Oxford Street, Swansea.
A bright red Ferrari stopped outside a bowling alley.
Lynn and Erin got out of the car together.
Lynn looked up at the bowling alley's sign and asked doubtfully, "He's here?"
Erin said casually, "In Swansea, if you ask to find soone, I won't get it wrong."
Lynn said nothing more and walked into the bowling alley with Erin.
There were barely any custors in the morning. Inside, only four young n were entertaining themselves.
They had clearly split into two sides for a match.
Lynn saw a refined-looking blond young man in casual clothes had just finished releasing his ball, producing a fairly difficult technical shot.
His companions applauded and cheered. He straightened up, looked toward Lynn, and smiled at his friends.
"Hey, guys, look. It's Swansea's owner."
All four of them looked toward Lynn and Erin.
Their eyes imdiately lit up — of course, because they were surprised by Erin's beauty.
Lynn walked up to the young man who had spoken. He glanced at the bowling lane, then turned his gaze back to him.
"Unbelievable. So the rumours are actually true. You're soone with exceptional sporting talent, interested in every kind of sport, and you quickly beco outstanding at amateur level in anything you try."
"Oliver Cromwell, Swansea City is now inviting you back to play for the club and compete in professional football. Since you already know I'm the club owner, you know this isn't a joke."
Oliver Cromwell had a charming smile.
He looked like a cheerful, simple, optimistic, sunny boy.
He sized Lynn up and said, "Football doesn't bring any joy."
Lynn's expression froze.
Perhaps this was one of the most unexpected answers he had ever heard.
Football brought him no joy?
If Lynn had not seen Cromwell's profile, he might have thought this kid was completely unreliable.
In reality, Cromwell had extrely high talent.
In the scouting system, among all the players Swansea had recorded, he had the highest potential.
His potential was 89 and the maximum was 100.
But his current ability was only 35.
In other words, he had enormous room for improvent.
At seventeen years old, if he made proper use of the next few years, he still had a very strong chance of becoming a world-class footballer.
After looking at the potential values of famous players recorded in Swansea's database, Lynn was very certain of this.
Using Welsh superstar Ryan Giggs as a comparison, Giggs' potential value was 91, while his current ability was 87.
In other words, the Ryan Giggs currently dominating the Premier League represented the kind of future Cromwell might one day reach.
Cromwell had never trained long-term at any single club.
He had seven years of training experience in total, but he had always left a club within less than two years.
He had been at Cardiff City.
He had also been at Newport.
He had gone to Wrexham.
Swansea was the most recent club he had just left.
And the brilliant achievents he had made over the past three years had nothing to do with football.
Amateur darts competitions, hockey, shooting, tennis, skating, billiards, and various other amateur-level competitions — he had either won prizes or at least finished in the top three.
Oh, he had also spent so ti at an Arican football club in Wales.
It was said that when he left, the coach was deeply regretful and comnted that he had excellent potential to beco an outstanding quarterback.
For this emperor of amateur gas to personally say that football was not fun left Lynn speechless.
Seeing Lynn say nothing, Cromwell continued bowling.
"Football isn't what you imagine it to be. What you're seeing now — or rather, the football you've been able to co into contact with — is only at the fringes of the amateur level. You think the Premier League and the Champions League you see on television aren't things that happen in the real world, but you're wrong!"
"If one day you can stand on the Premier League stage and the European stage, you'll understand that football gives you not only joy, but also honour and glory!"
"Of course football has joy. It's the world's number-one sport. It is the joy of a team, the—"
Before Lynn could finish trying to persuade Cromwell, Cromwell released his ball and spoke without even turning his head, "Mr. Lynn, don't tell how wonderful football is. Just give one reason to play."
Lynn was choked speechless.
Just as he was about to say sothing else, Erin walked past him toward Cromwell.
"Why are you wasting words on this kid?"
Erin walked up to Cromwell and said, "You think you can pick up anything you play, don't you? Play one ga with . If you lose, you go with him and return to Swansea to play football. If you win, you can make any request you want."
Oliver Cromwell's eyes imdiately brightened.
He looked at Lynn and said, "Mr. Lynn, this beautiful lady beside you is clearly much more interesting than you. See? This is life. It's full of all kinds of fun."
He liked challenges.
He was not tempted by Erin's offer.
In fact, he had not even thought about what he would ask for if he won.
Lynn, ignored on the side, watched Erin and Cromwell face off sowhat speechlessly.
Cromwell's three friends stood beside Lynn.
One of them asked, "Sir, if this beauty loses, will you really agree to any request?"
Lynn said absentmindedly, "Of course."
"I heard you have a pretty big yacht, right?"
"Yes. It's at the mouth of the River Tawe."
