Chapter 16 – "The Final Session"
The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the pitch. You could feel the tension in the air—tight, focused. No one said it, but we all knew: this was the last run before the real thing.
Final training before the league opener.
I laced up slower than usual, like every knot meant something. Across the field, the others were already warming up—Melissa pinging passes into tight spaces, James dictating tempo like always, and Sadio… pacing, headphones on, zoned in. A storm waiting for its moment.
Jalen Kent was all smiles. Tall, fast, lethal in the box. He moved like a man with nothing to prove and everything to win. Last season's top scorer. The kind of striker who made defenders nervous before kickoff. If anyone was born for opening day, it was him.
We started with possession drills—tight-space chaos, one-touch madness. Everyone crisp. I felt it today. Timing right. My touches clean. The rhythm I'd been chasing for weeks? I was finally catching up to it.
Then came the transition game.
Coach blew his whistle, and suddenly it was eleven vs. eleven. Full intensity. Real tempo.
Jalen received a ball at midfield, turned, and exploded down the left.
And that's when it happened.
Sadio broke from the backline like a rocket—hungry, locked in, maybe too locked in. I could see it unfold before it happened, like a bad dream you can't stop.
Jalen took one touch too many. Sadio came flying in.
It wasn't malicious. It wasn't dirty. Just desperate. A step too hard. A second too late.
The sound… God, I'll never forget that sound.
A dull, sickening crack—not loud, but deep. Jalen crumpled to the ground, clutching his knee, face twisted in agony.
Everything stopped.
No ball, no shouts, no drills. Just silence. Then the screams.
The trainers rushed in. Players stood frozen. Sadio backed away slowly, eyes wide like he'd just woken up from a trance.
I didn't move.
I knew what this meant. You don't need a scan to know what an ACL tear looks like. I've seen it. Lived through it. The moment when a season dies before it begins.
Coach pulled us all in after Jalen was taken off. He didn't raise his voice.
"Focus up," he said, too calm. "We go again."
But no one really heard him. We weren't running drills anymore—we were all running thoughts.
Sadio sat alone near the bench, his head in his hands. The guy who bulldozed attackers now looked like a boy who'd broken something he couldn't fix.
And me? I just stood there, heart pounding, breath short.
This changes everything.
[30 Minutes Later – Behind the Main Facility]
The rain had started again, light and steady. The kind that makes everything quiet.
I wandered behind the main facility, hands in my pockets, boots muddy from the pitch. I wasn't ready to go back inside yet—not with the tension still clinging to everyone like a soaked shirt.
That's when I saw Kei Shoyo—leaning against the edge of the concrete stairwell, hoodie up, leg braced, crutches beside him.
Even now, injured and sidelined, he looked like a threat. Calm posture. Focused eyes. The kind of confidence you can't fake.
He glanced up at me.
"Rough day," he said.
I nodded. "Yeah."
He tapped his crutch gently against the ground. "Jalen's out?"
I hesitated, then gave a short nod.
"ACL," I said.
Kei sighed. "Damn. I liked playing with him." Then, a pause. "Hated competing with him... but I liked playing with him."
I let out half a laugh. "You scored thirty goals. As the second striker."
He shrugged. "Was just trying to keep up with the chaos."
I looked at him more closely. "You coming back soon?"
He shook his head. "Few more weeks, maybe. I'm not rushing it. Doctor says I push too hard, and he's right."
"Your spot's still yours when you come back," I said without thinking.
He smirked. "Is it?"
Footsteps behind us. Light, fast, purposeful.
Kim So-min, all sharp lines and restless energy, appeared with a water bottle in hand and a small scowl.
"Kei, I told you not to stand too long."
"I'm not standing. I'm brooding," he said, then looked at me. "This is what she does now. Full-time physio and part-time personal manager."
So-min rolled her eyes and stepped closer. She was only eighteen, but no one treated her like a rookie. Her speed made defenders panic. Her attitude made veterans shut up.
And next to her, walking with that signature nonchalance, was Anissa Cate.
Ballon d'Or winner. Best left winger in the world. The kind of talent that didn't need to talk loud—her presence said everything. She nodded at me, brief but respectful.
"Everything okay?" she asked softly, glancing between me and Kei.
"Not really," Kei said. "But we're coping."
They stood with us for a moment—nothing grand, just silent presence. Like we were all holding something unspoken between us.
Then the moment passed. So-min tugged at Kei's sleeve, and the trio headed back inside. Anissa gave me one last glance over her shoulder.
And then it was just me.
Alone in the quiet.
I looked down at the pitch from where we stood. The lights still on, the field wet and empty.
This is it.
No Jalen. No Kei. The starters are out.
And I'm still here.
This is my chance.Not to prove I still belong.To prove I never left.