The morning air was cool and still as Mahmoud arrived at the far end of the main pitch. A thin layer of mist hovered above the grass, and the stadium lights—unused since the last friendly—cast a faint, golden glow across the training grounds. Today was the day: his first full-contact session since the ankle injury. He had rehearsed this moment in his mind for days, but now that it was here, every nerve ending seemed electrified with both anticipation and restrained caution.
He stepped onto the turf in his black jersey, heart pounding in measured thumps. The familiar scent of freshly cut grass and damp earth filled his lungs. All around him, teammates completed their warm-up routines in pairs: passing drills, quick jogs, dynamic stretches. Coach Muneer stood at midfield, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
"Line up," the coach called, his voice both calm and authoritative. "We're doing 11-a-side. Full contact. No holds barred. This is not a scrimmage. It's a test. Your first real practice since the injury. Show me you're ready."
Mahmoud fell in alongside the other midfielders. He took a steadying breath and stretched his legs, flexing his left ankle gently. The brace was hidden beneath his shin guard, but its presence was a constant reminder. There could be no half measures; even a single misstep might push him back into forced rest.
They began with a simple ball-possession drill: two teams, a 20-meter grid, unlimited touches but immediate pressure from one defender as soon as the ball moved. Mahmoud received the first pass, a crisp cushion touch from Yasser. He pivoted on his right foot and released a sharp one-two with Kareem before any defender could close him down.
"Good first touch, Hassan," Kareem called over his shoulder, sprinting back into position.
But the minute he shifted his weight to launch the third pass, a jagged pain shot through his left ankle. He stumbled, barely keeping his balance, and the defender lunged in for the ball. In that split second, Mahmoud clenched his teeth, steadied himself, and flicked the ball past the challenge. He didn't miss a beat.
"Excellent recovery," Coach Muneer said neutrally, but Mahmoud knew that was praise enough.
They moved on to a high-intensity rondo: six players in a tight circle, two defenders in the middle. The margin for error was microscopic. Mahmoud dropped into the circle, heart racing, and immediately the ball came to his feet. He used the inside of his right boot to guide a diagonal pass just past the charging defenders, then crouched low to intercept the deflected return pass before flicking it back out to safety. The entire sequence unfolded in under two seconds, leaving him gasping but in control.
After several rotations, Coach Muneer blew the whistle. "Switch defenders. Move faster. Pressure is everything."
Mahmoud swivelled to face the next wave of attackers. Muscle memory had taken over: step, pivot, pass, recover, step, intercept. Every movement was deliberate, every step measured. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he refused to blink.
Next came tactical phase work: 7v7 on half the pitch, simulating a build-up from defense into midfield under numerical disadvantage. Mahmoud took his place as the left-center midfielder, the #6 position he'd studied so intensely. The opposing team set up in a compact 4-4-2 press. When the defenders in his team moved the ball out from the back, the first pressing midfielder forced a hurried pass to the fullback. Mahmoud anticipated the shift and sprinted into the vacated lane. As the midfielder played wide, Mahmoud jockeyed into the open space and demanded the ball.
"Mahmoud, now!" Kareem yelled from deep.
He received the pass under pressure, weighted it perfectly for the overlapping winger, then tracked back to shield the next counter-press. Every decision was a microcosm of his recent study and training. He had visualized that moment so many times he felt as if his body already knew the play.
Coach Muneer raised his arm and blew his whistle. "Good discipline, Hassan. Midfield cover and outlet play—textbook." He scribbled a note on his clipboard and moved on to the next group.
Fatigue began to creep in: heavy legs, tightening calves, a dull throb at the base of the ankle. Yet his focus sharpened. He inhaled through his nose, held for a beat, and exhaled through his mouth—just as VALYS had taught him in countless visualization sessions. The rhythm steadied his heartbeat, setting a metronome in his mind that kept him calm under pressure.
The final exercise was full 11v11 half-pitch. It was the ultimate benchmark: contact, transitions, crowded midfield battles, long balls, and pressing triggers. Mahmoud lined up alongside the first unit, blinking in the brighter morning light now streaming over the grandstand. The European youth team—faster, more disciplined—stood opposite, their coach barking instructions in clipped English. Mahmoud's mouth went dry. This was the crucible.
The whistle blew. The match began with a flurry of intensity: hard tackles, scythed passes, and players darting into channels he had only studied on video. Mahmoud listened for his teammates' shouts, but his ears also tuned into the subtle shifts in the opponent's formation. When their right winger cut inside, he surged forward to double-team. When their #6 vacated to press, he positioned himself to sweep behind. He was present in every moment, moving not reactively but proactively.
Midway through the scrimmage, a loose ball bounced to him just beyond the center circle. Two opponents closed, leaving only a narrow corridor toward his wing. Mahmoud chested the ball down, spun on his good leg, and launched a long, lofted pass that dipped just behind the right fullback—and into Yasser's stride. The winger drove forward and clipped a cross to the near post, where Kareem knocked it home. The artificial crowd noise boomed through the speakers they'd attached to the stadium PA.
The scoreboard for that drill showed a single goal in five minutes—hardly decisive, but impactful. Mahmoud jogged back, lungs burning, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. Coach Muneer approached, clipboard in hand.
"That pass from midfield—perfect weight, perfect vision," he said quietly. Then, after a brief pause: "You have full contact next session. Meet me here in two days, same time."
Mahmoud nodded, chest rising and falling rapidly. Every ounce of pain from the ankle, every doubt in the back of his mind, felt justified in that single moment of precision.
As he left the pitch, dusk lingering at the horizon, Mahmoud felt a surge of confidence tempered by humility. Today he had navigated contact, pressure, and the relentless pace of live play. Tomorrow, he would remind his ankle and his mind that this was only the beginning.
He laced up fresh boots under the floodlights, looking out at the empty stands as if they might cheer for him someday. For now, the only applause he needed was the steady beat of his heart and the quiet certainty that he belonged in this world of noise and motion.
Tomorrow, they would test him again. But he would show up—stronger, wiser, and ready to claim every inch of the pitch.
End of Chapter 16.