The celebratory dumplings sat heavy but comforting in Lin Kai's stomach, a tangible anchor against the whirlwind of the past 24 hours. The signed contract – a crisp, intimidating document bearing the Jinjiang United seal and the staggering figure of *¥70,000/month* – lay folded carefully in the inner pocket of his worn jacket, radiating a warmth that had nothing to do with body heat. Tomorrow. Induction. 7 AM sharp at the academy complex. The words echoed in his skull, a drumbeat both thrilling and terrifying.
The cramped Lin apartment buzzed with a subdued energy. Lifen moved with a frantic purpose, pulling out Kai's meagre collection of clothes – faded track pants, threadbare t-shirts, socks with stubborn holes – and folding them with meticulous care onto his thin mattress. "You need warm layers," she fretted, adding a slightly-too-small sweater Kai had outgrown last winter. "The dorms might be drafty. And extra socks! Always extra socks!" Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her movements were fierce, a mother fortifying her child for a siege.
Weimin watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame, a rare, quiet smile playing on his lips. He held a small, oil-stained toolkit. "Don't smother the boy, Lifen," he rumbled, his voice softer than usual. "He's going to a palace, not a coal mine." He stepped forward, placing the toolkit on the bed beside the clothes. "This," he said, tapping the worn metal box, "isn't for fixing scooters at the academy. It's a reminder. Tools for the mind, son. Stay sharp. Stay grounded. Remember where the grit comes from." He met Kai's eyes, the pride in them fierce and undeniable. "Phoenix District doesn't leave you just because you walk out the door."
Mei, sensing the shift, clung to Kai's leg, her small face pressed against his thigh. "Gege, will you be back for my birthday?" she mumbled, her voice muffled by the fabric.
Kai crouched, peeling her gently away to look into her wide, worried eyes. "Of course, firecracker," he promised, ruffling her hair. "I'll be back so often you'll get sick of me. And I'll bring you…" he thought fast, "…a real Jinjiang United jersey! With the dragon!"
Mei's eyes lit up. "A big one? Bigger than Bo-gege's?"
"The biggest," Kai grinned, the simple promise easing the tightness in his chest. "Now, go help Mama fold socks. Make sure she doesn't pack the whole apartment."
As Mei scampered off with newfound purpose, Kai stood. The nervous energy was a live wire under his skin. He pulled out his phone, the screen cracked but functional. He opened the group chat simply named "Concrete Crew" – him, Bo, Xia, Yuelin. His thumbs flew over the keys:
> **Leaving in 30. Bus stop. Don't make a scene. (Okay, make a *small* scene.)**
The replies were instant:
> **Bo:** SCENE MODE ACTIVATED! Bringing the confetti cannon! (Metaphorical… probably.)
> **Xia:** Banner 2.0 is READY! Less shaky letters this time! See you in 10!
> **Yuelin:** On my way.
Kai took a deep breath, shouldering the duffel bag Lifen had meticulously packed – it felt heavier with expectation than with clothes. He hugged his mother tightly, feeling her tremble slightly, her whispered "Work hard, eat well, call every day" a mantra against his ear. He clasped his father's calloused hand, the unspoken "Make us proud" passing between them in the firm grip. Mei launched herself at him for one final, koala-like hug. "Bye-bye, Dragon Gege!"
Stepping out into the familiar chaos of the Phoenix District alley felt like crossing a threshold. The smells – frying oil, damp concrete, exhaust – were suddenly poignant. He walked towards the main road bus stop, the duffel bag bumping against his hip. They were already there.
Xu Bo stood like a boisterous monument, arms crossed, trying and failing to look solemn. Li Xia bounced beside him, holding a new banner – indeed, with much straighter lettering: "FLY, GOLDEN DRAGON! JINJIANG B OR BUST!". And Su Yuelin, a still point amidst their energy, stood slightly apart, her tablet bag slung over her shoulder, her gaze fixed on him as he approached.
"Right on time, future superstar!" Bo boomed, clapping Kai on the back hard enough to stagger him. "Ready to trade alley scraps for gourmet protein shakes?"
"Shut up, Bo," Xia swatted his arm, but she was beaming. She thrust the banner towards Kai. "For your dorm wall. Remind those fancy B-teamers where you came from." Her eyes, usually so bright, held a suspicious sheen. "Kick some serious butt, okay? And don't forget us when you're famous and eating caviar on private jets."
"Never," Kai promised, taking the banner. It felt like a flag of his roots. "And caviar sounds gross. I'll stick with Old Man Chen's noodles."
Bo snorted. "Smart man. Now, where's the emotional farewell music? Should we sing?"
"Absolutely not," Yuelin said, her voice calm but firm, stepping forward. She looked at Bo and Xia. "Give us a minute?"
Bo waggled his eyebrows dramatically but grabbed Xia's arm. "Right, right. Private strategist briefing. We'll… guard the bus stop perimeter. Against pigeons. Or overly emotional parents." He steered a protesting Xia a few meters down the pavement, turning his back with exaggerated discretion.
Suddenly, it was just Kai and Yuelin, standing in the shadowed alcove of a shuttered tailor's shop, the sounds of the district muffled. The air between them crackled, thick with everything unsaid. Kai shifted his weight, the duffel bag suddenly awkward. "Yuelin, I…"
"Don't," she said softly, cutting him off. She took a small step closer, closing the distance. Her usual calm mask was still there, but beneath it, Kai saw the intensity, the fierce focus directed solely at him. "You don't need to say anything. Not now." She reached out, not touching him, but her hand hovered near his arm. "Just… go. Play. Burn that pitch down with your fire. Show Coach Deng exactly what Phoenix District grit looks like."
