Date: Monday, September 7, 2026
Time: 6:20 AM
Location: Blackwood Football Academy, Blackwood City
The alarm on Luca Veyron’s phone rang at 6:20 in the morning.
He turned it off before the second vibration.
For several seconds, he remained still.
The room was dark except for the thin gray light coming through the curtains.
Outside, rain tapped quietly against the window, leaving blurred trails across the glass.
Luca stared at the ceiling.
Then he exhaled and sat up.
His body protested immediately.
His calves were tight from yesterday’s conditioning session.
His right hip felt stiff, and there was a dull ache around his left ankle that had been bothering him for nearly a week.
Nothing serious.
At least, that was what he kept telling himself.
He placed both feet on the floor.
Cold.
He stood.
Another morning.
Another training session.
Another opportunity.
Or another step toward the end.
Luca glanced at the calendar taped beside his desk.
A red circle surrounded one date.
September 30.
His development contract expired at the end of the month.
Twenty-three days.
That was all he had left.
Luca looked away.
He didn’t need the reminder.
He had been counting the days for months.
The Blackwood Football Academy occupied nearly forty hectares on the eastern edge of Blackwood City.
Eight training pitches.
Two indoor facilities.
A gym.
Medical and rehabilitation rooms.
A tactical analysis building.
A residential complex.
A dining hall.
A stadium used by the academy’s older youth teams and the club’s reserve side.
Thousands of young players had passed through Blackwood’s gates over the years.
Only a fraction had become professionals.
The academy’s reputation was simple.
Where boys become professionals—or disappear.
Luca had known that reputation since he was fourteen.
He had dreamed of being one of the boys who stayed.
Now, at eighteen, he was beginning to understand what the second half meant.
At 6:47 AM, Luca stepped into the dining hall.
The smell of eggs, toast, porridge, fruit, and coffee filled the room.
Players were already scattered across the tables.
Some were laughing.
Others were watching videos on their phones.
A few sat quietly, preparing themselves for training.
Luca picked up a tray.
Eggs.
Toast.
Fruit.
Water.
Nothing complicated.
He had learned long ago that eating well was easier than explaining why he hadn’t.
“Morning.”
Luca looked up.
Elias Morrow dropped into the chair opposite him.
The eighteen-year-old left-back had a permanent ability to look as though he had just woken up five minutes earlier, regardless of the time.
His dark hair was still damp.
“You look dead,” Elias said.
Luca took a bite of toast.
“Good morning to you too.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Elias stared at him.
“You’re becoming funnier.”
“I’ve been funny for years.”
“No.
You’ve been quiet for years.
Different thing.”
Luca almost smiled.
Almost.
Elias noticed.
“There.”
“What?”
“That.”
“What?”
“The almost-smile.”
Luca shook his head.
Elias leaned back.
“Training hasn’t even started.”
“I know.”
“And you’re already thinking about football.”
“I’m always thinking about football.”
“That’s your problem.”
Luca stopped eating.
Elias’s expression softened.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Elias glanced toward the large windows overlooking the training grounds.
Rain continued falling.
“Twenty-three days,” he said quietly.
Luca’s hand stopped.
“You counted?”
“I have eyes.”
Luca looked down at his plate.
Elias leaned forward.
“You still have time.”
“Twenty-three days isn’t much.”
“It’s more than zero.”
“That’s not exactly encouraging.”
“It’s supposed to be.”
Luca finally looked at him.
Elias shrugged.
“You only need one person to believe in you.”
Luca gave a quiet laugh.
“That’s not how football works.”
“No.
It’s how friendships work.”
That time, Luca actually smiled.
It disappeared quickly.
But Elias saw it.
7:32 AM
The academy’s senior youth squad assembled on Training Pitch Three.
The rain had stopped.
The grass remained wet.
Players moved through warm-ups while coaches watched from the edge of the field.
Luca jogged through the activation drills.
High knees.
Lateral movement.
Hip rotations.
Short accelerations.
His body gradually warmed.
Across the pitch, Ryan Mercer was already performing explosive sprint drills.
Ryan was nineteen and played right wing.
