The restaurant's renovation project was completed efficiently and successfully, thanks to the busy professional team and Jules's coordination. Watching mom busy in the new kitchen with obvious delight, and seeing dad chatting and laughing with regular customers by the brand-new oak tables in the front hall, the sense of accomplishment in Oliver's heart continued to grow. The warmth of home truly enveloped him. His holiday time began to feel relaxed and pleasant.
There were no intense training schedules, no red-eye flights, just the long-lost slow pace of home and the companionship of his parents' everyday chatter. This afternoon, the rare winter sunlight streamed through the clouds, casting a few rays with a hint of lazy warmth. Oliver, idle at home, was directed by his mom to tidy up old items in the attic. In a dusty cardboard box, he found a thick, old photo album. Curiously, he brushed off the dust and opened the hard cover, revealing pages filled with photos bearing the marks of time.
The photos mostly featured Oliver as a child: some of him toddling in the park, some holding kindergarten crafts, and many more of him in various sportswear, especially football gear. As he flipped through, his finger stopped on a slightly newer, larger photo. The background of the photo was the familiar training ground of Birmingham City Football Club's youth academy. A group of teenagers, aged 12 or 13, wearing blue-and-white or yellow-green training vests, stood or squatted, clustered around their coach, their faces beaming with youthful yet vibrant smiles.
Among them was a boy with his short hair standing up, a brilliant smile, and bright eyes. This boy was 12-year-old Oliver. The date was clearly marked in white pen below the photo: [Summer 2012]. The floodgates of memory instantly burst open. 2012 was Oliver's first year officially entering the Birmingham youth academy. Three full years, from age 12 to 15: sweat, tears, mud, running, the frustration of failure, the ecstasy of scoring goals... Those deep and shallow footprints left on the red clay and artificial turf of the youth academy, the moments of being loudly reprimanded or gently guided by coaches, the scenes of competing with teammates over a ball or a tackle, only to reconcile moments later... all surged into his mind like a tide.
The sky back then seemed much higher than it was now. Oliver suddenly wanted to go back and see that training ground, which had held his youthful passion. Acting on impulse, he took out his phone, found, and dialed that familiar number. This number belonged to Mr. Gareth White, who was the head coach of the Birmingham youth academy back then and is now the coordinator for the entire youth system.
"Mr. Gareth, it's Oliver. Do you still remember me?"
"Oliver... Oliver! Oh my! Is that really you! Of course I remember, I've always remembered!" The voice on the other end of the phone was full of surprise. "You're quite the sensation across Europe now!"
"Coach, don't tease me," Oliver said with an embarrassed smile, his tone sincere.
"I'm back in Birmingham now, on vacation, and I suddenly really wanted to come back and take a look. I wonder if it's convenient?"
"Convenient, of course it's convenient! You're more than welcome!" Coach White's voice instantly rose, filled with pride. "For you to think of coming back to visit is the greatest affirmation for our academy! You're our star graduate here. When are you coming? Today or tomorrow? I guarantee everyone you want to see will be here!" He was even a little incoherent.
"No need to trouble yourself, coach, I just want to take a casual look," Oliver quickly said. "It's a bit late today, how about tomorrow afternoon? Whenever you're free."
"That works, then tomorrow afternoon."
...
The next afternoon, the weather remained gloomy, with fine drizzle falling and a biting damp cold in the air. Oliver didn't take a car; instead, he chose to ride his bicycle along the familiar road, heading towards the Birmingham youth base located in the suburbs. Upon arriving at the youth academy base. The base's main gate was still as he remembered it, with a few more traces of age.
The security guard, an uncle, had clearly been informed in advance. Seeing Oliver approach, wearing a hat and mask, he carefully identified the exposed eyes and immediately opened the gate enthusiastically, allowing him through: "It's Oliver! Welcome back! Mr. White is waiting for you! Just go straight and you'll see him!"
