The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. It was 5 p.m.—time for the first training session. Tesuka, like the others, had returned after lunch and a short rest. He had warmed up with intensity, ready to show his progress.
But just as the exercises were starting, Coach Ndikumana raised his hand to call him out.
— "Tesuka! Come here."
The young player stepped forward, still out of breath from the warm-up, his heart pounding.
— "You won't be training today."
— "Huh? Why?" Tesuka asked, surprised.
The coach's gaze was stern, almost cold.
— "You're talented, but your body isn't keeping up. Your endurance is lacking. Yesterday, your intensity dropped after just thirty minutes of effort. You're still too fragile for a U13 player."
— "But… I've improved since yesterday! Give me a chance to prove it today!"
What do you mean you've improved since yesterday? Do you think endurance can be bought like candy?
— "This isn't about technical improvement. You're still a six-year-old. Your size and stamina are those of a U9 player. I have to think about your safety and discipline for the whole group."
Tesuka clenched his fists, breathing hard. The coach wasn't even going to let him try.
— "From now on, you'll go back to training with the U9s."
There was no anger or mockery in Ndikumana's voice—only unwavering firmness.
— "That's all. You're dismissed."
Tesuka slowly stepped back. His gaze lingered for a moment on the U13 field… then he silently turned toward the U9s.
The U9 kids were training right next to the U13s.
Tesuka walked heavily toward the U9 field, his bag swaying on his shoulder. Each step echoed like a reminder of his demotion. The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass, mixed with the damp smell of earth.
On the field, the younger children were warming up, their laughter and excited shouts filling the space. Coach Bayo, dressed in his usual blue tracksuit, watched the session closely. When he spotted Tesuka, his brow furrowed in surprise.
— "Tesuka? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be with the U13s?"
Tesuka stopped, avoiding the coach's gaze. A lump was forming in his throat.
— "Coach Ndikumana sent me back to the U9s. He says I'm too physically fragile for the U13s. He didn't even let me show what I could do today."
Bayo looked at him for a moment, his expression shifting from surprise to understanding.
— "I see... Alright then. Get ready. You'll train with us today. Let's see what you've got."
The U9 team kids were warming up, their laughter and shouts echoing in the air. Tesuka, wearing his jersey, walked toward the group, drawing a few curious glances.
Among the players, a boy with a sharp gaze stared at him intently. It was Abdoul, a classmate and his teammate during a school match. Surprised to see him here, he stepped forward.
— "Tesuka? What are you doing here? Weren't you with the U13s?"
Tesuka gave a small, slightly embarrassed smile.
— "Yeah, but… let's just say Coach Ndikumana thinks I'm not ready yet."
Abdoul raised an eyebrow, caught between surprise and a hint of satisfaction.
— "Really? You got demoted? So it's not a punishment or something else, then?"
Tesuka nodded.
— "Yeah. He says my endurance is still lacking."
Abdoul crossed his arms, a smirk forming on his face.
— "Interesting. Let's see what you've got, then."
Coach Bayo blew his whistle, calling the players to gather.
— "Alright, everyone in a circle for warm-up!"
The training session began with short passing drills. The players formed pairs, standing about three meters apart. They were instructed to perform simple, controlled passes, keeping the ball on the ground. A routine exercise — except for Tesuka.
Focused, he delivered each pass with remarkable precision. His foot brushed the ball like it was an extension of his mind. The other kids watched out of the corner of their eyes, involuntarily captivated. Every pass landed perfectly at his teammate's feet, at just the right speed, with a calculated spin.
> Short Pass: Rank B-
No need for speed — accuracy is enough.
Next to him, Abdoul was in a pair, half-watching. Just a few days ago, he had claimed he was better than the new kid, despite Tesuka having trained with the U13s. He had felt it was unfair. He still remembered Tesuka's flushed face back then, his trembling legs.
But today was different.
> Ball Control: Rank C+
The ball no longer left Tesuka's side. It danced at his feet, glided under his sole, bounced gently when he wanted. It obeyed him.
The next drill involved weaving through cones set at regular intervals. Another classic. The children took turns — some stumbled, others pushed the ball too far ahead.
Then came Tesuka's turn.
He charged forward with the ball glued to his foot like a loyal shadow. His body flowed through the cones with near-choreographed precision. No wasted movement. His gaze remained fixed ahead. Even his arms moved in harmony with his steps.
> Dribbling: Rank C-
Stamina: Rank C+
Reflexes: Rank A+
Abdoul, a knot forming in his chest, whispered to himself without realizing:
— "Was he always like this? How...?"
