The cold German wind bit against Vihaan Singh's skin as he sat on the worn-out bench outside Schalke 04's training facility. His heart pounded in his chest—not from exhaustion, but from fear.
He knew what was coming.
Inside the office, his coach, a no-nonsense German man in his forties, skimmed through a stack of evaluation reports. Vihaan's name was on the list of players set to be cut.
Schalke 04's youth academy had once been a powerhouse, producing legends like Manuel Neuer, Mesut Özil, and Leroy Sané. But times had changed. The club was now struggling financially in Bundesliga 2, forced to cut down on "dead weight."
And Vihaan? He was at the top of that list.
He had no special talent.
Too short for a midfielder.Too weak for a striker.Too slow for a winger.Too clueless for a defender.
At 15, he was 5'5" (165 cm) and barely 50 kg. Skinny, average-looking, and completely overshadowed by his taller, stronger, and faster teammates.
Football had always been his passion, but passion alone wasn't enough.
He clenched his fists as he recalled the past year—warming the bench, watching teammates get chances while he sat unnoticed. No goals, no assists, no standout moments. Just a kid who ran a lot but did nothing special.
The worst part? He wasn't even surprised.
Deep down, he had always feared this moment. He wasn't meant to be a footballer.
But still…he wanted it. He wanted to play, to prove himself, to show that even someone like him could be great.
Just as he was lost in thought, the coach's voice broke through the silence.
"Vihaan, komm rein."
(Vihaan, come in.)
This was it. The moment his football dream will die.
Vihaan took a deep breath and stepped into the coach's office. The room smelled of coffee and sweat, a mix of long hours and frustration.
Coach Müller, a man who rarely smiled, didn't waste time. He pushed a paper toward Vihaan without looking up.
"Vihaan, you know why you're here."
Vihaan nodded, throat dry.
"Your performance has been… disappointing." The coach's words were sharp, matter-of-fact. "We are making cuts. The club cannot afford to keep players who show no signs of development."
His fingers curled into fists. He had expected this, but hearing it out loud felt like a punch to the gut.
"That being said…" Coach Müller sighed, rubbing his temple. "I'll give you until the end of the season. Prove to me that you belong here. If not, you're out."
Vihaan's head shot up. A chance.
"Don't waste it."
The meeting was over. Vihaan walked out, heart heavier than before. This wasn't hope. This was an execution date.
After the conversation with coach, when he went outside, the black Toyota Corolla was parked outside the academy, its engine idling. His mother, Sunita Singh, stood next to it, wrapped in a shawl despite the heated car. She spotted Vihaan and immediately knew.
"Kya hua, beta?" (What happened, son?)
He didn't answer. Just opened the door and slumped into the passenger seat.
Sunita sighed and got in. As they drove, the car was filled with her usual frustrated yet concerned scolding.
"Football, football, football. All you boys think about is football! If you studied half as much as you ran behind a ball, you'd be a topper by now!"
Vihaan stared out of the window, watching the streetlights blur past.
"You're not eating properly," she continued. "So thin! I told you to drink milk every day. But no! Messi doesn't drink milk, right?"
Vihaan let out a small chuckle. His mom had no clue about football, but she still worried about him more than anyone else.
"What did the coach say?" she finally asked, voice softer.
"He's giving me until the end of the season," Vihaan muttered.
Sunita glanced at him, sensing the weight in his words. Instead of lecturing, she simply said, "Then make it count."
They reached home.
Their apartment was modest, but warm—a mix of Indian tradition and German practicality. The aroma of dal and fresh roti filled the air as they stepped inside.
At the dining table, his father, Rajeev Singh, looked up from his plate. A mechanical engineer at a leading automotive company, Rajeev was a man of logic and stability. He was supportive of Vihaan's dreams but always had the same reminder—"Football is fine, but have a backup plan."
Sitting across from him, Arjun Singh (20), Vihaan's older brother, smirked. He was deep into his sports management degree at university, balancing internships at football clubs. He had once dreamed of going pro himself but had realized early that talent alone wasn't enough.
"You look like you got benched again," Arjun teased, but his eyes showed understanding. He had been there.
Before Vihaan could reply, a blur of energy tackled him from the side.
"Bhaiyaaa! Did you score today?" Riya Singh (10), his younger sister, clung to him excitedly, her eyes shining with innocent belief. A hardcore football fanatic, she watched every match, memorized player stats, and never doubted that Vihaan would become the best.
"Bhaiya will be better than Ronaldo!" she declared, puffing out her chest.
Vihaan chuckled, ruffling her hair. If only it were that easy.
At dinner, the conversation was light, avoiding the elephant in the room.
"Arjun, you should teach Vihaan how to talk to girls instead of just playing football," their father joked.
"Bhaiya doesn't need girls," Riya argued. "He'll be famous, and they'll come to him!"
Everyone laughed, except Vihaan. His mind was elsewhere. Am I that capable?
After dinner, Vihaan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The weight of inevitable failure crushed his chest. His hands trembled as he covered his face.
"I'm not good enough… I never was."
Tears stung his eyes, but just as they were about to fall—
Ding!
A mechanical sound echoed in his head. His vision blurred, the room around him shifting.
Then, a blue screen appeared in front of him, glowing softly in the darkness.
[INFINITE POTENTIAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
Welcome, Vihaan Singh.
Vihaan's eyes widened. His heartbeat raced.
The screen changed, revealing his player stats, written like a FIFA Career Mode card:
[PLAYER PROFILE]
Name: Vihaan Singh
Position: Undefined
Overall Rating: 42
Potential: ???
Physical Stats:
Pace: 51 Stamina: 45 Strength: 39 Jumping: 41
Technical Stats:
Dribbling: 46 Passing: 48 Shooting: 40 Defending: 36
Mental Stats:
Vision: 43 Composure: 39 Awareness: 42 Work Rate: 55
Vihaan felt his stomach drop.
"42 overall? That's worse than a reserve player…"
Just as despair started to creep in, the screen flashed again.
[Starter Pack Unlocked!]
You have received:
– Basic Stats View (Allows you to see player attributes)
– 1 Conditioning Pill (+5 Stamina)
– 1 Growth Pill (Improves physique slightly)
– +20 Free Stat Points (Allocate as you choose)
Vihaan's breath hitched.
His second chance had arrived.