Jin Hayes was struggling to breathe.
Aunt Maria had him wrapped in a bear hug, her arms locked tight around his neck, and no amount of squirming could break free.
"No!! Jin!! We'll miss you!!" Her voice was thick, genuinely emotional.
"We will! You're family now! Are we not treating you well enough?" Uncle Hans stood nearby, arms crossed, looking genuinely wounded.
On the sofa, Frank sat with a beer in one hand, the other pressed dramatically to his forehead. "Oh, for heaven's sake. Will you two calm down? Jin's nearly sixteen. He's practically an adult. He needs his own space."
Maria finally loosened her grip just enough to glare at her son. "He is a child! He's our child! Just like Anna!"
From the corner of the room, Anna looked up from her phone long enough to roll her eyes so hard it was a miracle they stayed in their sockets.
Frank snorted into his beer. "Have you considered that maybe Jin wants privacy? What if he has a girlfriend and wants to spend time alone? You can't have her over for dinner every night."
Maria's eyes went wide. "Girlfriend? Jin! Do you have a girlfriend?!"
The hug finally released. Jin gasped, sucking in air like a man rescued from drowning.
"No! Nothing like that—"
"He's lying." Anna didn't look up from her phone. "Claudia confessed to him in front of the whole class."
The room went silent.
Then exploded.
"CLAUDIA?!"
"The tall one? The blonde?"
"Jin! What did you say?!"
Jin stared at the ceiling, wishing it would open and swallow him whole. "I rejected her. She's not my type."
It was true. Claudia was objectively beautiful—sixteen going on twenty-five, the kind of curves that made the boys in class forget their own names. But Jin had grown up with different faces, different aesthetics. The sharp features, the Western ideal—it just wasn't what he saw when he pictured someone he wanted to be with.
Not that he'd tell them that.
"So what is your type?" Maria was already planning, the matchmaker's gleam in her eye. "I know so many lovely girls. I could introduce you—"
"He likes the Anna type."
Everyone froze.
Grandpa Fritz hadn't moved from his armchair. His eyes were still fixed on the television, some old Western playing in black and white. He hadn't looked up once. But the words hung in the air like smoke.
Frank bit his lip, fighting a smile.
Maria's expression shifted through about five different emotions in two seconds, ending on something that looked suspiciously like delight.
Anna, who had been successfully pretending none of this involved her, went pink. Not a subtle flush—a full, from-the-collar-up crimson. She stared at her phone, then at the wall, then at the stairs. Without a word, she stood up and walked—quickly—out of the room.
The sound of her bedroom door closing echoed through the suddenly quiet house.
Hans cleared his throat. "Right. Well. Anyway. Are you actually moving out, then?"
Jin shook his head, grateful for the subject change. "Not immediately. I haven't found anywhere yet."
The truth was, he hadn't really looked. The season would be over in six months. If Arsenal wanted him back in London next year, what was the point of signing a lease? And nowhere in Dortmund could match the Heinrichs' hospitality. The room was comfortable, the food was good, and despite Maria's smothering affection, it felt like home.
He'd tried to pay rent once. Slipped some cash into Maria's coat pocket when she wasn't looking. She'd found it, and spent every last euro on ingredients for his meals. Nutritious stuff. The good cuts of meat, fresh vegetables, things that probably stretched their budget.
He couldn't leave. Not yet.
"Anyway," Jin continued, "I won't be here for Christmas. I'm flying to London. Arsenal have arranged for me to train with them over the break."
The Heinrichs stared at him.
"London?" Frank set down his beer. "You're not taking any time off?"
"The coaching staff think it's best if I keep working. My fundamentals need strengthening—physicality, passing under pressure, that kind of thing. I can't do that alone. I need professional supervision."
Maria opened her mouth to argue, but Hans cut her off with a raised hand. He was looking at Jin with something new in his eyes. Respect.
"That's..." He shook his head, almost laughing. "That's incredible, kid. You know how many players your age would be hitting the clubs right now, soaking up the attention? The papers are calling you a phenomenon. Every channel is showing that goal on repeat. And you're choosing to spend your holiday training."
It was true. The German media had gone overboard. English papers had picked up the story. Spanish outlets were starting to take notice. Jin Hayes was, for this moment, one of the most talked-about young players in Europe.
He hadn't done a single interview. Hadn't posed for a single photoshoot. Hadn't even checked his social media.
And now he was flying to London to train.
Frank leaned forward, his expression shifting from amused to serious. "Jin. Listen. The Premier League is different. The intensity is higher, the tackling is fiercer. If you're training there, protect yourself. And don't underestimate the importance of rest. Winter break exists for a reason. Muscles need recovery time. Especially at your age. Overloading now could cause problems later."
Jin nodded. He'd heard this before—from Frank, from the club doctors, from every adult who'd seen him pushing too hard in the gym. They meant well. They didn't understand.
They couldn't.
Only Jin knew the truth.
His ability had arrived without warning. No system, no quests, no notifications. Just a gradual sharpening of instincts he hadn't possessed before. And if it could appear overnight, it could disappear the same way.
So he trained. Relentlessly. Because talent alone wasn't enough.
Technique meant nothing without the physicality to execute it. He'd watched enough football to know that. Take Messi—people saw the low centre of gravity, the dribbling, the close control, and assumed it was all natural gifts. What they didn't see was the core strength. The ability to absorb contact and keep moving. To accelerate out of tight spaces with defenders hanging off him. He wasn't fragile. He was built like a coiled spring.
Jin needed that. Needed to be able to ride challenges, to hold his ground, to still have something left in the 90th minute. Perfect skills were useless if your body gave out.
"Then I wish you luck, my child." Aunt Maria pulled him into another bear hug. This time, Jin was genuinely worried he might pass out. "We'll all miss you."
…
The Arsenal training ground was cold, grey, and familiar.
Walcott spotted him first. "Look who's here. The Bundesliga superstar."
"Shut up, Theo."
"I'm serious! That goal against Bayern—" Walcott mimed a volley, nearly taking out a passing kit man. "How do you even hit it like that?"
"Lots of practice." Jin grinned. "And luck."
Cesc Fàbregas wandered over, towel around his neck. "I don't get it. You've got a month off and you choose to spend it here? In this weather? I'd kill for a winter break."
"Then give him your starting spot," someone shouted from across the pitch. "He's been brilliant on the right wing lately."
Walcott winced. "Alright, alright. Point taken."
The banter was familiar, comfortable. These were his teammates, even if he hadn't played a competitive minute with them yet. They'd watched his clips. They knew what he'd been doing in Germany. And they were curious.
"Welcome back, Jin."
Arsène Wenger approached with that thoughtful expression he wore when evaluating something interesting. Like a scientist who'd just discovered a new specimen.
"I've watched every match. Every minute." He stopped in front of Jin, appraising him. "Your development has been exceptional."
Jin nodded. "Thank you, Professor."
No one else called him that to his face. Wenger didn't seem to mind.
The manager glanced at the bag at Jin's feet, then at the training kit already visible underneath his jacket. "You've just got off a plane. Surely you want to rest?"
"No. I feel good. Ready to work."
Wenger opened his mouth, then closed it. He studied Jin for a long moment, something between admiration and concern in his eyes.
This boy. This ridiculous, obsessed, utterly committed boy.
He'd managed hundreds of players over the years. Seen talents burn bright and fade fast. Seen others coast on natural ability. But this—this relentless drive—was rare. Especially in someone so young.