Chapter 27

As the city lights began to twinkle, compared to the glittering skyscrapers of West London, East London seemed more like a bustling market.

Inside a spacious bar, a few customers gathered in small groups, drinking and chatting. The bar's TV was replaying a Premier League match that had ended over an hour ago. The owner, a black man in his late twenties, was polishing glasses behind the bar in a well-fitted waiter's uniform. Whenever a customer ordered a drink, he would immediately put down the glass and serve them, always polite and occasionally chatting with the guests.

Aldridge, still wearing the suit he had on during the afternoon match, pushed open the bar door and stepped inside. The moment he entered, the bar erupted in cheers.

"Hey, look who's here!"

Brady laughed heartily from the pool table at the back of the bar, drawing everyone's attention.

"WOW, Aldridge, you did great! At this rate, we'll definitely be in the Premier League next year!"

A tipsy stranger gave Aldridge a thumbs up.

"Mr. Hall, I like Larson. He's unique, uh, he reminds me of Teddy. He'll stay at Millwall, right? We can't keep selling our good players to other teams!"

A young man in his early twenties earnestly ran over to Aldridge and mumbled.

Does the current Larson remind Millwall fans of Sheringham?

Maybe, Aldridge didn't really care. He had no special feelings for Sheringham, and even when Sheringham moved to Manchester United, his annual goal count was far from that of a top striker.

Aldridge patiently chatted with everyone who came up to greet him, then he sat down at the bar and looked at the black man behind it, smiling, "Business is good, can't you afford to hire someone?"

With a teasing smile, the black owner poured Aldridge a small glass of whiskey and said gently, "The other guys went to eat. If it gets any later, I might really be swamped. The peak time has passed."

Aldridge glanced at the TV in the bar, thinking the peak time must have been during the Premier League broadcast.

The bar owner, Aldridge's old friend, was named Sand.

Starting from a video store, eight years had passed, and Aldridge had become a head coach, while Sand now owned a bar.

Aldridge took a sip of whiskey and said to Sand, "Streaming foreign signals to broadcast Premier League matches will get you in trouble with the FA eventually. If someone comes to check, just shut it down. Don't be the one to get caught. Once you're in court, the legal battle could bankrupt you."

Sand nodded with a gentle smile.

Not just his bar, but almost every bar in the UK used pirated signals to illegally broadcast Premier League matches. Sky TV sold the broadcasting rights to other countries for millions of pounds, but the encryption technology for satellite signals in other European countries had loopholes.

Bar owners like Sand could buy Premier League broadcasting hacks from the black market for a few hundred pounds. On each live broadcast day, customers only needed to pay 1 pound to watch the Premier League, and the additional profit from drinks was substantial.

After giving Sand a heads-up, Aldridge took a bottle of beer and walked to the back of the bar, where two pool tables were set up. Brady and the other guys were playing pool. Seeing Aldridge, Brady handed him a cue and chuckled, "Millwall played great today."

Aldridge threw his suit jacket onto a nearby chair, placed the beer bottle on the pool table, and bent down to play.

After taking his shot, Aldridge straightened up. Fred, a Nigerian descendant, handed him a lit cigarette, and Aldridge took a puff.

Fred put his arm around Aldridge's shoulder and laughed, "Aldridge, you haven't changed a bit."

Aldridge pushed him away and scolded, "Damn, when was the last time you showered? You stink."

Everyone around them burst into laughter.

A few months ago, when Aldridge first returned to London and met up with his friends, they chatted, played pool, smoked, drank, and talked about women, just like they used to.

As the night went on, more and more customers came to the bar for a drink. By then, Aldridge was no longer the center of attention. He had taken off his suit, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and removed his tie. Holding a beer bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he chatted and laughed with Brady, Fred, and the others, just like any carefree young man.

"You say my team is weak? Saul, do you even understand football? My team crushed Derby County 4-0 this afternoon. You say Derby County had the advantage? Bullshit! How did they not score a single goal? Do you know what an advantage is? If you can't score or win, it's all just talk!"

Aldridge stood by the pool table, spitting out his words. Saul, standing in front of him, was speechless, and the others wore amused expressions. Over the past twenty minutes, they had seen Aldridge's self-praising skills in action.

Aldridge continued to boast, but suddenly noticed the strange expressions on his friends' faces. Brady even had a mischievous grin.

Before Aldridge could react, someone jumped onto his back, tightly wrapping their arms around his neck. A clear female voice rang in his ear.

"My God, it's really you, Aldridge! Why are you still coming to places like this? Don't you live in a mansion and wear suits now?"

Aldridge felt two soft mounds pressing against his back, even through the clothes, the sensation was delightful. The arms around his neck were smooth and tender, and a faint fragrance filled his nostrils.

Instantly, Aldridge knew who was on his back. He reached back and pinched her firm, round buttocks.

A scream echoed, and the person jumped off his back. Aldridge turned around to see a young woman in sporty casual wear, with a short, cheerful bob and delicate features that formed a beautiful face.

"Aldridge! You really have changed, you big hooligan!"

The girl puffed out one cheek, her face red as she glared at Aldridge, but there was no anger in her eyes, only a complex sense of relief.

Aldridge stepped forward, raised his hand, and laughed exaggeratedly, "Eve, you've changed too! You're right, I am a big hooligan!"

Eve Lowell exuded youthful energy. She wouldn't let Aldridge get away with it this time. She moved a couple of steps to the side, made a face at Aldridge, and said, "I heard you threw a party at your house for your birthday. Hmph, now that you're so rich, you must easily play with models, right?"

Aldridge was taken aback and countered, "How did you know I had a party at my house for my birthday?"

Eve was momentarily speechless, her expression flustered as she avoided his gaze, "I just know, okay?"

"I'll get some drinks."

Eve hurriedly turned and ran to the bar. Aldridge turned back and heard Brady teasing, "On your birthday, she brought a cake she made herself to your house. Your mom said you hadn't come back yet, and there were a lot of guests. She left the cake and went away."

"Huh? Did my family turn her away?"

Aldridge was puzzled. He didn't think his family had become snobs, especially not with friends like Brady, Fred, and Eve, who had grown up in the same neighborhood.

Brady shook his head and smiled bitterly, "You misunderstood. Your mom invited her to stay, but you know, those high-society parties make us feel out of place. Luckily, you haven't become one of them."

Aldridge laughed bitterly, not knowing how to respond. Should he say he would always be a street kid?

Eve returned with beer, showing no pretense of being a lady. Over the past decade, she had been a tomboy, hanging out with the boys.

"Aldridge, let's play a round. I want to get back at you."

Aldridge turned around, sticking out his butt and laughing, "Sure, come on, but don't use too much force, okay?"

"Go to hell!"

Eve kicked Aldridge's butt, but he dodged just in time...