With the winter break and Christmas approaching, the Birmingham youth base lacked the usual bustling crowds and continuous whistle sounds. Most of the young players had already gone home for the holidays; only a few scattered figures remained on the wet grass, these being children who lived nearby or were particularly dedicated, choosing to stay for extra practice.
Oliver slowed his steps and walked to the edge of the iron fence of one of the fields. This was once a place where he had sweated profusely. The field was a bit old, and some of the grass was sparse, but he could almost still see his younger self, tirelessly chasing the ball and running.
"Quick! Pass it to me!"
"Here! You missed it!"
"Good shot!"
A clear, slightly childish shout came from a small goal area not far away, accompanied by rhythmic "thump, thump" sounds of shots. The Birmingham youth academy never lacked teenagers who loved football. Coach Gareth saw Oliver from afar and strode over from the direction of the office area, opening his arms to give him a strong hug: "Good lad! Welcome home! Our star graduate!"
"Thank you, Mr. Gareth, you're as handsome as ever!"...
After exchanging pleasantries with Mr. Gareth, Oliver decided to continue walking around and exploring the area. He strolled alone among the empty training grounds. The cold wind swept through the bare tree branches, blowing on his face, yet it made him feel unusually clear-headed. The plastic running track, the grass fields, the iron goalposts...
Everything was still as he remembered, only those old coaches he once looked up to had aged considerably, and the figures of his peers running alongside him had been replaced by younger, new faces. Soon, Oliver's gaze was drawn to a figure on a small pitch at the far end.
It was a young teenager, somewhat slender but well-proportioned, practicing quick passing and receiving against a wall by himself. His movements were fluid and powerful, his touches on the ball clean and strong, his control of the ball's position precise. He passed balls of different heights and spins against the wall, then accurately controlled, adjusted, and passed again. The rhythm was fast, without a single wasted movement, and his complete devotion made Oliver feel as if he was seeing a reflection of his younger self. The teenager seemed to sense the gaze from afar and instinctively turned his head during a brief pause in controlling the ball.
When his eyes met the tall, familiar figure standing outside the field's fence, his eyes instantly widened! Clearly, the teenager recognized who the person in front of him was! Oliver smiled and nodded at the teenager. The teenager froze for a moment, then his face erupted into an expression of incredible, unbelievable surprise! He even forgot the ball at his feet, dropped it, and rushed over like a gust of wind! Through the metal fence, the teenager's chest rose and fell slightly from excitement and running. He panted excitedly, his eyes remarkably bright, staring at the dark blue down jacket Oliver wore over his training clothes:
"Oliver... Oliver! Are you Oliver?! The Bundesliga Champions League top scorer! Oh my goodness, this... this is truly exciting!"
Oliver was infected by his pure excitement, and his smile deepened: "It's me. Hello, what's your name, and how old are you?"
"Hello, I... I'm Jude, Jude Bellingham! I'm 14 years old!"
The young Bellingham quickly rattled off his name and age in English with a strong Birmingham accent, so excited he was a little incoherent. Because his idol was right in front of him. Oliver's name was now a household name in European football, especially for England and for children playing in youth teams; he was practically the embodiment of a dream come true. Not to mention, Oliver, like him, grew up in the Birmingham youth academy. Bellingham truly admired this star senior, who was only three years older than him yet had achieved such incredible results.
Oliver looked into Bellingham's earnest eyes and said approvingly: "Jude, I just watched your practice for a bit. You're very focused, and your basic movements are solid. I think you play very well."
This affirmation from his idol instantly made Bellingham's face flush. He nervously clutched the hem of his clothes, but the excitement and joy in his eyes almost overflowed: "Thank you! Thank you! I play as a midfielder, and my goal is to become a player like Zidane!"
Bellingham excitedly expressed his goal. Oliver nodded, looking at him gently: "Midfield is very important, and you seem to have the potential for it.
At the same time, I hope you can always maintain this effort and unleash your talent. I believe you will definitely become a star player in the future."
This incredibly sincere encouragement greatly motivated Bellingham.