He nodded, swallowing hard. "I will. I'll text. Every day. The group chat…"
"Obviously," she said, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. But then her expression softened further, the analytical glint in her eyes replaced by something warmer, deeper. "But Kai…" She hesitated, a flicker of vulnerability he rarely saw. She finally closed the distance, her hand resting lightly, briefly, on the center of his chest, right over the pocket where the contract lay. Her touch was electric, searing through the fabric. "Be brilliant. But be safe. Listen to your body. Don't let the pressure swallow you whole." Her gaze locked onto his, unwavering, anchoring him. "Remember the concrete. Remember the tennis ball. Remember who you are."
The world narrowed to her touch, her voice, her eyes. The noise of the alley faded. He could smell the faint scent of paper and soap that always clung to her. His breath hitched. He leaned in slightly, drawn by an impulse stronger than reason, the unspoken words – *I'll miss you, I need you there, thank you for believing* – tangling in his throat. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, her lips parting…
"KAI! BUS!" Bo's bellow shattered the moment like glass.
Yuelin snatched her hand back as if burned, taking a swift step back. A faint blush coloured her cheeks, but her composure snapped back into place almost instantly. "Go," she said, her voice slightly huskier than usual. "Your chariot awaits, Golden Dragon."
Kai blinked, the intensity of the suspended moment leaving him momentarily disoriented. The roar of the approaching bus engine filled the space where words should have been. He nodded jerkily. "Yeah. Right." He hoisted the duffel bag higher. "I'll… text."
"See that you do," Yuelin replied, the ghost of that almost-smile still lingering.
Bo and Xia surged forward, Xia shoving a small, hastily wrapped package into his hands. "Energy bars! For the journey! Made by Mum!" Bo engulfed him in another rib-crushing hug. "Make us proud, you magnificent alley-rat!"
Kai broke free, laughing breathlessly, the emotional whiplash leaving him dizzy. He waved at the trio – Bo bouncing, Xia waving her banner frantically, Yuelin standing tall and still, her gaze following him – as he clambered onto the bus. He found a window seat, pressing his palm against the cool glass as the bus pulled away from the curb, watching the three figures recede, Yuelin's calm silhouette the last to vanish from sight. The lump in his throat was back, but it was different now – a bittersweet ache mixed with the fierce pull of the future.
The journey to Dragon Bay felt longer this time, the gleaming towers a landscape he was entering, not just visiting. Security at the academy complex recognized him now, waving him through with a respectful nod towards the "Residence Hall – Senior Prospects." The building was modern, sleek glass and steel, a stark contrast to the crumbling brick of Phoenix District. The lobby was quiet, echoing faintly with distant shouts from the training pitches. A bored-looking attendant handed him a keycard and a folder. "Room 312. Fourth floor. Elevator's there. Induction briefing at 7 AM sharp tomorrow in Lecture Hall B. Don't be late."
The elevator ride was silent, smooth, and unnerving. The fourth-floor corridor was hushed, carpeted, lit by soft recessed lighting. Room 312. He swiped the keycard. A soft beep, a green light, and the door clicked open.
He stepped inside and froze.
It wasn't a palace, but to Kai, it might as well have been. After a lifetime of shared corners and curtained alcoves, the *space* was the first shock. A single room, easily twice the size of his family's main living area. The walls were painted a calming off-white. A large window looked out onto one of the pristine training pitches, currently bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. The furniture was simple, functional, yet spoke of quality: a sturdy single bed with a thick blue comforter emblazoned with the Jinjiang United crest, a spacious desk and ergonomic chair, a wardrobe, a bookshelf. A door led to a small, spotless ensuite bathroom with a proper shower, not a bucket and a tap. The air smelled faintly of clean linen and new carpet.
He dropped his duffel bag by the door, the sound loud in the silence. He walked slowly across the room, his worn trainers silent on the soft carpet. He ran a hand over the smooth surface of the desk. He looked out the window at the perfect green rectangle below. This was his. *His.* Lin Kai. Phoenix District. Jinjiang United B.
His gaze fell on the bed. Sitting neatly on the pillow, placed with deliberate care, were two objects that hadn't been there a moment ago. One was his worn tennis ball, the faded felt a familiar, comforting texture. The other was a simple, black Moleskine notebook. Attached to it with a blue elastic band was a small, folded note.
He picked up the notebook first. Opening it, he saw neat, precise handwriting filling the first page – formations, observations on CC teams, notes on nutrition, recovery techniques. Yuelin's handwriting. His strategist, even here. A warmth bloomed in his chest, chasing away the last of the disorientation.
He unfolded the note. Only two lines, written in the same steady hand:
> *Track your journey. Analyze everything.*
> *– Y.*
He smiled, a genuine, relieved smile. He wasn't alone. Not really. He picked up the tennis ball, its familiar weight a grounding anchor. He placed it carefully on the windowsill, a piece of Phoenix District overlooking the pristine pitch. Then he placed the notebook on the desk, opening it to the first blank page.
He sat down in the ergonomic chair, the silence of the room no longer intimidating, but full of potential. He picked up a pen from the desk – sleek, branded with the club logo. He hesitated for only a second before writing, the pen scratching softly in the quiet room:
> *Day 0: Arrived. Room 312. View: Pitch 3. Weather: Clear. Feeling: Ready. And… grateful.*
He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought:
> *P.S. Texted the crew. They're being loud. Miss the noise already.*
He put the pen down, leaning back in the chair. Outside, the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the perfect grass. Somewhere on that grass tomorrow, his new life would begin. The fire in his eyes, reflected in the darkening window glass, burned steady and bright. The Golden Dragon was in his den. The roar of the Celestial Championship awaited. He was ready.