The tavern door swung open, letting in a gust of cool evening air. A blond man in a brown felt coat stepped inside, glancing around until his eyes landed on the row of empty whiskey bottles before Gao Bo.
His expression brightened. He walked straight over and sat down opposite him.
"I like Scotch whiskey," the man said casually.
Gao Bo looked up at the stranger. His voice was distant, uninterested. If the newcomer had been a beautiful woman, perhaps he might have been more inclined to talk.
"My name's Morton — David Morton," the man continued, signaling the bartender for another bottle.
He poured himself a glass and sighed contentedly after the first sip. "Good drink… Mind if I sit here? It's hard to find a bar that isn't packed tonight."
Gao Bo ignored the attempt at conversation. He only wanted to drink quietly, gather his thoughts, and figure out what to do next.
He had just gone over his finances: a few banknotes in his wallet and two coins in his pocket — £789 in total.
Years of studying abroad in England had drained most of his savings. His salary as Chelsea's youth coach had been decent, but much of it went into repaying the loan he'd taken for his studies. If he didn't find work soon, even that small amount would disappear quickly.
But what now? Should he really keep coaching?
"Coach Gao Bo, how did you know Chelsea were about to score?" asked Fat Kenny, dragging over a stool and plopping himself down.
"Intuition," Gao Bo said flatly. He had no interest in chatting.
"Brilliant!" Kenny's eyes sparkled. "I've heard great coaches have that kind of instinct. They say Mourinho could feel a goal coming before it happened!"
He grinned from ear to ear. "No wonder you led Chelsea's U18s to the FA Youth Cup title!"
Kenny's belly nearly rested on the table, the rolls of flesh pressing against the wood so hard that Gao Bo momentarily worried for the chair beneath him.
"You're a football coach?"
The blond man, Morton, perked up instantly.
"Of course! Gao Bo's a genius," Kenny said proudly. "I swear, he's the next Mourinho!"
Morton looked skeptical. "Are you really the coach of Chelsea U18?"
"Former coach," Gao Bo corrected, his tone stiff.
The word still left a bitter taste.
Sensing his irritation, Morton hesitated but didn't leave. Instead, he adjusted his collar, his demeanor shifting into something more formal.
"Mr. Gao Bo," he said, "I'm David Morton, the owner of a League Two club."
Gao Bo raised an eyebrow.
A League Two club owner drinking in a small London pub? Unlikely. Even if League Two was the fourth tier of English football, it was still professional. The average first-team player earned about £5,000 a week, meaning the club's annual operating budget ran into hundreds of thousands.
Morton noticed the doubt on Gao Bo's face and smiled awkwardly. "I'm… the owner of Luton Town."
"Oh," Gao Bo replied, nodding slightly.
He knew the name. Luton Town had just been relegated from League One, and worse, had been handed a 30-point deduction before the new League Two season even began due to financial violations.
"That Luton that got relegated and fined 30 points?" Gao Bo asked.
"That's the one," Morton admitted.
The case had made headlines across England. After their relegation, Luton's financial troubles deepened. To make matters worse, many of the club's key players were already planning to leave in the summer, since the team could no longer afford their wages. Since the end of last season, the head coach position had also remained vacant — Luton had struggled to find anyone willing to take charge of a side already destined for relegation before the first whistle.
Even without the deduction, Luton were already among the favorites for another relegation. Dropping into the semi-professional National League would take them out of fully professional football altogether.
No reputable coach wanted to touch that job.
That was why Morton's expression now carried both hope and desperation.
When he heard that a young coach who had just led Chelsea U18 to the FA Youth Cup title was sitting in a bar only a few miles away, he came immediately.
Gao Bo understood the meaning behind his introduction.
But did he really want to manage a fourth-tier team crippled by a 30-point penalty?
With his UEFA A-Level Coaching License, he could easily find a job at a Premier League club — perhaps not as head coach, but as an academy manager or assistant coach. Those positions were far more stable, and many teams would welcome someone with his credentials.
"Uh, my club's debts have been settled," Morton said quickly, sensing Gao Bo's hesitation. "The only issue now is the 30-point deduction."
He hesitated before adding, "And… the squad. Most of our senior players are expected to leave once their contracts expire, so we'll have to rely mainly on the reserves and youth players."
His voice trailed off. "A few first-teamers will stay, but not many."
Gao Bo remained silent. Coaching in League Two was an option, but it would define his next step — and his reputation. A single wrong move could end his coaching career before it even began.
So, he listened quietly, weighing the offer, his expression unreadable.
Seeing that Gao Bo remained silent, David Morton sighed.
He understood. No good coach would willingly take on the chaos at Luton Town. In truth, if he himself had a choice, he wouldn't have taken it either.
The original owner of Luton Town Football Club had been Morton's mother. After her death, the club passed to Morton's father, who managed it for years and invested heavily. Under his guidance and funding, Luton Town even looked capable of breaking into the Championship.
But after the old Morton passed away, things changed. As the youngest son, David Morton inherited only the football club, while most of the family's assets were divided between his two half-brothers.
By the time he paid the inheritance tax, Morton had almost nothing left to invest in the club. Without that steady financial backing, Luton quickly fell apart — first through relegation from League One, and then through the severe financial penalties that followed.
For Morton, Luton Town had become a burden — a club deep in debt and losing value every day. Yet he couldn't bring himself to give it up.
His mother had been born and raised in Luton, a lifelong supporter of the team. For her memory, David Morton was determined to keep the club alive.
He stood up, lifted his glass, and said quietly, "I know there aren't many good coaches willing to take on a mess like Luton. Coach Gao Bo, I apologize for the intrusion."
He drained his drink, turned, and began to walk toward the door.
Behind him came a calm voice.
