Chapter Fifty-Four: The Scout (Please Add It to Your Favorites)

The Spanish Football Association International Youth Invitational Tournament, organized under the auspices of the Spanish Football Federation, is a competition open to teams from around the world. Besides the renowned European club youth academies, teams from Asia, South America, and North America also participate.

The tournament format mirrors that of the World Cup: thirty-two teams are divided into eight groups, each playing a round-robin stage. The top two teams from each group advance to the knockout rounds, progressing through the round of sixteen, quarterfinals, semifinals, and ultimately the final, where the champion of this international invitational is crowned.

The prestige of this tournament is considerable. Local giants such as Santuario, Barcelona’s youth academy, and Valencia’s youth setup are all present. Italian academies from clubs like Torino and Milan have also sent their youth teams. Except for the Green Lions, all other teams are affiliated with professional club youth systems. That said, the Green Lions’ roster is no weakling either, as it boasts nearly half of the national under-15 youth team.

“The crowd is huge!”

The area around the stadium buzzes with excitement, reminiscent of a school sports day but on a much grander scale. At the entrance stands an enormous arch emblazoned with the logo of the Spanish Football Federation Youth International Invitational Tournament. Colorful flags flutter on either side, and the thoroughfare is alive with a steady flow of people. Surrounding shops and stalls echo with calls and chatter, creating a lively atmosphere.

Among the crowd are many spectators. The football culture in Spain surpasses anything back home; even a youth tournament like this draws significant attention. The audience includes not only local fans but also visitors who have traveled specifically for this event. These visitors vary widely in appearance and attire, yet all carry a messenger bag slung across their shoulder, clutching a phone in one hand and a notebook in the other. They weave through the crowd, their sharp eyes scanning everything with a mix of scrutiny and precision.

As Wei Lai steps into the stadium, he meets the gaze of several such individuals repeatedly.

“Who are those people?” Wei Lai asks curiously.

Yang Fan glances over nonchalantly. “Scouts.”

“Scouts?” Wei Lai is momentarily taken aback.

Seeing the faint excitement flicker on Wei Lai’s face, Yang Fan quickly dampens it. “Don’t get your hopes up. They’re rare back home, but here in Europe, they’re common as dirt.”

“These aren’t the big-name or renowned scouts. They’re mostly part-time scouts or freelance hunters.”

Wei Lai blinks. “Part-time scouts? Freelance hunters?”

Yang Fan nods. “European scouts fall into three categories. First, the head scouts we all know who have deep ties with clubs. They work full-time scouting, wielding considerable influence when recommending players. If one of these scouts takes notice of you, congratulations—you might earn a trial with a European club’s academy or even a direct promotion to the first team.”

“The second category is part-time scouts. They have other primary jobs but are hired by clubs to scout in their spare time. Clubs pay them a modest base salary plus commissions for every player signed.”

“The third category is freelance hunters. They blend features of both professional and part-time scouts, moving freely between games to gather extensive information on young players, selling this data to clubs. If a club values their findings, they might earn a bonus, but that’s very rare.”

Yang Fan shrugs. “Most of the scouts here belong to the second or third categories. True professional scouts are busy with the top five European leagues; they don’t have time for these youngsters.”

Wei Lai nods, his initial excitement gradually settling. According to Yang Fan, this is quite normal.

Still, the intense, scrutinizing gazes are somewhat unsettling—especially the bald man on the left.

Wei Lai turns his head to the left and sees a middle-aged Mediterranean man dressed in light gray trousers and a blue short-sleeved shirt, slightly damp at the chest from the heat. His shifty eyes continually scan Wei Lai while he jots notes in his notebook.

The Green Lions’ team moves toward the pitch, with the Mediterranean man following closely.

“Hey! George!”

As the man arrives at the stadium entrance, a tall, lean man with curly hair calls out to him before quickly glancing at the notebook in George’s hands.

Snap!

George immediately closes the notebook and looks up, displeased. “Mr. Sanders!”

Sanders laughs. “Just kidding!”

George retorts, “That’s not a funny joke!”

He then turns away, clearly unwilling to engage, but Sanders isn’t deterred.

“Which one are you interested in?”

“No comment.”

“That red-shirted number five, right?”

At this, George’s body twitches involuntarily.

“I guessed right!”

Sanders claps his hands with a smile. “An odd player, isn’t he? His ball skills aren’t great—his dribbling, passing, and agility have flaws—but his decision-making, distribution, and especially his composure under pressure are outstanding!”

“Not composure,” George corrects with pursed lips, “His is pressure management.”

“Exactly!” Sanders nods eagerly. “Even when under intense pressure, amidst tight passing in small spaces, he can snatch the ball away immediately, giving his teammates a breather.”

“He slows the tempo and stabilizes possession. In the first two warm-up matches, he made almost no mistakes, which is remarkable!”

“Every touch is calculated, spatial awareness precise, and his positional sense—that’s what makes him stand out!”

“Hey, George, you’re not the only scout here.” Sanders gestures to the side. “Look!”

George looks over to see a group of scouts already climbing the stands. Some stand, some squat, adjusting their cameras or jotting notes.

George has good reason to believe most are here for the Chinese number five.

His unique qualities are drawing their attention.

Yet George remains silent.

Scouting relies on experience, insight, and theory—but some players possess something more: intuition.

George believes he is one of those.

After all, a year ago, he used his intuition to discover a 19-year-old French prodigy who now plays professionally in the Premier League—and George earned a handsome bonus for that find.

“Hey, George!” Sanders raises his eyebrows. “Come work for us. I’ll offer you a good contract and a stable job. If I get promoted to management, I’ll recommend you as chief scout. What do you say?”

George still says nothing.

Sanders presses on, lips tight. “I remember your child is about to be born, right? Don’t you want to give them a stable environment to grow up in?”