Friday, September 11, 2026
Blackwood City
Evaluation Day 4 of 90
At 6:07 a.m., Luca Veyron woke before his alarm.
For several seconds, he stayed still.
The ceiling above him was gray in the early morning light.
His room was quiet.
His left palm still carried yesterday’s bandage.
The scrape wasn’t serious, but the skin beneath the gauze pulled whenever he curled his fingers.
His ankle was worse.
Not injured.
Just stiff.
Sofia Arden’s warning from yesterday remained in his head.
Recovery is part of development.
Luca turned onto his side and checked the time.
6:08.
He had spent the first few minutes of every morning this week thinking about the same thing.
The deadline.
The evaluation.
Right wing.
And whether Blackwood Football Academy would still have a place for him when the ninety days ended.
He sat up.
His feet touched the floor.
A slight stiffness moved through his left ankle.
He waited.
Then stood.
The discomfort eased after a few steps.
Good.
Not perfect.
Good enough to train.
He caught himself thinking about the words before he could stop them.
Good enough.
Luca frowned.
That was exactly the kind of thinking that had brought him here.
For years, he’d accepted being good enough at positions other people chose for him.
Good enough as a striker.
Good enough as a midfielder.
Good enough to remain in the academy.
Never good enough to become essential.
He dressed quietly and left his room.
Breakfast at Blackwood was already underway when Luca entered the dining hall.
The room was full of movement.
Players carried trays between tables.
Coaches stood near the entrance drinking coffee.
Someone at the far end was arguing about a professional match from the previous night.
Elias Morrow spotted Luca immediately.
“You look less dead.”
Luca sat across from him.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Marcus Renner dropped into the empty seat beside Elias with a plate piled far higher than necessary.
“You two are terrible at compliments.”
Elias pointed at Luca’s hand.
“How’s the injury?”
“Scrape.”
“Tragic.”
“Very.”
Marcus looked at Luca’s ankle.
“And that?”
“Fine.”
Marcus nodded.
“That’s what people say before Sofia makes them do twenty minutes of mobility.”
Luca reached for his breakfast.
“I’ll survive.”
“You said that yesterday too.”
“And I did.”
Elias grinned.
“Technically.”
Luca ignored him.
He ate.
The food was ordinary.
Eggs, toast, fruit, porridge.
Nothing about the morning suggested that his career might be decided over the next three months.
That was almost comforting.
Then Marcus glanced toward the training hall entrance.
“Ryan’s already there.”
Luca followed his gaze.
Ryan Mercer stood near the doors with two other academy players.
The nineteen-year-old winger was laughing about something, relaxed and confident.
His place on the right side of the team wasn’t in danger.
Not yet.
Ryan caught Luca looking.
Their eyes met.
Ryan gave him a small nod.
Luca returned it.
No hostility.
No friendship either.
Just acknowledgment.
Both understood the situation.
There was one right-wing position.
And Luca wanted it.
Ryan already had it.
Training began at 8:30 a.m.
The first session was physical.
Sofia took the players through mobility work before the conditioning drills.
When Luca reached the ankle sequence, she noticed the slight hesitation immediately.
“Left side.”
Luca stopped.
Sofia crouched in front of him.
“Still stiff?”
“A little.”
“Pain?”
“No.”
“Different from yesterday?”
“Better.”
She tested the movement herself, guiding his foot through controlled rotations.
“Good.”
Luca waited.
She looked up.
“Don’t make me repeat yesterday’s speech.”
“I remember it.”
“Then prove it by listening.”
He nodded.
Sofia stood.
“You’re eighteen, Luca.
You’re not indestructible.”
“I know.”
“Knowing and behaving like you know are different things.”
She moved to the next player.
Luca watched her go.
He had no argument.
That was becoming increasingly irritating.
The conditioning session continued.
Repeated sprints.
Deceleration.
Change of direction.
Short recovery periods.
Luca performed well.
His acceleration was one of his better physical qualities, especially over the first few meters.
But repeated efforts exposed the difference between being fast and knowing how to use speed.
He often accelerated too early.
Sometimes he reached the ball before he had decided what to do with it.
Other times he delayed the burst until the defender had already recovered.
Adrian Vale watched from the sideline.
He said nothing.
Not yet.
The tactical session was more complicated.
Victor Halden stood in front of the group with a clipboard under one arm.
“Today’s focus is transition.”
He pointed toward the training pitch.
“When we win the ball, the first three seconds matter.
When we lose it, the first three seconds matter even more.”
The players split into groups.
Luca looked toward the right side.
Ryan was already moving there.
Luca didn’t say anything.