He was one of Blackwood’s most highly rated attacking prospects.
Fast.
Confident.
Technically gifted.
Popular with the academy’s younger players.
He was also aware of his own reputation.
Ryan finished his sprint and turned toward the group.
“Race you.”
Elias looked at Luca.
“No.”
Ryan laughed.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
Luca glanced at him.
“Why?”
“Because you’re slow.”
A few players nearby laughed.
Luca said nothing.
Ryan grinned.
“Come on.
Right wing against right wing.”
That phrase caught Luca’s attention.
Right wing against right wing.
He stepped forward.
“Fine.”
They lined up.
Ten meters.
Then twenty.
Adrian Vale watched from several meters away.
The former professional midfielder had been an academy coach for years.
He rarely spoke during warm-ups.
He preferred watching.
The players settled.
A whistle sounded.
They ran.
Ryan exploded forward.
Luca’s first three steps were nearly as quick.
By five meters, Ryan had a slight advantage.
By ten, it was clear.
Ryan crossed the line first.
The difference was less than half a body length.
Luca slowed.
Ryan turned around.
“See?”
Luca bent forward with his hands on his knees.
“See what?”
“You’re not as fast as you think.”
Luca straightened.
“I didn’t say I was.”
Ryan smiled.
“Exactly.”
He jogged away.
Luca watched him leave.
There was no hatred in his expression.
Only frustration.
Because Ryan had been right about one thing.
Luca was not the fastest player in the academy.
And speed was supposed to be one of his strengths.
“Veyron.”
Luca turned.
Adrian stood near the cones.
“Come here.”
Luca approached.
Adrian looked at his boots.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Luca hesitated.
“My ankle is a little stiff.”
“Which one?”
“Left.”
Adrian nodded.
“Tell Sofia before training.”
“I will.”
“Don’t hide injuries because of the contract.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“I’m not.”
Adrian studied him.
“Good.”
The coach stepped aside.
“You’re starting today.”
Luca looked at him.
“At right wing?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“Central midfield.”
Luca’s expression fell.
Adrian noticed.
“You have a problem with that?”
“No.”
“Then don’t look disappointed.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Luca said nothing.
Adrian pointed toward the center circle.
“You’re playing as the advanced midfielder during the first tactical block.
I want you arriving late around the box.”
Luca nodded.
“Understood.”
Adrian walked away.
Luca remained still for another second.
Then he moved.
8:05 AM
Training intensified.
Blackwood’s senior academy squad was preparing for an upcoming league fixture.
The coaches demanded quick circulation.
Three-touch maximum.
Constant movement.
Immediate pressing after losing possession.
Luca positioned himself between the midfield and defensive lines.
The ball reached him.
First touch.
Turn.
Pass.
Move.
Again.
The pattern repeated.
He was technically clean.
His first touch was good.
His passing was accurate.
He could see spaces before several players around him.
But something felt wrong.
He received the ball with his back to goal.
A defender pressed him.
Luca tried to turn.
The defender closed the angle.
Luca passed backward.
“Again!” shouted Victor Halden.
The head coach stood on the sideline with his arms crossed.
Luca received the next pass.
This time he turned earlier.
A midfielder stepped across.
Luca attempted to carry the ball forward.
Contact.
His shoulder struck the opponent’s chest.
The ball escaped.
The midfielder recovered it.
“Lost it!”
Victor’s voice carried across the pitch.
Luca turned.
“I had no space.”
“You created the problem.”
Luca clenched his jaw.
“Play faster!”
Luca nodded.
The drill restarted.
Ten minutes later, Luca found himself outside the penalty area.
The ball came from Noah Kessler.
The seventeen-year-old central midfielder had an unusual ability to see passing lanes before they opened.
Noah pointed.
“Right.”
Luca looked.
There was space behind the fullback.
But he was playing centrally.
His instinct told him to move toward it.
His training told him to stay inside.
He stayed.
The opportunity disappeared.
Noah noticed.
Their eyes met.
Neither said anything.
The ball moved again.
8:41 AM
The final tactical exercise began.
Small-sided game.
Seven against seven.
