‘He’s good.’
Julian watched with quiet amazement as Oliver saved his seventh shot out of the sixteen he faced, extending a arm to push the ball away.
‘A save percentage of almost fifty, that’s really impressive.’ He nodded.
[You don’t have to worry about conceding with him between the sticks.] Mini-ball said, equally impressed.
‘You got that right.’
“Alright.” Coach Irene clapped.
“With that, the first round is over. Great performance as always Oliver.”
“Thank you, Coach.” The boy nodded, rolling his shoulders.
Coach Irene turned to the six players on the side, the ones who scored.
“I hope you all are ready for the next round.”
“Yes, Coach!” The group confirmed, with Julian simply nodding, hands crossed in front of him with the same calm expression.
“Good.” A sly smirk appeared on her face.
“Let’s up the stakes then.”
“Julian, you’re up first.”
‘What is she up to now?’
Julian stepped forward, and clicked the back of his heel against the inside of his left boot, before switching legs and doing the same.
He nodded to the Coach, telling her to proceed.
She turned her head to Oliver, wordlessly asking his confirmation.
The boy threw a gloved thumbs up.
Coach Irene finally moved, but this time instead of rolling the ball, she threw it into the air, making it spin as it ascended before gravity finally claimed it and brought it down.
Julian took two steps forward, eyes never once left the ball, already knowing where he was going to place it.
His left foot sunk into the grass as he centered it.
He twisted his body, right leg came up fast, and when the ball was at waist length:
–thud–
It connected with the outside of his boot, volleying it towards goal with power.
The ball swerved mid-air, going for the far right side, the same place Julian scored earlier.
The nets rattled, the crowd went silent and Oliver froze, unable to even react to the shot.
It was too fast and too powerful for him to even see.
[Technique +1]
“That was impressive, Julian.” Coach Irene praised as he stepped to the side.
“Thanks, Coach.”
She nodded and turned to rest of the remaining players. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
“Danny, you’re up.” She called out.
The tall striker with the dusty blonde hair stepped forward, taking deep breaths as he waited for the Coach to throw the ball.
Just like before, Irene threw the ball in the air.
Danny struck the ball with the top of his foot before it could fall to the grass.
This time Oliver was equal to it, getting a touch on.
But there was too much power behind the shot, making him unable to push it out as the ball ultimately hit the back of the net.
“Great shot, Danny. Better luck next time, Oliver.”
Coach Irene clearly knew when to be stern and when to motivate her players, making her likeliness increase even more amongst the team.
“Next.”
This time, Nolan–the purple haired boy with the bored expression–stepped forward.
But the usual expression was nowhere to be seen, instead a look of determination was on his face.
His eyes briefly fell on Julian at the side who was staring off in the distance with a completely calm expression, as if he already knew the outcome of the competition.
Nolan had to turn his back to the Coach as his left foot was the dominant one.
The coach threw the ball, making sure to throw it higher and more forward to give Nolan time to run up.
–thud–
The ball soared to the goal before:
-ting-
It struck the top of the woodwork with a ringing sound and got spat back out, bouncing on the grass before coming to a stop.
“Shit.” Nolan cursed under his breath.
“Nice try.”
Coach Irene consoled, but Nolan wasn’t paying attention to her, eyes instantly searching for Julian.
“Heh.”
The small, but mocking laugh from Julian slammed into the boy’s ears, making him clench his fists and teeth with frustration.
[Seems like the boy is competing against you.]
‘Yep.’
[And you just had to fan the flames with your teasing smirk, rubbing salt into his wounds.]
‘You know me.’
[He’s not going to give up.]
‘I know.
The look in his eyes is all too familiar.’
[Hmm?]
‘Mostly likely he heard praises from everyone his whole life.
This one telling him he is a once-in-a-generation genius, another telling him that none his age is better than him, that one kissing his ass.
And before long, he believed it.
That was until his worldview got shattered when he was outshone by the one and only Julian Valecrest, leaving him confused and scrambling for answer, making him question his worth, question his skills, question whether all the honeyed praises he received was true or just something people pulled from where the sun don’t shine.’
Julian paused, watching the boy walk to where the other eliminated players stood, fists still clenched.
‘And to top it all off: the person who dismantled him didn’t even come first.
That shit is enough to make anyone go crazy with frustration.’
[That was… really impressive. How were you able narrow it down from just a few of his facial expressions?]
‘This is what I meant when I said street smarts are sometimes more important than book smarts.’
“Keenan, you’re up.”
One of the defensive midfielders stepped forward.
It was a boy with slightly above average height, and string physique.
–thud–
He struck the ball perfectly, but the placement was off, kicking it straight to the goalkeeper who easily caught it in his arms.
“Austin.”
The left winger with the caramel skin who scored two goals against Julian’s team during the trials stepped up, a confident smile on his face.
He turned his back to Coach Irene as his left foot was also the dominant one.
Coach Irene threw the ball, and the image of Austin scoring that volley in the trials flashed before Julian’s mind’s eye.
‘He’s going to score.’
His words didn’t have a chance to get cold as the ball struck the back of the net, going into the bottom corner while sending the keeper the wrong way.
“Yes!” Austin’s smile grew even wider as he celebrated, pumping his fist into the air.
“Great goal, Austin.” Coach Irene praised, impressed.
“Thank you, Coach.” Austin jogged to the where the ones the scored stood, a happy smile on his face.
His energy was infectious, making a smile spread even on the coach’s face before it disappeared.
“And last, Martin.”
The short attacking midfielder stepped forward, slightly nervous.
But those nerves instantly vanished when the ball was thrown in the air, his eyes locking on to it like a predator that saw its prey.
–thud–
Martin did everything right, striking the ball to the goal with power and precision, sending it to the left side.
But Oliver was just too good, fully stretching to paw the ball away.
–clap, clap–
Coach Irene clapped first, and the players followed soon after, not shy to acknowledge the flawless skills Oliver showed.
“With that,” Coach Irene turned to the remaining players.
“There’s only three of you left.”