left foot would allow the recovering players to catch him.
Only one option remained.
"SHOOT!" Huang Jianxiang roared into his microphone, echoing the thoughts of everyone watching.
Jin Hayes did the opposite.
He slammed on the brakes. The sliding centre-back flew past him, a yard of empty turf where Jin Hayes had been a split second before. Then he was off again, accelerating towards the byline, the ball still glued to his feet.
"He's going too far!" the co-commentator gasped. "He's taking it to the goal line!"
The entire stadium watched in a state of suspended animation as Jin Hayes dribbled the ball all the way to the six-yard box, hugging the end line. The goalkeeper, forced to act, rushed out, spreading himself to block any conceivable angle for a shot or cutback.
Jin Hayes shimmied left. The goalkeeper shifted. He shimmied right. The goalkeeper's weight shifted again, wrong-footed. Then, with a sudden, sharp burst of acceleration to the left, he was past him, the ball dragged just beyond the desperate swipe of the goalkeeper's glove.
The path to the goal line was clear. He took the ball to the very edge, looked up at the empty net just a yard away, and with the delicate tap of a player who had all the time in the world, rolled it in.
Silence.
Finch Farm training ground, usually a cauldron of shouted instructions and the thud of boots, was utterly silent.
The Everton assistant coach, hand hovering over the scoreboard, was frozen, his mouth slightly agape. He hadn't moved since the run began.
Then, a roar erupted from the small Chinese contingent. It was followed by a smattering of applause from the home fans and staff, a spontaneous, respectful recognition of something extraordinary. The applause grew, spreading until it echoed around the quiet ground.
The assistant coach finally stirred and flipped the numbers.
Everton U18 4 - 1 Chinese Football Kids
"OH MY GOD!"
"WHAT A GOAL! THAT'S ABSOLUTELY INSANE!"
On the Everton bench, the youth coaches were on their feet, applauding. The number 24 in the plain white jersey, a kid who looked like he should still be in middle school, had just sliced through their entire defence, their best young prospects, as if they were traffic cones.
Ray Hall, the Everton academy director, stood motionless, his arms crossed, his expression a mask of disbelief. He'd seen a lot of young talent come through Finch Farm. He'd watched Wayne Rooney develop from a raw, powerful kid into a phenomenon.
But this?
This was different. This was audacity. This was control under pressure that defied belief. This was a kid who, for three mesmerising minutes, had made the game look simple. He'd dribbled past players not just to beat them, but to humiliate them, to prove a point.
Hall turned to the coach next to him, his voice barely a whisper.
"That boy… we cannot let him leave this building. Find out everything about him. Now."