Limited touches.
High intensity.
Luca’s team had possession.
Noah received the ball.
He looked at Luca.
Then at the space on the right.
Luca was standing centrally.
Noah raised his hand.
“Move.”
Luca hesitated.
“Where?”
“Wide.”
Luca moved right.
The ball came.
His first touch was clean.
A defender approached.
Luca shifted his weight.
One step.
Two.
Then he accelerated.
The defender reacted late.
For three meters, Luca was gone.
The movement felt natural.
His body leaned forward.
His stride opened.
He carried the ball toward the right side.
Another defender moved across.
Luca slowed.
The defender expected him to pass.
Instead, Luca pushed the ball ahead.
He reached the edge of the box.
For the first time that morning, he felt comfortable.
Not because the defender was weak.
Not because the space was enormous.
Because he knew what to do.
Right side.
One defender.
Ball at his left foot.
Goal ahead.
Luca cut inside.
He struck the ball.
It curled toward the far corner.
The goalkeeper got fingertips to it.
The ball hit the post.
CLANG.
It bounced away.
For half a second, nobody moved.
Then Ryan cleared it.
“Unlucky.”
Luca stared at the goal.
He hadn’t scored.
But something about the sequence felt different.
Adrian Vale was watching.
So was Noah.
So was Victor.
Luca didn’t notice any of them.
He was staring at the space he had just attacked.
It had felt right.
Very right.
Then Victor’s whistle sounded.
“Reset!”
Luca jogged back.
The moment disappeared.
9:26 AM
Training ended.
Players walked toward the building.
Some headed straight for the showers.
Others gathered around the vending machines.
Luca stayed behind.
He collected three balls and placed them into the equipment cart.
Adrian was standing near the pitch.
“You did that well.”
Luca looked up.
“The shot?”
“The movement before it.”
Luca nodded.
“Thanks.”
Adrian looked at him for a moment.
“You’ve been doing that more often lately.”
“Doing what?”
“Attacking from the right.”
Luca shrugged.
“I just went where the space was.”
Adrian’s expression remained thoughtful.
“Exactly.”
Before Luca could respond, Victor called from behind them.
“Vale.”
Adrian turned.
Victor approached.
“We need the assessment reports before noon.”
“I’ll send them.”
Victor looked at Luca.
“Veyron.”
“Coach.”
“Office.
Eleven.”
Luca nodded.
Victor continued walking.
Adrian watched him go.
Luca’s stomach tightened.
“What is that about?”
Adrian didn’t answer immediately.
“Probably your development review.”
Luca looked toward the academy building.
“Already?”
“They’ve been preparing them for weeks.”
Luca swallowed.
“Right.”
Adrian looked at him.
“Don’t assume the worst.”
Luca gave him a tired smile.
“You just told me not to hide injuries.”
“And?”
“And now you’re telling me not to assume the worst.”
“Correct.”
“That’s difficult.”
Adrian smiled faintly.
“Football usually is.”
10:57 AM
The corridor outside the academy offices was quiet.
Luca sat on a bench.
His left ankle had stiffened during the walk back.
He rolled it gently.
Pain.
Mild.
Manageable.
He stopped.
The office door opened.
“Veyron.”
Luca stood.
Victor Halden stepped aside.
“Come in.”
The office contained several framed photographs.
Blackwood academy graduates.
Players who had gone on to professional careers.
Players wearing national-team shirts.
Players lifting trophies.
Luca had studied those photographs countless times.
Today, they felt different.
Victor sat behind his desk.
Luca remained standing.
“Sit.”
Luca sat.
Victor opened a folder.
For several seconds, he read.
Then he looked up.
“You’ve been with Blackwood for four years.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve worked hard.”
“Yes.”
“Your attitude has never been a problem.”
Luca waited.
Victor continued.
“Your technical level is respectable.”
Luca’s fingers tightened.
“Your passing is good.
Your first touch is good.
Your work rate is good.”
The word good began to feel heavier with every repetition.
Victor turned another page.
“But you’re not outstanding in the areas required for the position you’ve been playing.”
Luca knew where this was going.
“Striker.”
