Taking a deep breath to compose himself, James asked for clarification, "So you feel it is right to go easy on them? That'll make you the good guy?" gaining a hesitant nod of acknowledgment from Ethan. Adopting a softer tone, he questioned, "I see. Let us forget about football for a second and talk about those games you kids all love to play. Who here has played a game against someone, say, a friend?" dumbfounding everyone.
Noticing the bewildered boys, James chuckled, "What, did you guys think I didn't know about video games? Arcade games have been around since before you were born. I am well aware of the things you spend your training time on" he informed, making some flinch while others averted their gazes. Attempting to get the conversation rolling again, I answered his previous question, "I have, sir"
He briefly glanced at me to acknowledge my response before continuing, "I'm sure all of you have experienced losing multiple times to someone who is too good at a game. What do you then? Do you beg them to go easy on you?" causing Tony and the others from the party to peek at me while the rest vigorously shook their heads in disgust.
Receiving the feedback he had anticipated, he smirked before seeking verification, "It's a disgusting feeling, isn't it? When someone goes easy on you, you feel bad, almost instantly making the game less enjoyable. Most of you would rather lose horribly, right?" gaining spirited nods from everybody.
"It is the same with football. Being a competitive sport, it is normal to have winners and losers. But, going easy on your opponents is the worst disservice you could do to them. The Rangers FC players might have been crying on the pitch, but I can most certainly assure you that they will be back, stronger than today, with the goal of surpassing you. So, should you go easy on your opponents?" James questioned, receiving a unanimous rejection of the idea, especially from Ivan and Ethan, who looked convinced.
Wrapping up his lecture, he added, "Great. Remember, always respect your opponents by giving your best against them. That's how you respect the sport. That's all for today, everyone is free to leave, Nick, meet me in the office after you've finished changing" before leaving.
I was astonished at James' ability to delicately handle such situations. Discovering a middle-aged British gentleman who wouldn't just admonish their pupils when confronted with such questions would be akin to finding a needle in a haystack. Coupled with his phenomenal managerial capabilities, his future position seemed wholly inadequate now.
I was broken out of my contemplations when Rick and Charlie approached me with concerned expressions, Charlie asking, "Hey, are you in trouble?". I shook my head before reassuring them, "No. He had already informed me about it yesterday, so it's not about today's match, don't worry." Shrugging, Rick replied, "If you say so. See you on Tuesday then" before walking away with Charlie.
*************************
I was putting on a regular outfit when I recalled the unfamiliar progress bar that materialized after the match and decided to check on it.
[Compiling information... 28.7%]
'Going by the progress, it should be done by bedtime'
Despite not being comfortable with alien technology anchored to me, I had resolved to tolerate it since it had gifted me an irreplaceable opportunity. I inferred that once it's finished compiling, it would provide me with a better understanding of its purpose, causing me to cautiously anticipate the results.
'Who knows, maybe it's a kind of game system that could make me better than Messi', I fantasized, before chuckling at the overly optimistic hope. I ambled to James' office and knocked, before seeking permission, "Coach, it's Nick. May I come in?"
Gaining his approval, I entered his cabin while observing the moderately sized space. The gray walls were adorned with snapshots of his playing days and teams he had coached, while the trophies he achieved were showcased atop the shelves. Appreciating the well-illuminated office that represented James' achievements, I gained a newfound respect for the man.
Settling across his desk, I sat noiselessly as James scrutinized me with a hidden glint in his eyes. After an entire minute of pressing silence, he eventually broke it, "How have you been finding football? Are you glad you picked it up?"
Picking up on his attempt to break the ice, I replied with an enormous grin, "Yes! I love playing it! Every time I score, I get this electric feeling from deep inside that I can't get enough of. It has also been tremendously helpful in making friends, so I'm very glad I picked it up"
Content with my response, he continued, "I'm glad to hear that. The reason I called you today is to discuss the sudden increase in your skills. Did something happen that enabled you to improve so rapidly?" he interrogated, examining my reaction.
'Yeah, I expected this. To be honest, my play would have looked worlds apart from a few days ago to a trained eye'
Realizing that my conjecture was accurate, I prepared to spew a bullshit story with a speck of truth. In order to unquestionably sell my fabrication, I decided to act the part, opening with an embarrassed smile. Intoning a shy cadence, I spoke while fidgeting with my fingers, "Haha, nothing happened. I just happened to be in good form"
Sensing my "hesitation", he took a step back to assuage me, "It's perfectly alright if you choose to not talk. But, as your Coach, it would aid me in helping you improve further if I can understand the cause of such a drastic change. Rest assured that whatever you say will not leave this room if you so desire"
Enacting the telltale signs of hesitation - wandering eyes, nervous fidgeting of fingers, and constantly altering stance - I adopted a comparatively childish voice, "Uhm, do you promise to not laugh?"
Shifting his body forward, James put on a solemn expression as he vowed, "Whatever you say from now on, I will never make fun of it. You have my word"
////Author's Notes:
We get to the system next week. Yay!
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