Neither did Victor.
For the first exercise, Luca was placed centrally.
Again.
He adapted.
He always did.
That was part of the problem.
He could survive almost anywhere.
Survival had made people believe he belonged everywhere.
The exercise began.
Luca received the ball under pressure, turned, and played it forward.
The sequence continued.
A midfielder lost possession.
Luca pressed.
Recovered.
Played wide.
Then moved centrally again.
Functional.
Nothing spectacular.
Victor called for a reset.
“Again.”
They repeated it.
This time Luca received with his back to goal.
A defender pressed from behind.
He tried to turn.
Lost the ball.
The defender carried it away.
“Better decision,” Victor said.
Luca looked over.
Victor wasn’t talking to him.
He was correcting the midfielder who had failed to offer an outlet.
That small distinction stayed with Luca.
He didn’t know whether it was good or bad.
Then the next exercise began.
This time, Adrian moved closer to the right side.
Luca noticed.
So did Ryan.
At 11:42 a.m., training ended.
Luca was exhausted.
Not destroyed.
There was a difference now.
He walked toward the changing room with sweat running down his back.
Ryan passed him.
“You’re getting more comfortable.”
Luca glanced at him.
“Where?”
“Right.”
Luca said nothing.
Ryan shrugged.
“Just saying.”
Then he continued walking.
Elias caught up.
“That was almost friendly.”
“Almost.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Luca smiled faintly.
Inside the changing room, players talked over one another.
Someone complained about the conditioning.
Someone else argued about whether a challenge had been a foul.
Luca sat down and untied his boots.
His ankle felt stiff again.
Not badly.
Enough for him to notice.
He remembered Sofia.
He didn’t immediately get back onto the pitch.
That was progress.
Instead, he showered, changed, ate the recovery meal provided by the academy, and sat quietly for several minutes.
His phone vibrated.
Aurora.
Luca looked at the message.
«Finished?»
He typed.
«Yeah.»
Three dots appeared.
«Good.
Don’t disappear.»
Luca smiled.
«I won’t.»
A second message arrived.
«I’m coming by.»
He stared at it.
«Why?»
The reply came quickly.
«Because I want to see you.»
He put the phone down.
Elias noticed.
“Who?”
“Aurora.”
Elias’s eyebrows lifted.
“Oh.”
Luca looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You made a face.”
“I made no face.”
“You definitely made a face.”
Marcus leaned over from the next bench.
“Was that Aurora?”
“Yes.”
Marcus smiled.
“Tell her I said hello.”
Luca shook his head.
“I’m not delivering messages for you.”
“Fair.”
Aurora Veyron arrived at Blackwood Football Academy shortly after 1:15 p.m.
She didn’t arrive dramatically.
No expensive car surrounded by attention.
No entourage.
No attempt to make herself important.
She stepped through the academy’s reception entrance carrying a slim tablet under one arm and a notebook in the other hand.
Her long chestnut-brown hair was tied loosely behind her shoulders.
Her hazel eyes carried the golden undertones that became more noticeable beneath the afternoon light.
She wore a fitted cream blouse beneath a dark practical jacket, tailored trousers, and simple shoes suitable for walking.
Professional.
Elegant.
Comfortable.
She looked like someone who had somewhere else to be afterward.
Because she did.
AURELIA had a supplier call scheduled later that afternoon.
Luca had always liked that about her.
Aurora’s life didn’t stop when his football became difficult.
She had her own work.
Her own deadlines.
Her own problems.
She simply made room for him.
The receptionist recognized her.
“You’re here for Luca?”
“Yes.”
“He’s finishing lunch.”
Aurora smiled.
“Thank you.”
She sat in the waiting area.
For several minutes, she worked on her tablet.
She reviewed supplier numbers.
Changed two figures.
Made a note.
Answered a message.
Then looked toward the corridor.
Luca appeared.
His hair was still damp from the shower.
He wore academy training clothes and carried his boots in one hand.
There was a small bandage on his palm.
Aurora’s expression changed immediately.
“Luca.”
He stopped.
“What?”
She pointed at his hand.
“What happened?”
“It’s nothing.”
She stood.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I slipped yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“After training.”
She looked at him.
“You stayed behind again.”
Luca didn’t answer.
Aurora exhaled through her nose.
“Of course you did.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“That’s not the point.”
She took his hand carefully.
The bandage was clean.
No bleeding.
No swelling.
Still, her eyes narrowed.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Your ankle?”
Luca hesitated.
Aurora caught it.
“Your ankle hurts.”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“Stiff?”
He sighed.
“A little.”
She released his hand.
