Friday, 13 April 2012
Zoudenbalch Training Complex
Time: 07:15
A cold dawn mist clung to the windows outside Coach Pronk's office, blurring the distant training pitches into grey smudges. Inside, the room felt equally subdued: scuffed linoleum, a single fluorescent tube buzzing overhead, and walls the dull color of weak tea. Only a sun‑bleached team photo and a battered tactics board broke the monotony.
Amani stood at parade rest, feet shoulder‑width apart, hands clasped loosely behind his back. The strobe glasses dangled from his wrist like a pair of futuristic shackles. Fatigue shadowed his eyes, but there was an ember of purpose burning behind them.
Pronk set both elbows on the desk, fingers steepled. "So," his voice a low, incredulous growl, "our Future Cup MVP wants to scratch himself from Willem II away. Tomorrow. Captain's armband and all. Explain."
