David lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling of his small dormitory room. His body ached from the intense training session, but his mind was sharper than ever. Today had been a test, and he had passed.
But that was just the first step.
The academy was different from the streets of Lagos. Here, everyone was talented, everyone had something to prove. If he wanted to stand out, he couldn't just be good—he had to be better.
A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"David?"
It was Malik.
David sat up. "Yeah, come in."
Malik stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You did well today. But you're not the only one trying to make it."
David nodded, understanding the unspoken message. In this place, there were no friendships—only rivals.
Malik continued, "Some of the guys don't like new players coming in. They think you're here to take their spot."
David shrugged. "I'm not here to take anything from anyone. I'm just here to play football."
Malik smirked. "Yeah? Try telling that to Bashir."
David frowned. "Bashir?"
Malik sighed. "He's been here the longest. The coach likes him, and he thinks he owns this place. You embarrassed him today with that goal."
David remembered the tall defender he had outplayed. Bashir.
"So?" David asked.
Malik chuckled. "So, don't be surprised if he makes things hard for you."
David leaned back, unbothered. "I'll handle it."
Malik studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "You're different, Lagos boy."
David smirked. "I know."
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The morning training session was just as intense as the first. The coaches pushed them hard—passing drills, shooting exercises, tactical work. Every moment was a battle.
David noticed Bashir watching him. The tall defender had a cold stare, his eyes filled with quiet hostility.
During the scrimmage, David's team was up against Bashir's. The moment he received the ball, Bashir came crashing into him, knocking him down.
"Too slow, new boy," Bashir sneered.
David got up, dusting himself off. He didn't respond. He didn't need to.
A few minutes later, another pass came his way. This time, he was ready. Instead of letting Bashir body him, David flicked the ball past him with his first touch, spinning away.
The watching players gasped.
Bashir turned, furious, and lunged in with a sliding tackle. David saw it coming. He lifted the ball over Bashir's leg and sprinted past him.
Before Bashir could react, David chipped a pass to his teammate, setting up a goal.
Coach Danjuma blew his whistle. "Good play, David!"
Bashir's face darkened. He didn't like being made to look foolish.
As David jogged back, Bashir leaned in close. "Watch yourself, Lagos boy. This isn't your streets."
David met his gaze, unshaken. "And you're not my problem."
Bashir narrowed his eyes. "We'll see."
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After training, David walked into the dining hall, grabbing his food. He noticed some players sitting together, laughing and joking.
He also noticed Bashir and his group at a separate table, their eyes still on him.
Malik walked up beside him. "You really don't know how to stay quiet, do you?"
David chuckled. "I wasn't trying to cause trouble."
Malik smirked. "You don't have to. Your football speaks for itself."
David took a bite of his food, unfazed. He wasn't here to make friends. He was here to become the best.
But one thing was clear—this academy wasn't just about skill.
It was about survival.