"If Oliver wins, lend us the yacht for three days. No, one week."
"Fine. I could even give it to you." Lynn said it casually.
Cromwell's friends were surprised by his answer.
"Really?"
"Really. But that won't happen."
"Why?"
"Because Oliver is certain to lose."
"Oliver is very good. When he performs well, he can score over 230 in a ga!"
"But this beauty has never scored below 230. It's a pity she doesn't compete in world tournants."
As they were talking, Cromwell had already released the ball in the first fra.
Out of ten pins, he knocked down nine. It was a very good shot, just one pin short.
It looked like he could easily make a spare.
Sure enough, with his second shot, he knocked down the remaining pin.
It was a beautiful technical shot.
It seed he truly had a knack for skill-based gas.
Lynn had never heard that he played bowling before, so he definitely had not been practising for long.
Watching Cromwell, Lynn began to think.
Clearly, Cromwell was a very intelligent person.
He applied his intelligence to exploring technique, adapting to a sport more quickly, finding the trick to it, and then soon playing better than others.
However, at most, that could only give him a decent level.
To go from decent to excellent, then from excellent to top-class, the price required was no longer clever little observations and discoveries.
It required years upon years of persistence and experience.
True elite perforrs all needed deep accumulation before they could truly break through — unless they were genuinely gifted enough to amaze everyone from the very beginning and continue doing so.
After Cromwell finished the first fra, Erin stepped up.
From the side, Lynn stared at Erin's lower body in jeans.
When she released the ball, her left leg bent slightly to support her body, while her right leg crossed behind.
That curve was truly graceful and moving.
Cromwell focused intently on the ball Erin had just released.
A crisp crash rang out.
A strange light flashed through Cromwell's eyes.
"Strike!"
His companions had already cried out in surprise.
With her very first shot, Erin had knocked down all ten pins.
Lynn was not surprised at all.
Erin stood up and said to Cromwell, "Don't waste my ti. Hurry up."
Cromwell knew he had encountered a true expert. His interest was imdiately roused, and his fighting spirit burned brightly.
He tried hard to perform better.
In the second fra, he also scored a strike, but Erin scored one as well.
In the third fra, he made a mistake. Although Erin did not get a strike, she still made a spare.
The match ended quickly.
Cromwell suffered a complete defeat.
He had fallen behind from the very beginning.
Two fras before the end, he had already lost, but they still finished the ga out of courtesy.
Erin picked up a towel and wiped her hands.
She said to Cromwell, "Now you can go back with him and play football."
Lynn walked over.
After taking a breath, Cromwell said, "Fine. A bet is a bet. Mr. Lynn, I hope your football can make feel happy."
Lynn raised an eyebrow.
"It isn't my football. It's your football. You have to discover the joy yourself. But none of that matters right now. Co back and sign the contract with . And if you run away, I'll sue you."
"Rich people really aren't good people."
"Stop complaining. Focus on playing football for , and in a few years, you'll be rich too."
"Then I'll be a good rich person."
"I'll look forward to seeing that."
...
The next day, when Cromwell arrived at Swansea City's training ground, the casual bag in his hand slipped to the ground.
Looking at the training pitch, where there were only three players but eight coaches, he tilted his head slightly and said, "This seems kind of interesting."
When Glendower, Wellesley, and Badenberg saw that a new teammate had joined them, they almost cried with excitent.
...
On Pierhead Quay Street in Swansea, there was an auto repair shop.
Lynn drove his Bentley there.
After getting out, he asked the workers to wash the car.
He walked into the shop. Seeing no one inside, he shouted, "Isambard Brunel!"
In an instant, soone slid out from beneath a car while lying on his back.
The six-foot-three Brunel was wearing a chanic's work uniform.
He held a wrench in his hand. His face was covered in gri, and his body was filthy.
He looked at Lynn curiously and asked, "You're… Swansea's owner?"
Lynn confird that this was Brunel, the player who had been released by the club after last season ended.
He said, "That's right. My na is Lynn. I'm here to bring you back to play football."
Isambard Brunel had previously been on a semi-professional contract with the club.
He played football while working as a chanic.
After the club chose not to renew his contract a month ago, he had planned to focus on becoming a car chanic.
He had not expected the club's new owner to co looking for him personally.
He was not overly excited.
In the past, his semi-professional contract had paid him less than three hundred pounds a month.
In his view, playing football might truly have no future for him.
So he asked very realistically, "What terms is the club offering ? Still a semi-professional contract? How many years? How much pay?"
Lynn said directly, "A five-year contract. Full-ti professional terms. Five hundred pounds a week, bonuses calculated separately, with a twenty percent wage increase every year."
Without the slightest hesitation, Brunel began taking off his work uniform.
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