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You’re negotiating with the truth.”
Luca almost laughed.
“That’s different.”
“No, it isn’t.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Aurora looked at his face.
The humor disappeared.
“How was training?”
Luca’s shoulders lowered.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I did well physically.
Not great.
The tactical session was fine.
Victor still uses me centrally.”
“And?”
“And I adapted.”
Aurora nodded slowly.
“Do you want to adapt?”
Luca looked at her.
“No.”
The answer came faster than he expected.
Aurora smiled.
“Then that’s important.”
They left the academy together.
Aurora had brought a small bag with food because she already knew Luca’s habit of forgetting to eat when he was frustrated.
They walked along the pavement outside the academy.
Blackwood City moved around them.
Buses passed.
Students crossed the road.
A delivery driver argued with a shopkeeper about parking.
Two children kicked a worn football between themselves beside a convenience store.
Luca watched them for a second.
One child tried a step-over.
Failed.
Lost the ball.
His friend laughed.
The child chased it immediately.
Aurora noticed Luca looking.
“You miss that?”
“What?”
“Playing without thinking about contracts.”
Luca smiled slightly.
“Sometimes.”
They kept walking.
Aurora opened the food container.
“Eat.”
“I already ate.”
“Not enough.”
“You weren’t there.”
“I know you.”
He took the sandwich.
She had packed chicken, vegetables, and fruit.
Nothing complicated.
He ate while walking.
Aurora checked her tablet.
“I have a supplier call at three.”
“You came here before that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“I told you.”
“Because you wanted to see me?”
“Yes.”
Luca looked away.
Aurora smiled.
“You still get embarrassed when I say things directly.”
“No.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You absolutely do.”
He took another bite.
She laughed.
For several minutes, they simply walked.
There was no discussion about the System.
No dramatic declaration.
No promise that everything would work out.
Aurora knew better than to give him promises she couldn’t keep.
Instead, she asked,
“What’s the worst thing Victor said today?”
Luca thought about it.
“He didn’t say much to me.”
“Then what’s bothering you?”
Luca was quiet.
They reached a small public park near the academy.
He stopped beside a bench.
“The way he looks at me.”
Aurora didn’t interrupt.
Luca stared toward the children playing football.
“He doesn’t think I’m bad.”
“Okay.”
“He just doesn’t think I’m important.”
Aurora’s expression softened.
“That’s different.”
“Not when you’re fighting for a contract.”
“Yes, it is.”
Luca looked at her.
She continued.
“Being overlooked by one person isn’t the same thing as having no value.”
He didn’t respond.
Aurora sat down.
Luca remained standing for a moment before sitting beside her.
She placed her tablet beside her.
“You’re letting Victor’s opinion become a measurement of who you are.”
“He decides whether I stay.”
“At Blackwood.”
“That’s where my career is.”
“No.”
Luca frowned.
Aurora turned toward him.
“Blackwood can decide whether Blackwood wants you.”
She paused.
“That is not the same thing as deciding what you’re worth.”
Luca looked down at his bandaged hand.
The words landed harder than he expected.
Aurora continued.
“You’re allowed to care about his opinion.
He’s your coach.
You’re allowed to want him to believe in you.
You’re allowed to be angry when he doesn’t.”
She leaned back against the bench.
“But don’t make the mistake of handing him something he never asked for.”
“What?”
“Your entire sense of value.”
Luca was silent.
The sounds of the park filled the gap.
A bicycle bell.
A passing bus.
Children shouting over a football.
Someone laughing nearby.
Aurora looked at him again.
“You don’t become worthless because Victor doesn’t see you.”
Luca swallowed.
“And if I get released?”
“Then it will hurt.”
He looked at her.
She didn’t soften the answer.
“You’ll be disappointed.
Maybe angry.
Maybe scared.”
She folded her hands together.
“But you’ll still be Luca.”
He looked away.
“You make it sound simple.”
“No.”
Aurora shook her head.
“I make it sound survivable.”
That stopped him.
She continued quietly.
“You’ve spent so much time thinking that if you don’t become a professional, everything you’ve done means nothing.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
She knew.
Of course she knew.
She had watched him struggle for years.
She had seen the nights when he stayed awake after bad matches.
The mornings when criticism followed him to breakfast.
The way he sometimes stared at his boots as if they had personally betrayed him.
Aurora had never told him to stop caring.
She knew football mattered too much for that.
Instead, she had learned to remind him that there was a person underneath the player.
“I want you to become a professional,” she said.
“I know.”
“I want you to make it.”
“I know.”
“I want to see you walk onto a professional pitch and know you earned your place.”