Bellingham's eyes brightened even more; he straightened his back and nodded vigorously, "I definitely will! Thank you! I… I'll strive to catch up to my senior mate first!"
He had naturally started calling him "senior mate," and little stars were twinkling in his eyes. This address made Oliver pause slightly, then a warm current and a strange sense of connection welled up in his heart. This was a feeling unique to "fellow disciples."
The two, spanning different ages but connected by football and the academy's bloodline, chatted happily. The two chatted in the cold wind, but their conversation grew warmer and warmer.
"Senior, what's your dream now?" Bellingham asked curiously, his eyes full of exploratory desire.
Oliver looked at the grey sky above the training ground and said, "My dream now… is, of course, to help Hoffenheim win titles, whether it's the League or the Champions League, to fight with all my might for every single one. As for the future…"
He turned his head and looked at Bellingham's young face, with a hint of longing: "I hope that one day, I can wear the England Team jersey and, together with everyone, bring the European Cup and the World Cup trophies back home!"
The Three Lions' dream was deeply rooted in Oliver's heart. When Bellingham heard this, his eyes instantly lit up like stars: "Really?! Me too! Senior mate! My dream is also to help the England National Team lift the trophy! I also want to wear the national team jersey one day!"
Bellingham also shared this ideal. Seeing Bellingham's enthusiasm, Oliver couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion.
He looked at Bellingham's eager eyes and said with certainty, "That day will definitely come, but the prerequisite is that you have to become stronger."
Next, the conversation between the two senior mates, who were 3 years apart, revolved entirely around football. Bellingham, like a student eager for knowledge, began to constantly throw out various questions about training, matches, positional awareness, and reading the game. And Oliver, the 17-year-old star senior mate who had already proven his superb vision and overall perspective on the Bundesliga and Champions League stages. At this moment, he unreservedly shared with Bellingham the valuable experience he had accumulated behind his half-season of highlights.
Although Oliver himself played as a right winger, his insight into the overall situation of the pitch, his understanding of space, and his anticipation of teammates' runs were all quite good, already surpassing most midfielders. This knowledge was precisely the essence that a central midfield playmaker needed to master most. Oliver shared with Bellingham how he observed the subtle movements of the opponent's defensive line and how he judged the most comfortable passing routes and timings for his teammates. He even cited examples from his own League and Champions League matches.
"Remember, Jude, a midfielder is like the brain; when you don't have the ball, your eyes and mind must run ahead of everyone. Every time a teammate gets the ball, you should at least think of two or three options for support or protection in advance."
"For example, when dealing with the ball under pressure, turning isn't the only way to break free. A back pass to the defender to reorganize is sometimes a smarter choice, just like when we played against Dortmund last time…"
Oliver also meticulously guided Bellingham in practicing several quick turns to escape pressure, demonstrating the correct foot placement and subtle changes of direction a few times himself.
Then, he pointed to the nearby training ground and asked Bellingham: "Jude, look at that small area of confrontation just now. When you get the ball, what should be the first thing you think about?"
Bellingham thought seriously for a moment and then replied: "It should be… how to protect the ball, or pass it to a teammate in a better position?"
"Yes, but not enough." Oliver drew invisible areas and lines in the air with his finger,
"Look, the first glance is to observe the opponent's pressing route and intensity. Is one person pressing fiercely, or are two people slowly closing in? This determines whether your next step is a direct breakthrough or if you need to shield the ball and turn. The second glance should simultaneously look at your teammates' positions. Is the nearest passing option marked tightly? Can the open space further away be utilized? Where is the weakest point in the opponent's defense? In attack, the time a midfielder has on the ball is often only two seconds, one second, or even a fraction of a second. You must be like a high-speed computer, instantly evaluating all this information and then choosing the optimal solution: Should you dribble two steps to draw defenders and then pass? Or a direct long pass in behind? Or a layoff to the defensive midfielder to reorganize?"
Oliver spoke very seriously, and Bellingham listened intently, his brows furrowed, trying to digest this "dry content" that far exceeded his daily training. This was no longer just technique; it was an understanding of the game, and a perception and calculation of space and time.
