The Scout's Attention

"Good, Maël!"

On the coaching bench at the touchline, Hans stood up once again and swung a clenched fist.

Three-three!

This was a bit of a pleasant surprise. Could it be that even with their trial lineup, they could go toe-to-toe with Liverpool?

Didn't that mean Arsenal's youth setup was already far ahead of Liverpool's?

"Mr. Wenger, what do you think of him?"

After the celebration ended and they returned to the coaching bench, Hans hurriedly asked Wenger for his opinion, a little expectant. "Although I'd also very much like to recommend the players who've been with me longer, you saw his performance with your own eyes today."

Sometimes, that was just how it was. You not only needed to plan ahead and build up greater strength, you also needed an opportunity for that strength to be seen by someone capable of promoting you.

Maël was lucky. His very first performance had amazed everyone.

More importantly, that "everyone" included the then Arsenal First Team manager, Wenger!

But judging by the fact that Mr. Wenger had already been keeping an eye on him, you couldn't simply say he was lucky. For all anyone knew, Wenger had come here to watch the match precisely to see him.

"That kind of shot conversion rate is indeed impressive, and he has physicality too."

Wenger nodded, then added, "I imagine you'll definitely offer him a youth contract. You're only asking whether I'll promote him to the First Team.

"That isn't an easy decision. I can't give you an answer now. This is only the first time I've seen him play."

But Wenger seemed to remember something. He turned his head toward a corner of the fan section, where several stern-faced people were looking down and writing something.

No celebrating, only meticulous note-taking. They looked completely out of place among the surrounding fans.

They were those scouts. They must have witnessed Maël's performance with their own eyes, and would judge him according to scouting standards.

"Excellent Long Shot ability. Shooting power and accuracy far beyond his peers! Has the talent of a heavy cannon."

In the stands, the scout from Sheffield United wrote rapidly in his notebook. "Physicality is very good at this level. Malleable.

"As for weaknesses, he doesn't seem good at playing threatening passes or dribbling past players. At the very least, he was dispossessed twice while carrying the ball and lost possession twice with misplaced passes, but his fundamentals are fairly solid, and he doesn't look timid on the pitch.

"Potential grade: B+. On par with Arsenal U17 captain Gilbert. Has a certain chance of adapting to the Championship in the future."

After writing this, he stopped his pen and fixed his gaze firmly on Maël, who was celebrating.

He wanted to judge from his teammates' reactions to Maël whether this player was under contract or merely on trial at Arsenal.

After all, those two statuses represented two completely different levels of difficulty in signing him! "Interested?"

Beside him, the scout from Burnley leaned over and said mockingly, "After Sheffield United failed to get promoted last year, a large number of Premier League-level players left. With the ragtag lot you have left now, you'd better focus on staying up.

"Don't tell me you still have other ideas?"

The Sheffield United scout ignored him and continued writing in his notebook.

Last year, in the 09-10 season, they had reached the Championship promotion play-offs and made it all the way to the final. Promotion to the Premier League had been within touching distance.

Unfortunately, they lost the final, turning it into an eternal regret, and everyone at the club lost confidence.

And their opponents in that final had been Burnley!

On top of that, the two clubs had always hovered around the Premier League and the Championship, often competing in matches that decided life and death.

It was only natural they didn't get along.

"Don't worry, we won't fight you for him."

Seeing that he wasn't speaking, the Burnley scout turned his head away in boredom. "Premier League clubs naturally need better players. Whoever's left after we've picked, of course we'll leave them to Championship clubs like you."

The Sheffield United scout still ignored him, so he could only turn his gaze toward the Leeds United scout beside him, thinking of chatting a little.

Seeing that the other man was also looking down and taking notes, the Burnley scout finally realized what he ought to be focusing on at this moment.

He took out his notebook, thought for a moment, and wrote a string of words.

"Arsenal, Number 31.

"Excellent long-range shooting ability, excellent physicality. Apart from that, no obvious traits. As a winger, he doesn't have an excellent byline Cross, nor does he have outstanding Cut Inside ability or the ability to drive into the penalty area.

"Does not possess the potential to play in the Premier League. If he can be bought outright for under £40,000, recommend the club take him, place him in the youth team or reserves to gain experience, then sell him in the future to a Championship or EFL League One club for £100,000 to £500,000."

After writing this, he shook his head slightly, putting on a somewhat disappointed air.

He had thought he might discover a few more promising youngsters in a match Wenger had come to watch, but in the end there was only one Number 31 who "did not possess Premier League potential."

"What a waste of time."

He lost interest and put his energy back into showing off the superiority of being a "Premier League scout." Every gesture set him apart from the others, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Sometimes people were just like that. When they realized they couldn't achieve their original goal, the frustration would make them seek compensation in other areas where they held an advantage.

"Beep! Beep! Beeeep!"

Before long, with three long blasts from the referee's whistle, the match officially ended.

The score: three-three!

Relying on a trial lineup, Arsenal had held the visiting Liverpool team to a draw at home. This was definitely an acceptable result.

"This week's vacation is canceled. When you get back, all of you had better reflect on this properly!"

The Liverpool Head Coach left with fury written all over his face, harshly berating his players in a stern voice. "Why did the opposition still have fighting spirit after conceding? Why was their shot conversion rate so high, while you lot couldn't do the same?"

Seeing him like that, the Arsenal players became even happier.

Much of the time, the sense of achievement and joy in competitive sports came from comparison with one's opponents.

Maël was excitedly high-fiving his teammates in celebration. This was the first time he had felt the thrill of turning the tide by himself, the first time he had experienced the value of his own strength in a competitive match.

"You're definitely staying. Congratulations in advance."

Captain Gilbert hugged him, then joked after congratulating him, "You never know, Mr. Wenger might have noticed you too. If you make it into the First Team in the future, don't forget about us."

"How could I?"

Maël smiled and patted him on the back, then let go. He turned his head and saw Carl, whose expression was complicated.

Carl had joined the team at the same time as him. Just a few dozen days ago, they had still been sighing together over how difficult it was to stay.

Only, ever since that shooting practice session, everything had become different for the two of them.

"Back then, I should've gone to do extra training with you."

Carl gave a self-mocking smile. It was as if he had already foreseen his own future. "Too bad I couldn't get up, and I couldn't drag my exhausted body off to do extra training when there was training scheduled every day."

"After you go back to France, try again at some clubs in Ligue 1 or Ligue 2."

Maël reined in some of his joy, not knowing how to comfort him. "There should still be a chance."

Professional football was that cruel. Behind every glamorous, successful figure were countless failures who had given their youth, only to receive regret and sorrow in return.

Carl shook his head and said no more about himself. Instead, he forced out an ugly smile. "You're definitely going to keep playing at Colney Base. Keep working hard. I hope I get to see the day you play professionally.

"If you can even make it into the France National Team in the future and win the European Cup and the World Cup, then I'll have something to brag about when I go back. I'll definitely cover my house with your posters and tell my children and grandchildren about you in the future, hahaha."

At the end, he laughed twice, trying not to seem so sad and envious, but it was already no use.

Maël hugged him and patted his shoulder, then felt his body begin to tremble slightly, his breathing no longer even.