The morning air carried an edge that hadn't been there before—sharper, colder, electric with the kind of tension that preceded something significant. Mahmoud stood at the academy gates thirty minutes early, watching groundskeepers make final adjustments to the main pitch. Every blade of grass seemed positioned with surgical precision, every line painted with the care of someone who understood that today would matter.
The European team bus had arrived the previous evening, and their presence lingered like a challenge written in the wind. Even the academy staff moved differently—quicker steps, hushed conversations, the careful efficiency of people preparing for scrutiny.
VALYS activated as Mahmoud walked through the entrance, its voice calm but alert.
"Environmental tension elevated. Heart rate stable. Physical readiness confirmed. Today's session will determine final selection parameters."
Mahmoud nodded silently. He had slept well, eaten precisely what his body needed, and completed his morning routine with methodical care. Everything that could be controlled had been controlled. Everything else would reveal itself in the next few hours.
In the locker room, he found his teammates already assembling. The usual pre-training chatter was subdued, replaced by focused preparation. Yasser sat tying his boots with unusual concentration. Kareem stretched with mechanical precision. Even the younger players seemed to understand that today was different.
Coach Muneer entered without ceremony, clipboard in hand, expression unreadable.
"Final tactical session before tomorrow's match," he announced. "Full intensity. Full contact. Every decision matters."
He paused, scanning the room with sharp eyes.
"The Europeans will be watching from the stands. Not to scout—to intimidate. Prove to them that intimidation works backwards."
Mahmoud pulled on his training jersey, the familiar weight of the fabric settling on his shoulders like armor. His ankle felt strong, responsive, ready. The weeks of careful rehabilitation had rebuilt not just the joint but his confidence in it.
On the field, the Europeans were indeed present—a small group positioned strategically in the main stand, their coach taking notes while players observed with professional detachment. Emil Gertsson sat at the center, blonde hair catching the morning light, his gaze methodical as it tracked the academy players' movements.
The training session began with possession drills under pressure—tight spaces, quick decisions, constant movement. Mahmoud fell into rhythm immediately, his body remembering the patterns that VALYS had drilled into muscle memory during the long weeks of recovery.
When the ball came to him, he didn't try to impress. He simply made the right choice at the right speed, moving the ball with purpose rather than flair. A simple pass to maintain possession. A quick turn to escape pressure. A patient hold to allow teammates to find better positions.
"Excellent game management," the assistant coach called during a brief pause.
But Mahmoud barely heard the praise. His attention was fixed on the tactical patterns developing around him, the way his teammates responded to pressure, the spaces that opened and closed as formations shifted. This wasn't practice anymore—it was preparation for war.
The session intensified with eleven-versus-eleven scrimmage, full contact authorized. Mahmoud took his position in the center of midfield, the number six role that had become his signature. From here, he could see everything—the shape of both teams, the timing of runs, the moments when patience should give way to aggression.
The first real test came early. A loose ball in midfield, three players converging, contact inevitable. Mahmoud arrived first but chose not to contest aggressively. Instead, he used his body to shield, absorbed the challenge, and played a simple pass to safety. No heroics, just effectiveness.
"Good decision," Kareem called from behind him.
As the scrimmage progressed, Mahmoud began to impose his influence on the game's rhythm. When teammates rushed, he slowed them down with calm distribution. When they hesitated, he increased the tempo with sharp, forward passes. He was conducting an orchestra, and the music was gradually becoming more harmonious.
Twenty minutes in, the breakthrough moment arrived. The opposing team pressed high, committing numbers forward. Mahmoud recognized the overload, dropped deeper to collect the ball from his defender, and immediately spotted the space behind their midfield line.
He didn't hesitate. One touch to control, another to launch a perfectly weighted pass over the pressing midfielders and into the path of Yasser, who had timed his run to perfection. The winger controlled smoothly and finished with calm precision.
From the stands, he could see Emil Gertsson lean forward slightly, saying something to his teammate. Good. Let them analyze that. Let them try to prepare for a player who made the complicated look simple.
The remainder of the session flowed with controlled intensity. Mahmoud continued to dictate tempo, breaking up attacks before they developed, initiating counters with quick thinking rather than individual brilliance. He was proving that the most dangerous players weren't always the most obvious ones.
When Coach finally blew the whistle to end the session, Mahmoud felt a deep satisfaction settle in his chest. Not the wild joy of spectacular success, but the quiet confidence of a craftsman who had done his work well.
In the locker room, the atmosphere had shifted. Players who had seemed nervous earlier now carried themselves with more assurance. They had been tested and had responded well. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but today had proven they belonged on the same field as elite opposition.
As Mahmoud changed out of his training gear, Yasser approached with a slight smile. "That pass for the goal—you saw it three seconds before anyone else."
Mahmoud shrugged. "I saw them commit. The space was inevitable."
"Keep seeing things before they happen," Yasser said. "We're going to need that tomorrow."
Later, as Mahmoud walked home through the familiar streets of his neighborhood, he reflected on the distance he had traveled. Not just physically from the academy, but mentally from the boy who had once doubted his place in the game. The injury that had threatened to end everything had instead taught him patience, discipline, and the kind of tactical intelligence that couldn't be coached—only earned through suffering and recovery.
VALYS spoke quietly as he reached his building. "Performance parameters optimal. Tactical decision-making enhanced. Tomorrow's match projection: favorable."
Mahmoud climbed the stairs to his apartment, each step measured and confident. Tomorrow would bring the biggest test of his young career, but tonight he would rest easy. He had prepared as thoroughly as possible, and when the moment came, he would be ready to prove that the boy who had once been written off belonged among the best.
In his room, he placed his match boots by the bed and set his alarm for dawn. One more sleep, one more training session, and then the real test would begin.
But as he closed his eyes, Mahmoud felt no anxiety about what lay ahead. He had learned to trust the process, trust his preparation, and trust himself. Whatever tomorrow brought, he would meet it with the same quiet confidence that had carried him this far.
The boy who had once been afraid of his own limitations was gone. In his place stood a player ready to prove that sometimes the most dangerous opponents were the ones nobody saw coming.
**End of Chapter 22.**