David stood at the edge of the training pitch, taking in his surroundings. Young players, all dressed in the academy's blue and white kits, moved through their drills with sharpness and precision. Some were doing short passing exercises, others were running through agility ladders, their footwork quick and controlled.
A few players noticed him and whispered to one another. He didn't need to hear what they were saying—he had seen this before. A new face always meant competition, and in an academy where every player dreamed of going pro, competition meant survival.
Coach Danjuma blew his whistle, gathering the players. He didn't waste time with introductions.
"New boy," he called, pointing at David. "Get in the rondo."
David stepped into the small circle where six players stood around him, passing the ball quickly while he and another player had to chase and win possession. It was a common drill, one he had played countless times back in Lagos.
But this time, it was different.
The passes were crisp, fast, and sharp. The players barely took a touch before moving the ball on. Every time David lunged, the ball was already gone, leaving him scrambling to adjust.
The watching players chuckled.
"Too slow, Lagos boy!" one of them called.
David gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm. He knew their game. They wanted him frustrated, to make mistakes. He adjusted his stance, watching the ball instead of their feet.
Then he saw it—a slight hesitation in the passer's movement. Instinct kicked in.
David darted in, sticking a foot out just as the ball was played. His toes barely nudged it, but it was enough to disrupt the pass. He turned sharply, reacting first, and flicked the ball between two players before regaining control.
A few gasps followed.
Coach Danjuma nodded approvingly. "Not bad. Again!"
----------------------------------
After a few more drills, it was time for the small-sided game. David was placed on a team with a few of the academy's stronger players. His teammates didn't talk to him much—they weren't here to make friends.
The game kicked off at a frantic pace. It was different from the street football he grew up playing. The academy players were disciplined, sticking to their positions, pressing hard, and moving the ball with precision.
David struggled at first. Every time he received the ball, a defender was on him immediately, using strength and physicality to knock him off balance. He gritted his teeth, knowing he had to adapt.
And that's when his ability came into play.
David didn't fully understand it, but his body seemed to adjust naturally. He started shifting his weight better, using his body to shield the ball, anticipating challenges before they came. The academy defenders were bigger and stronger, but David was getting smarter.
Then came his moment.
One of his teammates sent a high ball toward him. A tall defender rushed in, ready to muscle him off it.
David didn't panic. Instead of fighting head-on, he adjusted his body position at the last moment, letting the defender's momentum work against him. With a quick spin, he flicked the ball past him and exploded forward into open space.
"Whoa!" someone shouted from the sidelines.
David drove toward goal. A defender lunged, but he poked the ball away just in time, then slotted a calm finish past the keeper.
Goal.
Coach Danjuma whistled, a small smirk forming on his lips.
"Maybe Lagos boy has something after all."
David didn't celebrate. He simply jogged back, his heart steady.
This was just the beginning.
------------------------------
David sat on the bench, wiping sweat from his brow. His body ached, but it was the good kind of ache—the kind that meant progress.
A player walked up to him.
"You played well," he said. "I'm Malik."
David shook his hand. "David."
Malik smirked. "Don't get too comfortable. Tomorrow will be even harder."
David grinned. "I wouldn't want it any other way."