The final drills had ended. Everyone had pushed hard—tackles flying in, passes zipping across the floor.
Now, all eyes were on Coach.
He stood at the center circle like a general before battle. His arms were crossed, jaw tight, clipboard at his side. The whistle around his neck swayed slightly, catching the light.
"Listen closely, champs," he said, voice deeper than usual. "The match is tomorrow. Teams will be announced now."
A wave of silence washed over the group. No shuffling, no whispers—just a collective breath held tight.
"I want you to take today seriously—tomorrow will be unforgettable. Remember," he paused, letting the moment stretch, "scouts from Aston Villa, Crystal Palace, and RB Leipzig will be watching."
"My future will be decided tomorrow,"
"Tomorrow, we meet at 5 PM sharp. No excuses, no late arrivals. This is your moment."
Then he looked down at the clipboard. The names.
And the moment became real.
"Red team," Coach began, voice firm. "First name… James Roy."
Leon's eyes snapped toward the tall midfielder. James stood still, then exhaled, nodding calmly as he stepped forward.
The system numbers floated above his head:
James Roy — Ability: 40 | Potential: 88
Leon gave a quiet nod of approval.
"Not bad… honestly, he's great."
"Second…" Coach's eyes flicked up. "Leon Fischer."
Leon felt his pulse rise—not in panic, but purpose. A smile broke across his face as he stood, hands loose at his sides.
He glanced toward Byon. "I hope you're on my team," he said with a small grin.
Byon gave him a mock salute, but didn't say anything. His eyes were scanning the clipboard, too.
Leon walked over to James and stood shoulder to shoulder with him.
"Welcome to our team."
James gripped it firmly. "Let's make this an unforgettable match."
There was no flair to his voice, no arrogance. Just quiet confidence. Leon respected that.