“Yes.”
Victor leaned back.
“You’ve played striker for almost two seasons.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t score enough.”
Luca looked down.
“You don’t dominate physically.”
His jaw tightened.
“You don’t consistently create separation against center-backs.”
Luca remained silent.
“And when we use you in midfield, you understand the game reasonably well, but you don’t control matches.”
The room became very quiet.
Victor closed the folder.
“You’re eighteen, Luca.”
“I know.”
“Your development contract expires September thirtieth.”
“I know.”
“We have younger players coming through.”
Luca’s chest tightened.
Victor’s tone remained professional.
“This isn’t personal.”
“I understand.”
“We need to decide who has a realistic pathway to professional football.”
Luca looked at him.
“And me?”
Victor didn’t answer immediately.
That silence was worse than an insult.
Finally, he said:
“At the moment, you’re difficult to justify.”
Luca’s face remained still.
Inside, something dropped.
Victor continued.
“You’re not bad enough to release immediately.”
That was somehow worse.
“But you’re not showing enough to guarantee another contract.”
Luca nodded slowly.
“So I need to improve.”
“You need to demonstrate professional potential.”
“How?”
Victor’s expression hardened slightly.
“That’s your responsibility.”
Luca stood.
“Can I have until the end of the month?”
“You already have until the end of the month.”
“I mean a real opportunity.”
Victor looked at him.
“You’ve had opportunities.”
“Not consistently.”
“Every player says that.”
Luca’s voice remained controlled.
“I’m not asking you to make me a starter.”
Victor said nothing.
“I’m asking you to let me show you what I can do.”
Victor closed the folder.
“Then show me.”
Luca nodded.
He turned toward the door.
“Veyron.”
Luca stopped.
Victor’s voice softened slightly.
“I don’t dislike you.”
Luca looked back.
“I know.”
“That’s not the issue.”
Luca waited.
“The issue is that football doesn’t reward effort by itself.”
The words followed him out of the office.
11:18 AM
Luca stepped into the corridor.
He stopped beside a window.
Outside, younger academy players were walking toward the training pitches.
Seventeen.
Sixteen.
Fifteen.
They looked excited.
Hungry.
Unburdened.
One day, they would stand where he was standing.
Some would survive.
Others wouldn’t.
Luca looked down at his hands.
They were trembling.
He closed them into fists.
Then released them.
He hated that his body had betrayed him.
He hated that he wanted to cry.
More than anything, he hated the thought of returning to the orphanage and telling Mara that he had failed.
Not because she would be angry.
She wouldn’t.
That was exactly why it hurt.
12:06 PM
Luca sat alone outside the academy cafeteria.
His phone vibrated.
AURORA.
He answered.
“Hey.”
“You’re quiet.”
Luca looked toward the training grounds.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
He could hear traffic in the background.
Aurora Veyron was probably between meetings.
She had started AURELIA while most people her age were still trying to figure out what they wanted to do.
Luca admired that about her.
She didn’t wait for permission.
“Bad training?” she asked.
“No.”
“Bad meeting?”
Luca said nothing.
Aurora immediately understood.
“They talked about your contract.”
“Yeah.”
“How bad?”
Luca leaned back.
“They don’t think I’m ready.”
“That’s different from saying you’re finished.”
“They don’t think I’m worth keeping.”
“Did they say that?”
“No.”
“Then don’t put words in their mouths.”
Luca smiled despite himself.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make things sound simple.”
“They aren’t simple.”
“Exactly.”
There was a pause.
Then Aurora said:
“Do you still want it?”
Luca looked at the academy.
Every pitch.
Every corridor.
Every morning.
Every injury.
Every missed opportunity.
Every time someone had told him to change positions.
Every time he had wondered whether something was wrong with him.
“Yes.”
“Then you’re not finished.”
Luca closed his eyes.
Aurora continued.
“You don’t need to become someone else before September thirtieth.”
He opened his eyes.
“You just need to show them who you are.”
Luca said nothing.
“I’ll see you tonight.”
“Okay.”
“And Luca?”
“Yeah?”
“Eat.”
He laughed quietly.