"My weekly salary at Chelsea was seven thousand pounds."
Morton froze mid-step and turned back in surprise.
"Eight thousand!"
"Deal."
Gao Bo raised his glass with a faint smile — the gesture of a man who had just accepted his next challenge.
For Gao Bo, becoming the head coach of Luton Town was, all things considered, a suitable move.
First, he was unemployed. If he didn't find a job soon, he might go hungry before he received another offer.
Second, given his background, no club in the Premier League, Championship, or even League One would hire him as head coach. Realistically, his opportunities at that level were limited to academy or assistant-coach positions. And as a Chinese coach in European football, landing a senior post with a first-team was about as likely as winning a ten-million-pound lottery — at least the lottery offered some chance.
But this was still a first-team coaching role in England, and that meant something.
In England, a head coach often holds significant authority — not only over training and tactics, but also over transfers, player sales, and even wage discussions. To have that kind of control, even at a fourth-tier club, was rare and valuable.
So while the job seemed risky — a gutted squad, a 30-point deduction, and relegation almost guaranteed — Gao Bo was still tempted.
Because he possessed something no one else did: a decade of future knowledge.
He remembered countless names — players who, in the coming years, would rise through England's vast football pyramid. For him, rebuilding Luton Town wasn't impossible. It was an opportunity.
After all, he had already led Chelsea U18 to the FA Youth Cup title. His tactical ability was proven. Now, with two lifetimes' worth of experience — one as a young coach, another as a senior executive — Gao Bo was ready to apply both his football intelligence and his knowledge of the future.
He hadn't answered Morton right away because, at that very moment, a familiar light curtain had appeared before his eyes.
Lines of text flashed rapidly, like a system booting up:
[Establishing neural link...]
[Connection confirmed.]
[Football Edge System Initializing...]
[Welcome Gao Bo.]
"Football Edge System?"
"What the hell is this?"
The screen didn't leave Gao Bo waiting for long. The display shifted rapidly before new text appeared:
[As a benefit of opening the system for the first time, you may draw a beginner gift package. Do you want to draw it now?]
Below the prompt, two glowing characters appeared — Yes and No.
Gao Bo didn't hesitate. He selected Yes.
Ding!
Startled, Gao Bo glanced around. Did anyone else hear that sound?
From David Morton's calm expression, clearly not.
Two blue, card-shaped lights appeared before him, radiating softly.
[Training Card (Blue): Increases defensive-training effectiveness by 15%.]
[Match Card (Blue): Increases tackle-success rate in defensive situations by 13%.]
"Are you kidding me?" Gao Bo muttered in disbelief.
Increase tackle success by thirteen percent?
That meant his team's defensive ability would rise dramatically. Most of the time, a defense didn't end with a clean tackle — simply disrupting the opponent's advance was considered successful. But a direct tackle meant winning the ball outright, turning defense into attack instantly.
He was still trying to process what he'd seen when he noticed Morton across the table already looking discouraged, ready to leave. Gao Bo hurriedly closed the system interface — there would be time to explore later.
The rest went quickly. Morton still owned full control of Luton Town, and Gao Bo was a free agent. They found a small printer nearby, drew up a basic contract, and signed it right there in the tavern.
After agreeing to travel to Luton together the following day, Gao Bo said goodbye to his new employer and returned to his modest London flat.
The apartment was barely seventy square meters, and the rent had only been paid through the end of the month — just one week left.
Once inside, Gao Bo immediately reopened the Football Edge System.
Now that he knew how it worked, the translucent screen appeared instantly before his eyes.
He grabbed his phone and tried to photograph it, but the camera couldn't capture the glowing panel right in front of him.
Apparently, only he could see it.
He exhaled in relief. If something like this appeared in public, who knew what might happen? He could already imagine some secretive tech company trying to "study" him — just like the villains in a Hollywood movie.
Before him now was a clear, game-like interface.
In the center hovered a three-dimensional figure of himself. To the left were lines of data resembling character attributes:
Football Edge System
Name: Gao Bo
Level: 1 (0000 / 3000)
Nationality: Chinese
Date of Birth: August 30, 1981
Occupation: Football Coach
Number of Cards Owned: 2
Special Skill: Scouting Vision (Cooldown 24 hours)
Scouting Vision? It seemed connected to the ability he had used earlier — seeing a player's attributes.
Then another box appeared, accompanied by the same mechanical voice.
[Cards are the core element of this system. They are ranked by quality: white, yellow, green, blue, red, orange, and purple. Each card can grant attribute bonuses to the team or individual players.]
Gao Bo's skin prickled with excitement.
"This is incredible," he muttered under his breath. "So the more cards I collect, the stronger my team becomes, right?"
[The number of cards that can be equipped depends on the host's available card slots. Each slot holds one card. However, during a match, the host can activate up to twice the number of equipped cards.]
"Card slots?"
He noticed three empty spaces beside his holographic figure — clearly where the cards could be placed.
Three slots. That meant he could equip three cards.
He tried dragging the two blue cards into place, but nothing happened.
"What's wrong?"
[Cards can only be equipped during training or in official matches.]
"So that's how it works."
"Then how do I get new cards?"
[After each official victory, the host will have a chance to draw a card through the system's lottery.]
"Doesn't that make it depend entirely on luck?"
[What of it?]
The text on the screen seemed to carry a faint trace of mockery.
Gao Bo stared at it speechlessly.
"Then what about levels? What's the point of those?"
[Winning matches grants experience points. When the host accumulates enough, the system will level up.]
"And leveling up does what, exactly?"
[Each time the system upgrades, one additional card slot will be unlocked.]
Gao Bo's eyes widened. "That's… amazing."
He leaned back on the couch, heart pounding, a grin spreading across his face as the glow of the system reflected in his eyes.