The sun was still burning high when training reached its midday rhythm—sneakers scuffed against turf, the slap of balls being volleyed echoed across the pitch, and short bursts of whistles sliced through the summer air. Laughter cracked through the sweat and fatigue. The kids were buzzing—more fluid now, more confident. Passes zipped, runs curved, voices called out instinctively. The team was slowly becoming a team.
Leon was mid-drill, working on angled layoffs with Byon when it happened.
A whistle blast—this time, different.
Coach Holloway stood at the halfway line, one hand raised, the other reaching into his jacket pocket.
A phone.
The players slowed to a jog.
"Is he checking the time?" someone muttered.
"Maybe someone forgot to bring water again?"
Byon, ever the joker, wiped his forehead and grinned.
"Haha, maybe his wife's yelling at him again! 'Stop ignoring my texts, Holloway!'"
A few chuckles followed, but Leon didn't laugh.
He watched the coach's face carefully. His instincts—sharpened over two lifetimes—caught the change.
Coach Holloway's mouth was tight, eyes squinting at whatever was on the screen. He wasn't tapping idly. He was reading.
Something's up.
Leon narrowed his gaze.
He never takes calls during training unless it's something big.
The call didn't last long. Less than a minute.
But when the coach turned back toward them, there was a shift—like the wind had changed direction.
He clapped his hands once.
"Everyone, gather up!"
The players jogged in. A few still chuckled. Some just wiped sweat from their brows. But Leon felt it already—the undercurrent. The mood was shifting.
Coach Holloway looked at them with firm eyes. No clipboard, no whistle. Just presence.
"I've got news," he said, voice cutting clear through the air.
"Important news."
That silenced them.
Even the air seemed to hush, the balls left to roll gently to a stop on their own.
"The match I told you about…" Holloway paused, letting it hang. "…it's been scheduled."
Already?
"Exactly one week from today," Coach continued. "An official match. Scouts will be there—real scouts. From Aston Villa, Crystal Palace… and RB Leipzig."
The reaction was immediate.
"RB Leipzig?! What?!"
"A German club's watching us?!"
"No way, that's insane!"
Even the more reserved kids started whispering, adrenaline overriding exhaustion. The name carried weight. A club with a reputation for plucking young talents from obscurity and turning them into world-class players.
Byon leaned in and whispered, wide-eyed:
"Whoa… Leipzig? That's Europe. That's big."
Leon's thoughts moved differently.
Leipzig… they're sharp. They see beyond the surface. They recruit potential, not just polish. But if I'm honest…
His eyes lowered, voice in his head calm and collected:
I'd rather start here. In England. Build from the roots. This country knows me. I want to rise from the ashes where I once burned.
Coach Holloway raised a hand to bring them back.
"It'll be 8-a-side. Fifty minutes total. Smaller pitch. Faster tempo. We're doing this because the scouts aren't just here to browse—they're looking for the next ones."
His voice sharpened.
"You're ten years old. That means you're at the start of something. It also means you have no excuse for slacking. Not now. Not when you've worked this hard to be here."
No one spoke.
Even the wind stood still.
Leon could see the flicker of nerves in some players. The tension settling like fog around their shoulders. But for him, it was something else.
Pressure? No. This is opportunity. Real, solid, open-door opportunity. And it's up to me to walk through it.
Byon nudged him lightly.
"I hope I'm on the same team as you," he whispered, smile warm but filled with a sudden edge of ambition.
Leon blinked, then smiled back.
Not a cocky smirk. Not the fake kind he used to wear during his first career, when cameras were rolling.
A real one.
"A true friend…" he thought, watching Byon's goofy grin. Something I never had in my first life. Not like this.
He answered out loud, calm and certain:
"For sure, Byon. We'll be a dangerous duo."
The players began breaking off slowly, returning to scattered stretches and cooldowns. The murmurs continued, but there was a sense of unity now. Something had been stirred—focus, urgency, maybe even hope.
Coach Holloway stepped back, letting the moment settle on its own.