“I am eating.”
“Good.”
The call ended.
For the first time since leaving Victor’s office, Luca’s shoulders relaxed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
1:42 PM
The afternoon gym session was optional.
Luca attended anyway.
Sofia Arden, Blackwood’s academy physio, watched him enter.
“You’ve already trained.”
“I know.”
“Your ankle?”
“Fine.”
She stared at him.
Luca sighed.
“Stiff.”
“How stiff?”
“Three out of ten.”
“Pain or stiffness?”
“Stiffness.”
Sofia pointed toward the examination table.
“Sit.”
Luca obeyed.
She examined the ankle.
Nothing serious.
No swelling.
No instability.
But she noticed the tension around his calf and hip.
“You’ve been compensating.”
“For what?”
“Your movement.”
Luca frowned.
Sofia pressed lightly against his calf.
“You’re loading the left side differently.”
“Because of the ankle?”
“Partly.”
She looked at him.
“Also because your movement pattern changes depending on where you play.”
Luca stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“When you’re central, you turn differently.”
“Because I’m a midfielder.”
“Maybe.”
She stood.
“But when you’re wide, your body naturally opens toward the inside.”
Luca remembered the shot against the post.
Sofia continued.
“Your first step is cleaner.
Your hips rotate better.
Your balance improves.”
Luca looked at her.
“You’re saying I’m better on the wing?”
“I’m saying your movement looks more natural there.”
It wasn’t a dramatic revelation.
Sofia wasn’t claiming she had discovered a superstar.
She was describing what she had observed.
That made it harder to dismiss.
Luca nodded.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me.”
“For what?”
“Pay attention.”
3:17 PM
Luca returned to the pitch.
He placed a ball near the right touchline.
No coaches.
No teammates.
Just him.
He started slowly.
Control.
Push.
Accelerate.
Stop.
Turn.
Repeat.
Then again.
Right foot.
Left foot.
Inside.
Outside.
Acceleration.
Deceleration.
He crossed the ball.
Collected another.
Cut inside.
Shot.
Missed.
Again.
Missed.
Again.
Saved.
Again.
Wide.
Again.
Goal.
Luca retrieved the ball.
His breathing became heavier.
His left ankle complained.
He ignored it.
Another repetition.
Another.
Another.
The rain began again.
He continued.
At 4:03 PM, the pitch was nearly empty.
At 4:21 PM, the lights came on.
At 4:38 PM, Luca finally stopped.
He stood near the right corner of the penalty area.
His chest rose and fell.
Water dripped from his hair.
His shirt clung to his back.
He looked toward the goal.
Twenty-three days.
He could not change four years.
He could not erase the mistakes.
He could not suddenly become the striker Blackwood wanted.
He could not become a midfielder just because a coach thought his passing was useful.
But perhaps he could still change something.
Luca picked up the ball.
Then he noticed the time.
4:41 PM.
He had promised Aurora he wouldn’t overtrain.
He looked toward the academy building.
Then at his ankle.
He finally walked away.
That decision mattered.
For once, he stopped because his body needed rest—not because somebody had ordered him to.
6:12 PM
Luca left the academy.
Elias had already gone.
Ryan was still inside.
Noah was sitting in the analysis room.
Luca walked past him.
Noah looked up.
“Veyron.”
Luca stopped.
“Yeah?”
“You should play right.”
Luca stared at him.
“What?”
“Right wing.”
Noah returned his attention to the screen.
“You move differently there.”
Luca looked at the tactical footage on Noah’s monitor.
“What makes you say that?”
Noah paused the video.
It showed the earlier small-sided game.
Luca receiving the ball wide.
His acceleration.
The cut inside.
The shot against the post.
Noah pointed at the screen.
“Here.”
Luca stepped closer.
“You see the space?”
“Yes.”
“You moved before the space completely opened.”
Luca frowned.
Noah continued.
“You didn’t calculate it consciously.”
“How do you know?”
“Because when you’re playing centrally, you hesitate.”
Luca remained silent.
Noah looked at him.
“You weren’t bad.”
Luca waited.
“You were being asked the wrong questions.”