He wasn't the only one wondering. Coach Bayo stood speechless. He checked his evaluation sheet.
"T-Tesuka..."
Was it a misjudgment? A sudden explosion of talent? A miracle?
But the highlight was yet to come.
The final part of the session was a friendly match. Two teams were assembled on the spot — red vests versus blue. Tesuka was placed in midfield, almost automatically.
From the kickoff, he set the tone. At first, silently. He analyzed. He observed.
Then… he orchestrated.
> Vision: Rank B+
Focus: Rank C+
He intercepted a loose pass, took a single second to scan his teammates' positions. One second was enough. He stepped to the left, dribbled past the first opponent without even looking. The second arrived too late — a sharp, quick cut opened the path.
> Cut: Rank C+
The goalkeeper, panicking, shouted instructions. Tesuka didn't even lift his head. He turned sharply, feinted a shot — a fake. The defender dove into thin air. A heartbeat later, a perfectly timed through pass sliced through the defense.
His striker, caught off guard by the ease of the pass, managed to finish the job with a beautiful goal.
The pitch erupted in joy.
Abdoul, though frustrated, couldn't deny his friend's talent. He walked up to Tesuka at the end of the match.
— "You've really worked hard. I'm impressed."
Tesuka smiled, satisfied.
— "Thanks, Abdoul. We're both making progress, right?"
Abdoul nodded, a genuine smile on his face.
— "Yeah, and I can't wait to see how far we can go."
The U9 training session had just ended, and the children, breathless but happy, were leaving the field. Tesuka, still sweaty, was gathering his belongings when he noticed Coach Bayo approaching the U13 coach, Ndikumana, who had been quietly observing the final moments of the session.
A few steps away, Coach Bayo, looking serious, approached Ndikumana, who stood with arms crossed.
— "Ndikumana, can I have a word?" Bayo called out.
— "Of course," he replied calmly.
— "It's about Tesuka. He trained with us today — the U9s. He told me you'd moved him down."
— "That's right," Ndikumana replied bluntly. "He doesn't yet have the stamina to keep up with the U13s."
Bayo frowned slightly.
— "I get your reasoning, but on the field… he showed some pretty impressive stuff. His ball control, vision, reflexes… You don't see that often at this age."
Ndikumana slowly nodded.
— "I don't deny his talent. But high-level football requires more than just talent. You need to be physically fit. And just yesterday, he struggled to keep up."
— "But that's exactly why, with the right support and a proper progression plan, he could catch up. In fact, I think he's more enduring than he looks. I believe he can match the top U13s in stamina."
— "Are you questioning my judgment?"
— "Not exactly, but..."
— "Maybe you are. Still, I'd rather he builds a solid foundation with the U9s. Sometimes you need to take a step back to leap forward."
Bayo sighed, slightly frustrated, but respectful.
— "Alright. I'll make sure he progresses. But just know — that kid… he's got something special."
The two men shook hands, their eyes filled with mutual respect but also quiet disagreement. Each stood firm in his stance, bound by one shared belief: the desire to shape a raw talent into something remarkable.
As the children gradually left the field, Abdoul walked up to Tesuka, a faint smile on his face, still catching his breath from the training session.
— You really surprised me today, Tesuka.
— Oh yeah? Tesuka replied, a little curious.
— Yeah... I was thinking back to that match at school. Back then, I was convinced I was way better than you.
Tesuka shrugged humbly.
— You were. And maybe you still are.
Abdoul looked at him, a bit thrown off by his answer.
— Maybe... But today, I saw a different Tesuka. Your passes, your movement, your vision, your control... even your speed and endurance, man! It was insane. I get now what the U13 coach meant by "endurance." You play like you've got two pairs of lungs!
Well, that makes sense. Among the boosts I received yesterday, endurance was one of them. I might even rival the most enduring player in U13... or surpass him.
They burst out laughing. A simple, but genuine moment. Rivalry blended with admiration, and in Abdoul's eyes, jealousy slowly gave way to respect.
Abdoul gave a soft smile.
— Ever since I was little, I've dreamed of wearing the national team jersey. Hearing the anthem, standing on the pitch in front of a packed stadium...
— That's a noble dream, Tesuka murmured with respect.
— And you? What are your goals?
Tesuka took a deep breath.
— I want to become a complete player. Not just a good one — someone who inspires others. I want people to look at me and realize that with perseverance, any wall can be climbed.
— Well, Abdoul said with a wink, you're already on the right track.
— Thanks, Abdoul. You too. We'll go far — together.
They exchanged a subtle handshake, a silent pact between two young boys with burning dreams.
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