Luca smiled faintly.
“I know.”
“But I don’t want you destroying yourself trying to convince one coach that you’re worth something.”
His smile disappeared.
Aurora reached over and lightly tapped his bandaged palm.
“You’re already worth something.”
Luca looked at her.
She held his gaze.
“Football is supposed to become part of your life, Luca.”
She smiled.
“Not the entire thing.”
At 2:04 p.m., Luca’s phone vibrated.
He glanced down.
A System notification appeared.
[PLAYER DEVELOPMENT SYSTEM]
Evaluation Day: 4/90
Current Development Trend: Early-stage adjustment.
Physical Status: Recovering.
Primary Position Compatibility: Right Wing.
Development Priority: Positional consistency.
Observation:
Psychological dependence on external evaluation may interfere with decision-making under pressure.
Luca stared at the message.
Aurora noticed.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“That looked like something.”
Luca locked the phone.
“I’ll tell you eventually.”
She studied him for a moment.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
No pressure.
No interrogation.
Just acceptance.
The System’s message remained in his mind.
External evaluation.
He looked toward the football field beyond the park.
Maybe Aurora had touched the same problem without ever seeing the screen.
He had been trying to prove that he deserved to exist as a footballer.
Perhaps that was the wrong starting point.
He didn’t need to prove that he had value.
He needed to develop.
That distinction mattered.
They returned toward the academy.
At the entrance, Aurora stopped.
“I have to go.”
“Supplier call?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll be late.”
“I know.”
“You came all the way here just to tell me that?”
She smiled.
“I came here because I wanted to see you.”
Then she pointed at him.
“And because you need someone to stop you from doing something stupid.”
Luca smiled.
“That sounds romantic.”
“It is.”
She stepped closer and straightened the collar of his jacket.
“Rest today.”
“I will.”
“Properly.”
“I will.”
“Not secretly training.”
“I won’t.”
Aurora narrowed her eyes.
“Luca.”
“I won’t.”
She smiled.
“Good.”
She kissed his cheek.
Brief.
Natural.
Then she stepped away.
Luca watched her walk toward the street.
She turned once.
“Call me tonight.”
“I will.”
“And eat dinner.”
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
Aurora smiled and continued walking.
Luca stood there until she disappeared into the afternoon crowd.
For the first time that day, the pressure in his chest had eased.
Not because his situation had changed.
It hadn’t.
Victor still had doubts.
Ryan still occupied the right wing.
His development was still behind schedule.
His original agreement still expired on September 30.
The evaluation still ended on December 6.
Nothing had been solved.
But something inside Luca had shifted.
His career mattered.
His future mattered.
His dream mattered.
But none of those things had the authority to decide whether he deserved to respect himself.
At 4:36 p.m., Luca returned to his room.
He changed into comfortable clothes and placed his boots beside his bed.
For a moment, he considered going back outside.
He could work on his first touch.
Ten minutes.
Maybe twenty.
He looked at his bandaged hand.
Then at his ankle.
He remembered Sofia’s warning.
He sat down instead.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Aurora.
«Resting?»
Luca typed.
«Yes.»
A reply came almost immediately.
«Good.»
Then another.
«I’m proud of you.»
Luca stared at the words.
He didn’t need to have scored.
He didn’t need to have beaten Ryan.
He didn’t need Victor’s approval.
She was proud of him for continuing.
Not because he had already succeeded.
Because he was still trying to become better without destroying himself in the process.
He placed the phone beside him.
For once, Luca didn’t feel the need to fill the evening with football.
He opened his notebook.
At the top of the page, he wrote:
RIGHT WING
Underneath it, he added:
First touch.
Acceleration.
1v1.
Crossing.
Final-third decisions.
Recovery.
He stared at the list.
Then added one more line.
Trust the process.
At 10:17 p.m., Luca turned off the light.
The room became dark.
His phone rested on the bedside table.
His ankle was still slightly stiff.
His palm still carried yesterday’s scrape.
His career was still uncertain.
Tomorrow, Victor might put him in midfield again.
Ryan might start on the right.
Luca might have a poor session.
He might have a good one.
None of it would be decided tonight.
That realization brought him a strange kind of peace.
He closed his eyes.
The System remained silent.
For once, Luca was grateful.
There was nothing to analyze.
Nothing to optimize.
Nothing to prove.
Just another morning waiting for him.
And when it came, he would train.
Not because a coach had declared him valuable.
Not because a System had identified his position.
Not even because he was afraid of being released.
He would train because he wanted to find out how good he could become.
That was enough.
For tonight.
Evaluation Day 4 of 90.
86 days remained.