Yes, Tang En came there looking for what he considered in his mind a "wonderkid." And so were the others. They were football scouts for all the major clubs. Southampton Football Club's training program is well-known throughout England, and even all over Europe. football scouts in various disguises often showed up there. Why the disguise? Because the Southampton club was not happy to have their young talent, after taking great pains to groom them, poached by opportunist scouts who didn't have to spend a single penny.

Well-known football scouts within the circles could not appear there because they were too easily recognized.

Tang En did not have that worry. He was not famous in the scouting circles, and he wore sunglasses as a precaution.

He had been standing there for almost the entire afternoon. But honestly, he was disappointed.

He did not see Theo Walcott, who would be famous in the future. Tang En was sure that he did not just overlook him, because Walcott's speed was too outstanding. If he had been on the field, he would have spotted him. There was only one explanation for it—Theo Walcott was not here.

This was Southampton's youth training ground. If Theo Walcott was not there, could it be that he was not in Southampton? Could it be? He was certain that Walcott would be on Southampton's youth team at this time, still a nobody and unknown to anyone.

Could it be...

Suddenly, an unpleasant thought flashed through Tang En's mind. He thought of that incident when Lee Bowyer had a scuffle with his teammate, Defoe.

Could it be that the future he was familiar with had changed? Theo Walcott was not in Southampton, but went to some other team that had deep pockets, like Chelsea. Or did he simply not play football and was just a regular English kid who dutifully went to school every day?

"Dammit! What the hell! Damn transmigration!" Tang En lowered his head and softly cursed. The most depressing thing was not the transmigration itself, but to have transmigrated just to find out that what he knew in advance was now useless.

Tang En's foul language caught the attention of the short, portly man next to him. He turned to look at Twain and suddenly asked, "What are you talking about?"

Tang En was confounded by his remark. What do you mean, "What are you talking about?" Can't I mutter to myself without bothering you?

"I heard you said 'transmigration'. What does 'transmigration' mean?" This man seemed to be the type of person who was chummy with everyone, who would get to the point right away and could chat cordially with anyone he met.

"Oh, nothing. I was just talking to myself." Tang En made it obvious that he did not want to be disturbed by this person while working. He quickly closed the topic, leaving no room for the guy to continue the conversation.

But Tang En clearly underestimated this man's congeniality. The portly, middle-aged man nodded and quickly changed the subject. "What do you think of my son?"

"What?" Tang En's brain suddenly crashed. His hard drive light flashed for quite a while, but he did not understand how the two questions, "What are you talking about?" and "What do you think of my son?" were connected. It was as if the topic of conversation had jumped from Earth to Mars.

When Tang En did not speak, he took the initiative to pick up the thread of the conversation. "Are you a football scout? Arsenal? Manchester United? Chelsea? Liverpool? Or Tottenham Hotspur? Hmmm, let me think… maybe Real Madrid? Barcelona? AC Milan? Bayern Munich? Inter Milan?"

The fellow gave a rundown of almost all the names of the famous football clubs in the world in one breath. Tang En was dizzy just listening to him. He waved his hands at the man to signal for him to stop.

"Sorry, I'm not a scout, and I'm not working for any of those teams."

When he heard Tang En say that, the man was disappointed, and his interest in the conversation seemed to lessen. Just as Tang En was about to relax a little and move to a different spot to watch the match, the portly man returned to a previous topic. "What do you think of my son?"

Tang En, who had made a wasted trip, really wanted to rail at this jabbering man, I do not know your damned son! But he suppressed his anger and asked with gritted teeth, "Who's your son?"

The man did not perceive Tang En's angry tone. He extended his pudgy hand, pointed to the field, and said, "He's right over there!"

Tang En looked to where the man pointed, and he saw a group of children running on the field, huffing and puffing.

"Sir…" Tang En was unable to bear it any longer. The growl in his voice had begun to reverberate from his throat. "I asked you who your son was. I did not ask where he was." He was interrupted by the whistle from the field and the sound of cheers around him.

"Ah! The game is over! I'm sorry, I have to pick up my son." The man with the short-circuited brain abandoned Twain and squeezed out of the crowd.

At that moment, Tang En felt like, if he could, he would blow up the planet. His anger was raging in his heart. If someone were to argue with him right then, he would beat that person half to death. If the person who picked the quarrel happened to be that jabbering short, portly man…

That man turned back again and was accompanied by a child who would soon be as tall as him. The chummy man completely failed to notice that Twain's face was as dark as the British winter. He pushed the child forward and introduced him. "This is my son! What do you think? He's great!"

