c8 - I Am Willing
Vardy was momentarily stunned.
A scout?
He had just been thinking about leaving the Steel Team, and now, a scout had appeared right in front of him. Was this fate handing him an opportunity on a silver platter?
But he was skeptical. Would a legitimate scout really bother watching a low-level amateur club's warm-up match? Scouts from Premier League academies wouldn't waste their time here. Even lower-tier professional clubs probably wouldn't spare a glance.
The system's mission demanded that he join a top-tier youth academy, or he would be stuck at his current level.
With that in mind, Vardy, not expecting much, asked, "Which club are you from, Mr. Langley?"
Langley chuckled. This kid was direct—confident, even.
He could tell Vardy wasn't going to entertain the idea of joining just any club. If the offer wasn't good enough, the kid might not even bother having a conversation. That was a good trait. Players with self-doubt rarely succeeded in professional football. Mental strength was just as important as talent.
Langley smiled and replied casually, "I'm with Manchester United."
The words hit Vardy like a thunderbolt. His eyes widened.
This scruffy-looking middle-aged man was actually a scout for Manchester United?
A club of that stature had scouts in suits, carrying notepads, analyzing talent with precision. This guy looked like he had just rolled out of a pub after a few pints.
Could he be a fraud?
What if he wasn't actually a scout but some scammer trying to lure young talent into a shady contract? Or worse, what if he was involved in human trafficking? Vardy imagined himself waking up in some black-market deal, his kidney missing.
He narrowed his eyes and studied Langley carefully.
On the other hand, Langley could see the doubt in Vardy's expression. He sighed, already used to this reaction.
"I assure you, I really am a Manchester United scout. My name is Drake Langley, and I recruit talent for United's youth academy. You can look me up online or even call the club to confirm," Langley said, rolling his eyes.
Vardy was still a bit unsure, but before he could respond, his best friend David jumped in.
"Jamie! You've actually caught the attention of a Manchester United scout?! That means you're going to be a star!" David's voice was so full of excitement it almost sounded like he was the one being scouted.
Annoyed, Vardy smacked him lightly on the back of the head.
"Shut up, idiot," he muttered before turning back to Langley. "So, Mr. Langley, do you want me to join United's youth academy?"
Langley nodded. "Yes. Your speed, movement, and finishing ability caught my eye. I believe you have what it takes to make it in our system. You've got raw talent, and with the right training, you could become a top player."
Vardy smirked. He already knew he was going to be a superstar, but it was nice to hear someone else say it.
If someone from Manchester United wanted to fast-track him into their academy, why would he say no?
He met Langley's gaze and nodded firmly. "I'm willing to join Manchester United's youth academy, Mr. Langley."
What Vardy didn't realize was that Langley wasn't just a low-level scout—he was actually the director of Manchester United's youth program, with the authority to make major decisions regarding player recruitment.
David, meanwhile, was practically buzzing with excitement. Seeing his best friend get scouted by Manchester United made him feel proud but also a little jealous.
"Mr. Langley, I'm Jamie's best friend! I'm also really talented! Can I join Manchester United's youth academy too?" David asked, grinning hopefully.
Langley barely suppressed a laugh. This kid was bold.
"I didn't watch you play today, so I can't say much about your ability," Langley said diplomatically. "But if you're serious, you can try out on your own. If you have the talent, you'll get a spot."
David's face fell. He barely had a starting spot at the Steel Team, a bottom-tier amateur club. Expecting to break into Manchester United was wishful thinking at best.
Langley handed Vardy a piece of paper with his contact information. "Rest for a few days. Once my vacation is over, I'll take you to Manchester."
And with that, he walked away, leaving behind an overwhelmed Vardy and an ecstatic David.
On the way home, Vardy regretted not bringing earplugs.
David wouldn't shut up.
"Mate, sign some autographs for me now. Once you're famous, I can sell them for a fortune."
"You're going to be teammates with Van Nistelrooy, Keane, Ferdinand… bloody hell, you're going to meet Sir Alex Ferguson!"
"Do me a favor—get me the signatures of every Manchester United player, yeah? I need them for my collection."
"You won't forget your old mates when you're rich and famous, right?"
Vardy groaned.
"If you shut up, we'll still be friends," he muttered, flicking David's forehead.
David clutched his head dramatically. "See? You're already distancing yourself from me! So cruel!"
Vardy ignored him. Maybe David should forget about playing football and become a sports commentator instead.
Back at the club, the team had invited him to celebrate at a local pub. After all, they had just drawn against a strong opponent—something worth celebrating.
Vardy was tempted. He had never experienced England's legendary pub culture. But then, he glanced down at the electronic tracker strapped around his ankle.
That killed the mood instantly.
A few months ago, back when he was still in the Steel Team's youth squad, he had been involved in a brawl. As a result, the police had slapped him with a curfew—he wasn't allowed out past 6 PM.
David, who had never paid much attention to it before, finally noticed.
When Vardy pulled off his sock, David's jaw dropped.
"Mate… what the hell is that?"
And just like that, the night took an unexpected turn.