The whistle shrieked, sharp and sudden, cutting through the twilight. Leon felt the ground hum beneath his cleats as Jas nudged the ball gently toward him.
He took a calm touch, the ball settling like an old companion at his foot. Across the field, the white team buzzed with intensity. Leon's eyes automatically picked out the familiar glowing numbers above their heads.
The central midfielder, a wiry kid nad Alex, had numbers hovering over him: Potential: 88, Current: 67. He moved with a quiet efficiency, his eyes always tracking the ball. A tough opponent. Their main striker, Ben, was a blur of aggressive energy: Potential: 85, Current: 70. Fast, strong, always looking for a gap.
Leon ignored the numbers for a second, focusing on the feel of the ball, the fresh scent of the turf. This wasn't about data; it was about instinct, about the rhythm of the ga. He saw Byon sprint down the right wing, a flash of red.
"Byon!" Leon called, a crisp, low pass zipping across the grass, perfectly weighted.
Byon, with his Potential: 90, Current: 72, took it in stride, his first touch already pushing it past their left-back. The defender, caught flat-footed, stumbled. Byon was off, a blur of red, eating up the grass. The Aston Villa scout leaned forward, his pen already poised over his notepad.
The white team's defense scrambled. Leon, still in the center circle, watched the ripples. He saw Jas, his Potential: 83, Current: 68, peeling off his marker, creating space near the penalty box. Leon started moving, a quiet engine in the midfield, directing traffic with subtle gestures.
Byon reached the byline, his cross a low, curving whip into the box. It flew just past Ben, the opposing center-back, but too close for comfort. Jas stretched, a desperate lunge, but the ball was cleared by a white jersey.
"Good run, Byon!" Leon shouted, already falling back into position. "Keep the pressure up!"
The ga flowed back and forth, a tug-of-war in the midfield. Leon focused on control, slowing the tempo when needed, then injecting pace with a sharp pass. He intercepted a loose ball, pivoted, and threaded a pass through two defenders to Jas, who had drifted into a dangerous pocket of space.
Jas took a touch, then another, but the white team's central defender, Mark (who was solid, Potential: 79, Current: 65), closed him down quickly. Jas tried a quick shot, but it was blocked and ricocheted wide. Corner kick.
"Unlucky, Jas!" Leon encouraged, jogging over. "Next ti, you've got it."
The corner floated in, high and swirling. Joey, in goal, his Potential: 74, Current: 62 showing just a hint of anxiety in the way his shoulders were hunched, hesitated for a split second. A white team player jumped highest, connecting with a powerful header.
Leon's heart jumped. It was going in! But at the last mont, Joey launched himself, a desperate, flailing dive, and sohow, miraculously, managed to tip the ball over the bar. It scraped the crossbar, sending a shiver down Leon's spine.
A collective gasp went through the small crowd of parents and academy staff. Even the scouts exchanged quick glances.
"JOEY! WHAT A SAVE!" Byon yelled, running to pat Joey on the back.
Joey, flushed with a mix of fear and relief, managed a shaky smile. "Almost... almost ssed up!"
Leon jogged over, clapping him on the back. "You didn't ss up, Joey. You saved it. That's what counts. Keep trusting yourself." He looked into Joey's eyes, and for a mont, the nervous energy in the boy seed to recede, replaced by a flicker of pride.
The ga resud, the white team, spurred by their near-goal, pressing harder. Alex, their midfielder, started dictating play, his passes sharp. Leon found himself working overti, chasing, intercepting, trying to break up their rhythm.
Then ca the mont. A quick one-two between Alex and Ben, a sudden burst of speed from Ben, and he was through. He blasted a shot from just inside the box. It was a missile.
Leon saw it in slow motion: Joey diving, arms outstretched, but the ball was too fast, too perfectly placed. It slamd into the back of the net.
White Team 1 - Red Team 0.
A groan rippled through the red squad. Leon felt a familiar knot tighten in his stomach—the old fear, the feeling of losing control. But then he rembered his own words: "When you're given a second life… you have to live it without fear."
He jogged to the center circle, clapping his hands. "Heads up, everyone! One goal. We still have plenty of ti. We stick to the plan." He looked at Jas, then Byon. "More movent! Let's get it back!"
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