Coach Holloway's voice rang out across the training ground.
"Training's over! Go ho and rest."
He paced the edge of the pitch, clipboard tucked beneath one arm, voice stern and clear.
"The next session is two days before the match—7 a.m. sharp. Be ready."
The words hit different.
They weren't just routine anymore.
The players started peeling away from the pitch in small clusters—so slow, so quick, others caught sowhere between buzzing adrenaline and quiet dread.
Boots dragged in the grass. Water bottles hissed as they were squeezed dry. Bags rustled.
No one spoke loud.
The usual chaos of ten-year-olds wasn't there.
Each boy walked like he was carrying sothing invisible on his shoulders.
A few smiled.
A few stared at the ground.
A few looked over their shoulders—toward the goalposts, the cones, the sidelines—as if afraid it might all vanish before they returned.
Leon tightened the straps of his bag and watched them move.
That silence... it says everything.
He could feel it himself—that heavy buzz inside the chest. Not quite fear. Not quite excitent. Sothing between.
He wasn't afraid of the ga. He never was.
But what haunted him wasn't the pressure—it was the potential.
The question that kept following him since the day he opened his eyes in this smaller, younger body:
What if I can't live up to who I used to be?
He shook his head.
No. Not can't. I won't let that happen. This is my second chance—and this ti, it's mine alone.
Byon's voice broke through the quiet like a spark in dry grass.
"Ready to go?"
Leon looked up and smiled.
"Let's move!"
They began the walk together—boots dangling from their bags, grass stains still fresh on their socks.
The path from the training ground back to the academy dorms cut through a long stretch of hedges and stone, with the sun lowering just enough to cast golden slants of light through the trees. Everything felt calr here. Slower. Like the world knew the storm was coming and had decided to breathe while it could.
Byon walked with his usual bounce. His legs were shorter, but sohow he always managed to match Leon's stride.
He glanced sideways, eyes glowing with mischief.
"Sooo…" he began, stretching the word like elastic. "Tell again about your eting with Haaland! Co on, man—you've been dodging the full story!"
Leon chuckled, shaking his head.
"Haha, I'm not dodging. There's just not much to tell."
Byon gave him a skeptical look.
"Uh-huh. That's what people say when sothing epic happened and they're trying to be humble."
Leon let out a light laugh, the kind that escapes before you even realize you're smiling.
"Alright, alright. It was super quick. He saw , signed my backpack, smiled. That's it."
Byon stopped in his tracks.
"Just that? And you're saying that like it's normal?" He threw his hands in the air, voice rising. "That's Haaland! A living weapon! The cyborg striker! You had a close encounter!"
Leon shrugged, still smiling.
"Yeah, I guess it was cool…"
Then his expression shifted—just slightly. The smile softened. His gaze turned ahead, toward the road leading into the main gate.
"…But honestly?" he added quietly, "The best part wasn't eting him."
Byon raised an eyebrow.
"Then what was?"
Leon's voice was lighter now. But his eyes held sothing deeper.
"Realizing that one day... I might face him on the pitch."
Byon blinked.
That shut him up for a second.
Then, slowly, he grinned.
"Bro… you're kinda scary when you talk like that."
Leon gave a sheepish smile.
"Maybe it's because I want to grow up faster again haha."
Byon tilted his head.
" too. I wanna play for a big club. Travel. Score goals in stadiums that echo."
Leon didn't answer right away.
He just looked at his friend—the way his eyes lit up even as sweat still clung to his forehead, the way he didn't hide his dream, didn't shrink from it.
At his age... I only wanted to win. I forgot what it ant to dream.
Now, walking beside Byon, feeling the heat fade from his skin and the day settle around them, Leon finally understood sothing.
This path he was on—it wasn't about returning to glory.
It was about building sothing better than before.
They reached the dorm entrance, a simple brick building tucked near the edge of the academy campus. A few other kids sat out front, kicking a worn ball back and forth, joking half-heartedly.
As Leon reached for the door, Byon looked back toward the training field, now distant behind the trees.
"One week," he said softly. "We really have a match… with scouts watching."
"We'll be ready," he said quietly.
Byon looked at him.
Not questioning.
Just trusting.
"You think we'll be on the sa team?"
Leon smiled.
"Doesn't matter. We'll find each other on the pitch."
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