Antony: I Want to Go to the Premier League

After leaving Morumbi Cemetery, Chen Anno and the others headed straight to Sao Paulo's training base.

Before the car even reached the entrance, they could see a large crowd blocking the gates from afar.

Vizoli stood at the very front, wearing a slightly faded Sao Paulo coaching tracksuit. His hair had turned much whiter than it had been three years ago, but he was still full of spirit.

As soon as the car stopped and Chen Anno stepped out, applause erupted.

Vizoli was the first to come forward. Before Chen Anno could steady himself, the old man pulled him into a hug and patted his back hard.

"Good boy! Good boy!" The old man's voice trembled slightly. "You're the greatest pride of my career!"

"Uncle Vizoli, have you been well?"

"Good! Better than ever!" Vizoli let him go and looked him up and down, his eyes reddening.

"You've grown taller, and stronger too. Good, good."

Then he leaned close to Chen Anno's ear and lowered his voice. "I know you don't like this sort of thing, but when you called me earlier, Juvenal Juvêncio happened to be right beside me."

"When he heard you were coming, that guy got so excited he nearly called in a whole bunch of reporters. If I hadn't stopped him, he probably would have."

Chen Anno did not know whether to laugh or cry, but he understood. He patted Vizoli's back. "Uncle, I've made things hard for you."

Juvenal Juvêncio squeezed out from behind the crowd. The Sao Paulo FC chairman was dressed in a sharp suit, his hair meticulously combed.

He stepped forward, seized Chen Anno's hand, and shook it vigorously twice. "Annuo! Welcome home! This will always be your home! Stay as long as you want!"

A group of youth academy coaches and