Steven Gerrard had never known a "bathroom break" to be so life-altering.
As he walked Renzo Uzumaki toward the exit of the Tottenham training ground, Gerrard felt like he was smuggling a masterpiece out of a burning building. Bill Vance's arrogance was a gift from the heavens. To dismiss a player with 99-rated passing over a personal grudge? It was the kind of incompetence that built dynasties elsewhere.
"Ren," Gerrard said, stopping just outside the main gates. The cold London air felt different now—charged with possibility. "I'm officially inviting you. Liverpool needs blood like yours. We're in a rough patch, but a technician with your vision? You won't be stuck in the academy. I'll personally ensure you're training with the first team by the end of the week."
Ren looked at the hand Gerrard extended. In his past life, he had spent years begging for this kind of recognition. Now, it was being handed to him by his idol.
[Ding! New Mission Triggered!]
[Objective: Sign for and represent a team in the Top 5 European Leagues.]
[Reward: Random Quality Treasure Chest.]
Ren didn't hesitate. He gripped Gerrard's hand firmly. "Captain, it would be an honor to fight alongside you."
Gerrard laughed, the "Captain" title clearly hitting the right chord. "Straight to the point. I like that. Give me your address. I'm calling the Sporting Director, Michael Edwards, right now. I'll have this sorted in forty-eight hours."
After parting ways, Gerrard realized he had left a certain future England captain waiting. He sprinted back toward the pitches.
"Stevie! Seriously, man," Harry Kane shouted as Gerrard finally reappeared. Kane was shivering, his training gear long since dried by the wind. "I was about to call an ambulance. Or a plumber."
"Middle age, Harry! I told you!" Gerrard beamed, looking ten years younger.
"Why are you grinning like that?" Kane asked, suspicious. "Is the... uh... 'prostate relief' really that good?"
Gerrard just patted him on the shoulder, clutching a secret that would soon break the heart of every Spurs fan in London. "I'm just happy to see you, Harry. Truly."
Chinatown, London.
"Ren's Kitchen" was a small, aromatic slice of home tucked away from the main tourist drags. Ren Jianjun wiped his brow, tossing his chef's hat onto a counter as the lunch rush faded. He was a man built of grit and old-school discipline—a former soldier who had moved across the world to give his son a shot at a dream.
"Welcome! What can I get for—" Jianjun started in his rough, accented English, then stopped. "Renzo? Why are you home?"
Ren's mother, Xiaoyi, hurried out from the back, her face lighting up before turning to worry. "Xiaoyuan, you should be in closed training! Did something happen?"
Ren sat down, the smell of his father's braised pork filling his lungs. It was the first time he'd seen them since his rebirth. They looked younger, their hair still black, their faces lacking the deep lines of worry that had defined them after his first-life career collapsed.
"I'm done with Tottenham," Ren said quietly.
His parents froze. Ren explained everything—the exclusion, the racism, and the final, satisfying slap that ended Bill Vance's streak of tyranny.
Jianjun took a long drag of a cigarette, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. "Then they didn't deserve you. That Director? He deserved worse. We don't go looking for trouble, Renzo, but we don't run from it either."
Jianjun stood up, his pragmatic mind already pivoting. "Don't worry. My best regular is a scout for Blackburn Rovers. They're Championship now, but they've got more history than Spurs could ever dream of. I'll get you a trial by Monday. We start from the bottom and we climb. No problem."
Ren felt a lump in his throat. In his last life, he had stayed at Spurs out of fear of disappointing them. He hadn't realized that his parents were his shield, not his judges.
"Actually, Dad... I think I've already got something lined up. Liverpool."
Jianjun paused, a piece of ginger halfway to the cutting board. "Blackburn is one thing, son, but Liverpool? I don't know any scouts in Merseyside. Let's stay realistic."
"No, Dad. Steven Gerrard invited me. He's coming here to pick me up."
The silence in the kitchen was absolute. His parents exchanged a look of pure, agonizing pity.
"Xiaoyuan," his mother whispered, walking over to rub his shoulder. "Leaving a big club is hard on the mind. We understand. You don't have to make up stories for us."
"I'm not making it up, Ma."
"Renzo," Jianjun said, his voice firm. "Gerrard is a god in this country. He doesn't just walk into noodle shops in Chinatown to pick up teenagers. It's okay to be stressed, but let's keep our feet on the ground."
Just as Jianjun was launching into a lecture about mental health and "Blackburn's glorious history," the bell above the door chimed.
"Hello? Is this the place? Ren?"
A man in a sharp navy tracksuit stepped into the dim light of the restaurant. He looked around, squinting at the menu on the wall before spotting Ren.
Jianjun's cigarette fell out of his mouth. Xiaoyi gripped the back of a chair so hard her knuckles turned white.
"Ge... Gerrard?" Jianjun stammered, his military posture crumbling into pure shock.
The Legend of Anfield waved, a friendly, slightly tired smile on his face. "Mr. Takashiro? I hope I'm not late. I've got the contract papers in the car. Is your son ready to go?"
Jianjun turned to Ren, his eyes bulging. Since when did my son become this important?!