The school gym smelled of sweat, which remained no matter how many times the floors were washed. The 22 selected players sat on the chairs, some leaning forward with elbows on their knees and others sitting back with arms crossed. The energy in the room was tense—not excitement or relief, just anxiety.
They had made the team. That part was done.
The real work has just begun.
Coach Thompson showed up in front of them, a clipboard in one hand and a whistle hanging from his neck. He took his time staring into the gathering, as if he was studying or reading them. When he finally spoke, his tone was solid and blunt, leaving no space for misunderstanding.
As he looked around the room, he stated, "Making the roster doesn't mean you're safe." It indicates that you are being monitored. I believe you have what it takes, which is why you made it here. But if you think that means you can relax, you're already falling behind."
A few players shifted uncomfortably. Some nodded, already locked in. Others glanced around, probably sizing up their new teammates.
Coach continued. "This team is built on work. You'll hate some of the training. You'll think I'm pushing you too hard. You'll wonder why I'm pairing you up with people you don't like. And you know what? I don't care. Because out there, on the field, none of that matters."
A pause. Then, he pointed at the door. "If that's a problem for you, leave now."
No one moved.
Coach nodded. "Good. First practice is tomorrow at 6 AM. Don't be late. If you're late, you run. If you show up unprepared, you run. If you're not giving 100%, you run. Simple."
Marco and Alex exchanged a look. They had expected this. They had played under Thompson before. But some of the others—especially the guys from the second match—seemed a little caught off guard.
David leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. "Brutal."
Miguel smirked. "You're the one who needs it."
David rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue.
The room still felt divided. The Match One players sat mostly on one side, the Match Two players on the other. It wasn't an open rivalry, but the lines were there. The guys from the first match—Marco, Alex, David, Kai, Miguel—had already formed a natural bond. Meanwhile, Carlos, Finn, Zain, and the others from the second match still seemed like a separate group.
Coach Thompson noticed it too.
He sighed and slipped the notebook under his arm. "One last thing."
The players looked up.
"I'm not interested in the game you participated in. Whether you believe someone should have been on the team or not doesn't matter to me. From now on, you are teammates. Not rivals, not opponents—teammates. You really need to learn to trust each other, even if you don't like each other. Because we are up against them the moment we take the field. You understand?"
This time, the nods were more certain.
Coach gave a sharp nod back. "Good. Get some sleep. You're gonna need it."
He turned and left after saying that.
There was silence for a few seconds.
Then, Benjamin let out a low whistle. "Well, this should be fun."
Marco stretched his arms over his head. "Better get used to it. This is just the beginning."
The players got up one by one, picked up their luggage, and made their way to the door. Some left in pairs, some alone. The cliques were still there, but something was different now.
Tomorrow morning, everything would change.