I Just Wanted to Play Soccer, But I Became a Hollywood Heartthrob

The school team bus sped down the road, reaching Southampton Airport in under thirty minutes.

Southampton was in southern England, while Manchester was in the northwest.

A bus ride would take at least four hours.

A flight, however, was just 1 hour and 5 minutes. Even with airport procedures and travel to Manchester Grammar School, the total time would be less than two hours.

Of course, while Southampton Private School was a wealthy institution, it wasn't rich enough to book a private jet.

The school had booked round-trip tickets for all the players—each costing £137 on a budget airline's 50-seat plane.

After checking in, Coach Carter led the players onto the plane.

At 9:30 AM, the small, shaky aircraft rumbled into the sky.

For all of Britain's global power, its infrastructure was clearly aging.

Many of the planes were from the '70s and '80s, their exteriors faded, with minimal services onboard. The flight attendants were mostly elderly women who didn't seem particularly interested in customer service.

Gu Ran closed his eyes in the cramped seat, trying to relax.

Rusty, sitting next to him, nudged him and whispered, "Hey, one of the flight attendants smiled at me… you think she's into me?"

Gu Ran: "…"

After an hour of turbulence, the creaky old plane finally landed safely.

The assistant manager contacted the pre-arranged airport bus, which would take them to Manchester Grammar School, located in Fallowfield.

By noon, the bus pulled up in front of an old red-brick building.

This was Manchester Grammar School's entrance.

Atop the three-story red brick gate, a white classical-style clock tower stood tall.

As the team stepped off the bus, the bronze bell in the tower chimed twelve times, marking noon.

At that moment, a group of students in expensive gray tailored suits strolled out of the school gates.

These guys exchanged smug glances with each other as they walked.

"Hey, look," one of them sneered, "the southern hillbillies got here early."

"They must be here for our school cafeteria's lunch, huh?"

"Haha, keep your voice down! If their fragile little egos shatter, someone's gonna have to clean up the mess."

They said they'd keep their voices down—but they made no effort to hide their insults.

The Southampton players instantly boiled with rage, their fists clenching tightly, itching to punch these posh-looking pricks.

Ding!

Ding ding ding ding ding!

Gu Ran's system exploded with notifications.

White bubbles popped up at the feet of his teammates, swarming the ground.

Holy sh*t.

They hadn't even started the match, and his teammates' negative emotions were already overflowing.

Not surprising—these Manchester boys were unbelievably arrogant.

Calling them "southern hillbillies" and implying they only came early for food?

If Gu Ran were a native Southampton player, he'd be just as pissed.

But for now, his priority was picking bubbles wisely—he only had four chances left today.

His focus was still stamina training and defensive skills.

He locked onto Bread and Rusty's bubbles, took a step forward, and popped them.

Ding!

"Host has acquired: Positioning Training +10 hours. Progress: 7/10 today."

"Host has acquired: Lower Body Strength Training +10 hours. Progress: 8/10 today."

Damn.

Not a single stamina upgrade.

This is like playing a gacha game…

Gu Ran frowned slightly.

Rusty grabbed his arm. "Gu! Don't step forward! If someone's gonna start this fight, it should be me first!"

Wait, no, I wasn't trying to start anything…

Gu Ran turned and saw that his teammates were all looking at him with admiration.

Even Rusty and Watergate had stepped forward with him!

"You little bastards!"

Coach Carter suddenly roared.

"Don't start trouble!"

The entire team froze.

The Southampton players immediately straightened up, standing at attention.

But their gazes remained fierce, locked onto the suited Manchester boys.

The Manchester students' faces darkened.

Carter's insult—"You little bastards"—

Was he cursing them?

Or his own players?

Or… both?

They couldn't even ask.

Asking would mean admitting they were the "bastards" he was referring to.

At that moment, the tallest student, a 1.88-meter blond guy with a square jaw, stepped forward and extended his hand toward Carter.

"Coach Carter, nice to meet you. I'm Albert Beaton, student representative and captain of the Pirates."

Gu Ran's eyes lingered on Albert Beaton.

His name had appeared many times in yesterday's team briefing email.

The Manchester Grammar School captain had once trained at the Manchester United youth academy.

At just 10 years old, he was already hailed as a future Manchester United midfielder.

However, as he grew up, he chose not to pursue a professional football career.

Instead, his family—Beaton Group—was on the school's board of directors. His goal was to attend Oxford or Cambridge, then join the family business.

But despite not going pro, Albert was still an incredible player.

In the scouting report, he was labeled as the core of the Pirates.

He could play any midfield position—classic No. 10, modern playmaker, deep-lying midfielder, wing-back, winger, and sometimes even striker.

Professional scouts loved these versatile midfielders.

Albert was physically strong, technically sharp, with excellent vision and passing ability.

He was also a true leader, capable of rallying his team.

A guy who trained at Manchester United's youth camp…

His blue skill bubble must be packed with value.

Gu Ran quietly marked Albert in his mind.

Albert extended his hand for a handshake.

But Carter barely glanced at it, then jerked his thumb toward Bread.

"This is Este Knos—our captain. We call him Bread. If you wanna shake hands, don't act like some posh aristocrat—shake his hand."

Bread grinned and stepped forward, grabbing Albert's hand firmly.

Their handshake cracked with tension.

Bread's nickname sounded soft, but when it came down to it—he didn't back down.

This was about defending the South's pride.

Albert's jaw clenched slightly.

Whether it was because of the handshake's strength, or because of Carter's humiliation, or both, it was hard to tell.

Gu Ran watched the scene unfold, laughing internally.

These Manchester brats actually thought they could match wits with my trash-talking coach?

They're not even in the same league!

Just watching this feels satisfying!

Ding!