The sentence stayed with him long after he left the room.
7:04 PM
Luca reached the small apartment he shared with Aurora.
He showered.
Changed.
Then sat on the edge of the bed.
His ankle was still stiff.
He placed an ice pack over it.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Mara.
How was training?
Luca stared at the message.
He typed.
Good.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Hard.
Deleted that too.
Finally:
I’m still fighting.
He sent it.
The reply came less than a minute later.
I know.
You always have.
Luca stared at the screen.
He remembered being eight years old.
A football.
A cracked wall.
An orphanage courtyard.
He had kicked the ball against the same wall until dinner.
Mara had stood in the doorway.
“You’ll break something.”
“I won’t.”
“You already broke the flower pot.”
Luca had looked behind him.
The broken pot had been three meters away.
Mara had laughed.
He remembered that laugh.
He remembered believing football would take him somewhere.
Not because he had known where.
Just somewhere.
Now he knew exactly where he wanted to go.
Professional football.
And twenty-three days remained between him and the possibility of losing it.
10:16 PM
Luca lay in bed.
Aurora was asleep beside him.
Her tablet rested on the nightstand.
AURELIA’s financial reports were still open on the screen.
She had worked late again.
Luca reached over and turned the screen off.
Then he looked at the ceiling.
His mind replayed the day.
Victor.
Difficult to justify.
Adrian.
You’ve been doing that more often lately.
Sofia.
Your movement looks more natural there.
Noah.
You were being asked the wrong questions.
Luca closed his eyes.
Something was wrong.
Not with his effort.
Not entirely with his ability.
Something else.
For years, he had accepted every position they gave him.
Striker.
Midfielder.
Striker again.
Midfielder again.
He had adapted because he thought adapting was what good players did.
Maybe that had been his mistake.
His breathing slowed.
The room became silent.
Then—
A strange sound echoed inside his mind.
Not from the room.
Not from his phone.
Not from the television.
A soft electronic tone.
Beep.
Luca’s eyes opened.
He sat up.
Aurora didn’t move.
Another sound.
Beep.
A faint translucent panel appeared in front of him.
Luca froze.
The room remained unchanged.
But something had appeared in the darkness.
Words formed across the interface.
[PLAYER DEVELOPMENT SYSTEM INITIALIZING.]
Luca stared.
His heart began beating faster.
Another line appeared.
[User detected.]
Then:
[Analyzing physical profile…]
[Analyzing technical profile…]
[Analyzing mental profile…]
[Analyzing positional history…]
Luca’s mouth went dry.
He reached toward the display.
His fingers passed through it.
The interface remained.
A final message appeared.
[Analysis incomplete.]
Luca frowned.
Then another line appeared.
[Primary positional compatibility detected.]
The words remained for several seconds.
Luca waited.
Finally—
[RIGHT WING.]
His eyes widened.
The next line appeared.
[Current training distribution: STRIKER / CENTRAL MIDFIELDER.]
A pause.
Then:
[Warning.]
Luca stopped breathing.
[Current training pattern may be inefficient for natural development.]
The display disappeared.
The room returned to darkness.
Luca remained sitting upright.
He looked at his sleeping girlfriend.
Then at his own hands.
For eighteen years, he had believed he simply wasn’t good enough.
For four years, he had trained wherever the academy needed him.
For twenty-three more days, he had to convince Blackwood that he deserved a future.
But for the first time in his life, Luca wondered if the problem had never been that he lacked talent.
Maybe he had simply been developing the wrong player.
He slowly looked toward the window.
Rain continued falling over Blackwood City.
Tomorrow, training would begin again.
The coaches would still judge him.
Ryan would still be the academy’s favored right winger.
Victor would still expect results.
His contract would still expire on September 30.
Nothing had changed.
Not yet.
But Luca was no longer looking at the remaining twenty-three days as a countdown to failure.
He was looking at them as a test.
And this time, he finally had a question worth answering.
What kind of footballer was Luca Veyron actually supposed to become?
At 10:23 PM, he made his decision.
Tomorrow, he would train differently.
Not harder.
Not blindly.
Differently.