Inside the Athlion Academy training hall, the air vibrated with energy.
Sneakers squeaked against polished wood. Jerseys rustled as players shifted and stretched. The scent of effort—sweat, rubber, freshly cut grass wafting from the open doors—filled every breath.
Coach Holloway stood at the front, arms crossed, eyes sharp beneath his baseball cap.
"Today's not about surviving," he said. "It's about showing me who wants it more. The scouts are watching. And from this moment, every second counts. No laziness. No excuses."
The players nodded, some with tight jaws, others trying to mask the nerves bubbling behind their eyes.
Leon stood near the back of the group, posture relaxed but his mind miles away.
His voice, his laugh, the feel of the pen as it dragged across the fabric of Leon's bag—all of it still fresh, etched into Leon's thoughts.
Leon clenched his jaw.
But I'm not a kid. I'm an old player in a young body. This is my second chance to chase everything I lost.
Everything Danien lost.
Everything Leon still had time to win.
A tap on his shoulder snapped him back to the present.
Byon grinned, eyebrows raised in faux seriousness.
"Don't space out! We're about to start running!"
Leon blinked, then chuckled. "Right."
He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stepped forward.
"Ready. More than ever."
Leon's legs launched like pistons, carving the turf with every step. He hit the line, pivoted, exploded back.
His feet danced across the cones like they remembered what it meant to trust the rhythm again. His touch was light, smooth, efficient. The coach barked orders, but to Leon it was background noise. His focus was absolute.
Every drill. Every movement.
On the far side of the pitch, just beyond the white paint, stood a figure.
A plain black windbreaker. Aviator sunglasses. One hand in his pocket. The other holding a notepad.
[Scout – Sheffield United | Rating: Classified]
Leon's heart skipped a beat when he saw it.
But he didn't falter.
If anything, he ran harder. Played sharper.
The scouts are starting to come… Every move I make here could change my future.
I have to be the best.
Possession drills next.
The players split into small-sided groups. Tight spaces, one-touch passing, constant movement.
Leon's first touch was sharp. His second, cleaner. He absorbed pressure, spun past defenders, and passed with intent—always thinking two moves ahead.
Coach Holloway's eyes followed him now. Not with suspicion. With curiosity.
Byon, in the same group, puffed hard as he kept pace.
"Oi, Leon—since when did you become, like… a football monk?"
Leon didn't answer. Not because he was ignoring him, but because words would've broken the trance.
Just movement, instinct, repetition, improvement.
When the group switched out, Leon stepped aside and caught his breath.
Looking out at the scout on the sideline.
Their eyes didn't meet—he couldn't tell if the man was even looking directly at him.
But it didn't matter.
I'll make sure you see me.