When Claire Lee intercepted the ball by cutting off the opponent's path in advance, Denis Irwin leapt to his feet in the stands, shouting excitedly: "NICE!"
But Sir Alex Ferguson turned to his scout with a puzzled expression.
The scout immediately understood, leaning in to explain in a low voice: "Not a setup pass. Not an assist either."
"There's no sign of premeditated playmaking. We've been monitoring the referees and coaches—zero communication between them. And these referees aren't affiliated with QPR. Besides, we have the match footage for review."
"My guess? Claire's spatial awareness and ball intuition are top-class!"
"That's how he predicted the interception. Their training session yesterday was the same, though his stamina really is poor. Without his exceptional ball sense, I doubt he'd last even the average 12 minutes he usually plays."
Ferguson's expression shifted slightly at the scout's words: "Your nephew's short bursts are impressive. Let's see if his ball control matches your claims."
Denis grinned at the praise, gripping the railing as he bellowed at the pitch: "Claire, you little shit—make me proud out there!"
As soon as Claire secured possession, every QPR player except three defenders charged toward the opponent's goal like unleashed hounds, shouting "Go! Go! Go!" in unison.
An observant eye might've noticed—the moment Claire's left foot touched the ball, his eyes burned with unnatural clarity.
On the opposite sideline, Brighton's manager Micky Adams scowled at the sudden momentum shift: "Since when do League Two sides play like this?"
His assistant coach frowned: "Are they completely abandoning defense? That much faith in Claire Lee?"
"I've reviewed their tapes. Claire's long-distance dribble turnover rate is sky-high due to his stamina issues!"
Adams initially froze, then forced a chuckle: "Desperation, perhaps. We had 60% possession in the first half."
Turning to his team, he barked: "Show these kids what a League One squad looks like!"
"Teach them how to kill a game!"
Brighton's defenders smirked at their manager's outburst, some even flashing casual thumbs-up gestures.
The scouts in the stands exchanged glances without speaking. They'd already predicted the outcome—Brighton was about to be humbled.
"Pride goes before destruction" wasn't just a saying. Meanwhile, QPR's underdogs grew hungrier by the second.
Just as Claire crossed midfield, another "Ding!" echoed in his mind.
Red warning dots flooded his mental pitch map—system alerts marking dangerous interception zones ahead.
Trash talk swirled around him, but Claire tuned it out, focusing solely on advancing. His lungs screamed with each breath, his body teetering at its limits.
Yet his feet moved with precision, shielding the ball as he identified and exploited gaps in Brighton's formation.
Another *"Ding!"*—Claire executed a sudden lofted turn, pivoting his advance.
Up in the VIP box, Ferguson nodded approvingly: "Fundamentals are solid."
Denis eagerly added: "Your academy's legacy, gaffer. He's trained at United since 13—never slacked once."
"After U19, when his stamina became an issue... well, QPR was the only option."
Ferguson kept his eyes on the pitch: "I see the United DNA in him."
Unaware of his uncle's lobbying efforts, Claire played on with razor focus. A sharp cutback left another defender grasping air.
When Brighton's right winger lunged, Claire spun away as if he'd rehearsed the move, accelerating diagonally.
His less-skilled but determined teammates formed protective corridors. Just as everyone expected a shot, Claire abruptly trapped the ball mid-air—
—A reckless slide tackle whistled through where he'd just been.
As the ball landed, Claire didn't hesitate. One deft touch to loft it, then—
"BOOM!"
A thunderous volley!
Instead of passing to Paul, Claire unleashed a spectacular long-range "worldie" straight into the net.
"Wasn't that Switzerland match when Claire's parents..." Ferguson suddenly asked as Denis celebrated.
Denis stiffened momentarily before nodding.
The legendary manager shook his head slightly: "Your nephew's vision and ball IQ... I'll give him a three-match trial."
Denis nearly jumped out of his skin: "He'll get playing time?!"
"If he replicates that strike in the Premier League, he stays." Hands in pockets, Ferguson strode toward the exit with trademark stoicism.
On the pitch, Claire waved excitedly at his uncle amidst the roaring crowd.
Denis shouted back, voice cracking: "Claire! You magnificent bastard!"
Before Claire could respond, his teammates dogpiled onto him in celebration.
"Gah! Air... I need air—cough—you animals!"
By the time play resumed, both Ferguson and Denis had departed—only United's scouts remained.
But the result hardly mattered now. Everyone knew: Claire's display had won over the most discerning judge of all.
In the locker room afterward, a breathless Claire grinned at Paul: "You won't believe this—I was playing purely on instinct!"
Paul laughed, clapping his shoulder: "Oh, I believe it. That screamer gave us the lead. We lost, but damn—what a way to go."
"Congratulations, Claire. Starting tomorrow... you've got your stage. Your future."