The training ground was quiet. It was early morning. The sun was just starting to peek over the London skyline, painting the grass in shades of gold and green.
Alex Finch sat on a bench, tying his laces. But his mind wasn't on the upcoming match. It was drifting back.
He closed his eyes.
Life One.
He saw it like a movie playing in fast forward.
Danein Blake.
Born in a small, grey town where the rain never seemed to stop. He wasn't a wonderkid. He was just a kid who loved the ball.
He remembered the muddy Sunday league pitches. The smell of Deep Heat and oranges at halftime.
He remembered the rejection letters. Too small. Too slow. Not enough technique.
But Danein didn't stop. He was stubborn. He fought his way up. Not to the Premier League, but to the Championship. The grind.
He remembered the bus rides. Long, cold journeys to places like Stoke and Barnsley. Eating cold sandwiches and dreaming of glory.