"Senior, how do I improve this ability?" Bellingham asked.
Oliver looked at his eager eyes and directly gave the answer: "Watch games! Watch games extensively and purposefully! Don't just stare at where the ball is."
"Then what should I watch?"
"Watch the off-ball movement of high-level midfield masters! Look at Modric, De Bruyne, or Kroos. When they don't have the ball, where do they move to receive?"
"Do they provide a safe passing option beside the defensive midfielder, or do they quietly make runs into the space between the opponent's defensive midfielder and center-back to create danger? When the opponent's defensive line is stretched, do they keenly spot the open space and occupy it? This is what you need to learn."
"You also need to watch the choices of players on the ball under pressure. Why did he pass that way? If it were you, were there better options in that situation? After he passed that ball, what impact did it have on the team's overall attacking rhythm? Did it accelerate or stabilize it?"
"Then, most importantly," Oliver slowed his speech, saying each word distinctly,
"Review your own match footage! Don't just watch highlight reels of goals and assists. Watch the moment you lost the ball. Why? Was it a misjudgment or improper handling? Watch when you got the ball but couldn't organize an effective attack. Where was the problem? Was it not observing your teammates' positions well before receiving the ball, or was the timing of your pass half a beat too slow? Every mistake is the most valuable teaching material."
Bellingham nodded frequently as he listened to Oliver's words, wishing he could engrave everything he heard into his mind, occasionally repeating the key points aloud: "Observe in advance… support teammates from good angles… a back pass is also an option… review…"
Oliver unreservedly shared his accumulated insights with this talented young junior mate. Bellingham finally realized that this senior mate, who was an explosive winger, also had such a profound understanding of midfield play and tactical reading. Unconsciously, the sky had gradually darkened. The lights by the pitch came on, casting long shadows on the ground.
Coach Gareth walked over and kindly reminded the two young men that it was getting late and the training base was about to lock up.
"Oliver, Jude, you two young men should go home."
Bellingham then realized how much time had passed, and his face immediately showed reluctance. Oliver also prepared to leave.
"Senior! Thank you! I'm really grateful!" Bellingham extended his hand, his voice hoarse with excitement, "I learned so much today! I'm truly, truly grateful!"
Oliver firmly squeezed his still somewhat slender but powerful hand: "Work hard, Jude, remember what I said: always think more, review more, and I hope we both have that day when we wear the Three Lions' jersey."
His eyes were filled with anticipation for this talented and hardworking junior mate. Watching Bellingham nod vigorously in the cold wind, his eyes burning with rekindled fighting spirit, Oliver felt a warmth in his heart.
He bent down, picked up the football Bellingham had been practicing with, and gently tossed it to him: "Catch it, future star. May we both meet at the very top."
Bellingham steadily caught the ball and held it in his arms, as if holding a precious promise: "I will! Goodbye, Oliver! Have a safe journey!"
Oliver waved goodbye to Bellingham and turned to leave, accompanied by Gareth. Behind him, under the dim lights, the young Bellingham stood straight, holding the football, watching Oliver disappear in the direction of the gate. The cold wind brought a chill, but at this moment, Bellingham felt a burning fire in his heart. Riding back, Oliver recalled their encounter, and the corners of his mouth involuntarily turned up. Returning to his old stomping grounds, meeting a junior mate with unlimited potential and passionate dedication, sharing his experience, encouraging his dreams…
This feeling was wonderful and great.
...
If you want to read 25 chapters ahead with daily uploads and to support me subscribe to my P*tr+-n below
p*tr+-n.com/Not_Thor
( *=a ; -=o ; +=e )
Also join my D!sc0rd
Invite code: BcnJNygFc9
...
Lets make a deal,
For every 100 powerstone or 5 five star reviews= extra chapter 🤭🤭
Count resets every week.
...
Sorry to say it guys but I would have to stop the updates till first week of May.
I would probably resume the updates in the second week.