The man's loud voice attracted the attention of a few people nearby. They turned around to look and then kept walking. They had seen too many instances of a father approaching some unknown scout with his son to promote and market him.

No one took a liking to this ordinary child. But when Tang En saw the boy's face clearly, his anger instantly vanished without a trace.

Having just finished playing, the boy's Southampton jersey was soaked with perspiration, and it was stuck to his body, revealing his physique. Tang En gauged the boy's height, which was about 1.5 meters. The body was a little thin for a player. But that wasn't what got Tang En's attention. It was the child's face.

The boy pursed his lips and looked at Twain curiously, which highlighted his distinctive facial features even more. When Tang En first saw him, he thought that the child looked quite distinctive. His mouth was very prominent, which could be described with one word—simian. He looked quite simian.

That appearance suddenly reminded him of someone. So, he hesitantly asked the father next to the child, "Sir, what is your son's name?"

"Gareth! Gareth Bale!" When he spoke his son's name, the father looked proud.

Sure enough, Tang En thought. But he had to make sure.

"Is it G-A-R-E-T-H, Gareth, B-A-L-E, Bale?" He asked with anticipation.

The man nodded. "Yes! Gareth Bale! My son is very talented!"

Tang En also nodded, vigorously. "That's right!"

The number one left back wonderkid in Football Manager 2007 was the future Wales National Team's youngest player and scorer. Tottenham Hotspur and Manchester United had been rivals in trying to sign this 18-year-old player. How could he not be a talent? He originally came to Southampton to find the 13-year-old Walcott, but he had unexpectedly encountered his future roommate!

He had lost a player and gained another. It did not matter that he did not find Theo Walcott. In any case, he was destined to belong to Arsène Wenger and Arsenal, and good attacking players were a dime a dozen in the future. But this child in front of his eyes would be the genuine article in a few years! Even a team like Real Madrid was frantically looking for an outstanding left back to replace Roberto Carlos, who was leaving soon. The entire world was short of left backs at that time.

Bale's father, seeing that Twain agreed with his opinion, happily said to Bale, "Look, son! This gentleman also agrees that you're a talent. Don't worry, you will have a promising future!"

The child just gave an indifferent, mumbled answer. He was obviously down and seemed to lack confidence.

Tang En sensed there was more to the story that would explain the kid's demeanor. So he asked, "Excuse me, but can I ask what has happened?"

When he saw that there was someone willing to listen to his grievances, the father just let all out. In the end, Tang En finally put together the ins and outs of the matter, after listening to the man rattle on without touching on the important points in his endless account.

The Welsh boy was indeed the Gareth Bale who was born in Cardiff, who Tang En knew of.

Although Gareth Bale was known as a "football talent" while playing for his school, the youth team professional managers had apparently seen enough "talents." Compared to Walcott, who was a talent that had already surpassed his level, Bale was considered a very ordinary player. Bale's father talked and cajoled for a very long time before Southampton's youth team agreed to his son's six-week trial. Today was the second time he had come. He was just in time to catch a training match. He played the second half, but did not display anything exciting. The little guy was very frustrated.

But when Tang En heard the story, he was so delighted that he wanted to laugh. All he knew of, before he had transmigrated, were Bale's accomplishments. He never knew he had an unknown back-story that was even more brilliant. He really wanted to thank the Southampton youth team coaches for giving him this great opportunity.

If I can't seize this opportunity, then I won't go back to Nottingham today. I'll just jump into the English Channel and drown myself!

The portly man told him that Walcott was in the club, but that he was not on that team. He had already been promoted to the 17 and under youth team. His two days of training time per week weren't even there. He was placed at the King Edward VI School with its AstroTurf field, where he was receiving a liberal arts education and training at the same time. No wonder Tang En had stood there all afternoon without finding him. But now Tang En did not care about a little tiger like Walcott.

He looked down and took out his notepad from his inside pocket, tore a piece of paper, wrote down his name, phone number, and the address and contact number of the Forest youth training ground. Just like he had handed it to Wood before, he stuffed the note into Bale's hands.

The man looked at Twain strangely, and the child looked down curiously at the words written on the note.

Tang En smilingly said to Bale's father, "Southampton doesn't believe in your son's ability. I believe. If you can, I hope you will bring Bale to the Nottingham Forest Youth team tomorrow afternoon. I think the Forest team will be happy to directly give your son an apprenticeship contract without any trial training."

"Nottingham Forest?!" The man yelled. "And you said you were not a scout!"

"I'm not lying to you, Sir," laughed Tang En. "I'm certainly not a scout. I'm the head of the Forest Youth Department. Very nice to meet you. My name is Tony Twain."

He extended his hand to the stunned father and son.