An Unexpected Reunion

As the lights began to glow, East London came alive, feeling more like a bustling market compared to the neon-lit skyscrapers of West London. Inside a spacious pub, small groups of patrons huddled together, drinking and chatting, while the TV replayed a Premier League match that had ended over an hour ago. The owner, a nearly thirty-year-old Black man, was dressed in fitted server attire, diligently polishing glasses behind the bar. Whenever a customer placed an order, he would quickly put down the glass to attend to them, behaving politely and often sharing laughs with the patrons.

Aldrich, still in the suit he had worn while managing the match earlier, pushed open the pub door. The moment he entered, the lively chatter erupted in raucous applause.

"Hey, look who it is!" Brady's booming laughter came from the back near the pool table, grabbing everyone's attention.

"Wow, Aldrich, you did a great job! At this rate, we'll definitely be in the Premier League next year!" A drunken stranger gave Aldrich a thumbs-up.

"Mr. Hall, I like Larson. He's unique! Reminds me of Teddy. He's not leaving Millwall, right? We can't keep selling our good players to other teams!" A young man in his twenties approached Aldrich, speaking earnestly.

Does Larson remind the Millwall fans of Sheringham now? Aldrich mused but didn't really care. He had no special feelings for Sheringham; even after moving to Manchester United, his yearly goals always seemed far below those of top scorers.

Aldrich patiently chatted with everyone who came over to greet him before finally taking a seat at the bar. He looked over at the Black owner and said with a smile, "Business is doing well, huh? Can't you afford to hire someone?"

With a teasing grin, the owner poured Aldrich a small glass of whiskey and replied kindly, "The other guys went for dinner. If it gets busier later, I might struggle to keep up alone; the rush just passed."

Aldrich thoughtfully glanced at the television; the previous rush must have been during the live broadcast of the Premier League match.

The bar owner was an old friend of Aldrich's: Sand. From starting out in a video rental store, eight years had passed, and Aldrich had become the head coach while Sand now owned a pub.

After sipping his whiskey, Aldrich cautioned Sand, "This place is illegally broadcasting Premier League matches using stolen foreign signals. Sooner or later, the FA will come looking for you. If they do, shut it down fast, and don't be the one to get caught first—things could go belly-up in court."

Sand nodded gently, clearly taking Aldrich's advice seriously.

It wasn't just his pub; nearly all pubs across the UK utilized hacking techniques to illegally broadcast the Premier League. Sky Television sold broadcasting rights to other countries for contracts worth millions, but satellite signal encryption had weaknesses.

Pub owners like Sand could spend a few hundred pounds to purchase hacking technology on the black market, allowing them to charge guests just one pound to watch Premier League games during live broadcasts, leading to considerable profits from drink sales.

After giving Sand some advice, Aldrich picked up a beer and moved deeper into the pub, where two pool tables were set up. Brady and other friends were playing pool, and upon seeing Aldrich, Brady tossed him a cue. "Millwall played brilliantly today!"

Aldrich tossed his suit jacket onto a nearby chair, set the beer bottle on the pool table, and bent over to take his shot.

After making his shot, he stood up straight, and Fred, a Nigerian descendant, handed him a lit cigarette. Aldrich took it and took a puff.

Wrapping his arm around Aldrich's shoulders, Fred laughed, "Aldrich, you haven't changed a bit."

Aldrich pushed him away, cursing, "Damn, when's the last time you bathed? You're killing me with that smell!"

Laughter erupted from the young peers surrounding them.

Months had passed since Aldrich returned to London to reunite with his friends, chatting and playing pool, smoking, drinking, and talking about women, just like old times.

As the night progressed, more and more patrons filled the pub, and Aldrich began to blend into the background. He had shed his suit, loosened a couple of buttons on his shirt, and untied his tie, holding a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, laughing and chatting with Brady and Fred just like the carefree young men who hadn't yet stepped into the adult world.

"You call my team weak? Sol, do you even know anything about football? My team just crushed Derby County four-nil this afternoon! And you think Derby had the advantage? Bullshit! If they didn't score a single goal, how could that be? Do you even know what an advantage is? You can't score, you can't win. Advantage is just nonsense!"

Aldrich stood at the side of the pool table, passionately arguing, spitting his words as Sol stood there speechless, with the others wearing amused expressions, having witnessed Aldrich boasting for the past twenty minutes.

Aldrich continued to boast even more fervently, but then he suddenly noticed that his friends had peculiar expressions, with Brady grinning mischievously.

Before Aldrich could express his confusion, someone leaped onto his back, wrapping their arms around his neck while a cheery female voice rang in his ear.

"Oh my God, it's really you, Aldrich! What are you doing here? Aren't you living in a mansion and wearing suits now?"

Feeling two soft forms pressing against his back, Aldrich didn't need to see to know who it was. He reached back and playfully squeezed the rounded rear of the person behind him.

That elicited a surprised gasp as the person jumped off his back. When Aldrich turned around, he saw a young girl in sporty casual wear, her short hair framing a delicate face that radiated charm.

"Aldrich! You've really changed, you big pervert!"

The girl puffed her cheeks, her face flushed red as she glared at Aldrich, but there was no anger in her eyes—only a complex mix of feelings.

Aldrich stepped closer, raising his hand teasingly as if to grab her ample chest, laughing exaggeratedly, "Yvonne, you've changed too! You're absolutely right; I am a big pervert!"

Yvonne Lowell exuded youthful energy and wasn't going to let Aldrich off that easily. After sidestepping, she stuck her tongue out at him and said, "I heard you threw a party at home for your birthday. Hmph, now that you're rich, you must have no trouble flirting with supermodels, right?"

Aldrich blinked in surprise. "How do you know I threw a birthday party at home?"

Yvonne suddenly went speechless, glancing away nervously. "I just know, alright?"

"I'll go grab some drinks," she said hurriedly, turning to head to the bar. Aldrich turned back, only to hear Brady teasing, "On your birthday, she brought a cake to your house. Your mom said you weren't home, there were a lot of guests, so she left the cake and went."

"Huh? Did my family send her away?"

Aldrich was puzzled; he didn't think his family had become snobbish. Besides, Brady, Fred, Yvonne, and many of these young folks had been neighbors of the Hall family since childhood, growing up in the same community.

Brady shook his head with a wry smile. "You misunderstood. Your mom wanted her to stay, but you know how we feel at those high-society parties. We aren't really comfortable there. Fortunately, you haven't turned into one of those people."

Aldrich forced a few dry laughs, unsure how to respond. Should he claim he would always be that street kid?

Yvonne returned with beer, showing no pretense of being a delicate lady. For over a decade, she had been like one of the boys, mixing freely with them.

"Aldrich, come play a game with me! I want revenge."

Aldrich smiled, turning around and sticking out his backside, grinning, "If it's revenge, bring it on, but please don't use too much force!"

Yvonne aimed a kick at Aldrich's backside, but thankfully, he dodged just in time...