The hotel meeting room felt sterile under the fluorescent lights. Takeshi sat between his parents at a round table, trying not to fidget with his dress shirt collar. This was it, the official meeting to finalise his Ajax training camp.
Erik van der Berg arrived exactly on time, carrying the same expensive briefcase and wearing the same professional smile that had charmed his parents three days ago. He looked every inch the legitimate European scout, pressed suit, polished shoes, documents organised neatly in front of him.
"Thank you all for coming," Erik said in his perfectly accented Japanese. "I know this is a big decision for your family."
Takeshi's mother leaned forward, that worried crease still between her eyebrows. "You're certain he'll be safe? He's never been away from home for so long."
"Mrs Yamamoto, I completely understand your concerns. Ajax has been developing young talent for over a century. We have medical staff, counsellors, and support systems specifically designed for players of Takeshi's age."
His father pulled out a notebook. "What about the academic side? He can't fall behind in school."
"Naturally. All participants receive tutoring to ensure they return home without any academic gaps. We're not just building footballers. we're building complete young men."
He's good, Takeshi thought, watching Erik smoothly address every concern. Too good.
Something about the scout's perfection had been bothering him since their first meeting, but he couldn't put his finger on what.
"The program includes psychological support as well," Erik continued. "Some children find the intensity overwhelming initially. We monitor each participant's mental state very carefully."
Mental state? Why would that be a concern at a football camp?
Erik's eyes found Takeshi across the table. "Which brings me to something I'd like to discuss with Takeshi privately, if you don't mind. Just some final details about what to expect."
Takeshi's parents exchanged glances.
"Is that necessary?" his mother asked.
"Standard procedure, I assure you. We find that children are sometimes more honest about their fears or concerns when parents aren't present. Nothing secretive, just want to make sure he's mentally prepared."
After a moment's hesitation, his father nodded. "We'll be in the lobby. Ten minutes?"
"Perfect."
As the door clicked shut behind his parents, something in the room shifted.
The temperature didn't actually drop, but Takeshi felt cold anyway.
Erik's posture changed. The polite slouch straightened into something predatory. His professional smile melted away, replaced by something that made Takeshi's adult instincts scream danger.
"Well, well," Erik said, his voice different now, lower, more amused. "Finally."
What the hell is happening?
The scout leaned back in his chair, studying Takeshi with eyes that seemed to see too much. Then he laughed, not the polite chuckle he'd used with the parents, but something cold and calculating.
"You know why I really picked you, Takeshi?"
The question hung in the air like smoke. Takeshi's mouth felt dry.
"Because... I'm talented?"
Erik's smile widened, showing too many teeth.
"Oh, you're talented. But so is that Daichi Suzuki kid who scored five goals against you. So are dozens of others I've scouted this year."
He stood up, moving around the table with fluid grace that reminded Takeshi of a cat stalking its prey.
"No, what makes you special is different. That boy Daichi runs toward glory, fast, direct, predictable. But you?" Erik's eyes gleamed. "You create your glory. You see patterns others miss. You make impossible things happen."
How does he know so much about how I play? How I think?
"I love that," Erik continued, now standing directly behind Takeshi's chair. "I fucking love that."
The profanity hit like a slap. This was not the same man who'd been speaking to his parents five minutes ago.
Takeshi's adult mind was screaming warnings, but his eight-year-old body felt frozen, pinned under the weight of Erik's attention like a mouse under a hawk's gaze.
"Here's what you need to understand," Erik said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "I have chosen you. Out of every young player in Japan, every prospect I've evaluated, every talent I've identified, I chose you."
He walked back around the table, leaning forward on his palms to stare directly into Takeshi's eyes.
"Don't make me regret it."
The words weren't a request. They were a threat.
"I... I won't," Takeshi managed.
"Good boy." Erik's smile returned, but it held no warmth. "Because here's the thing about being chosen, it's not just an opportunity. It's a responsibility. A burden."
He opened his briefcase and pulled out a tablet, swiping to what looked like a world map covered in red pins.
"See these locations? Each pin represents a player I'm considering for our special program. Five others, scattered across the globe. All world-class talent. All unique in their own ways."
Takeshi stared at the map, his mind racing. Five others? The scout said this program only takes six kids total.
"You want to know what makes them special?" Erik's finger traced across the screen. "This one in Brazil, he's scoring goals that shouldn't be possible for a nine-year-old. This girl in Germany is reading the game like she's got twenty years of experience. This boy in Nigeria is faster than players twice his age."
Each description made Takeshi's blood run colder.
"And you, my dear Takeshi, with your impossible vision and your adult-like tactical awareness." Erik's eyes bored into him. "All of you so very, very special."
He knows. Somehow, he knows we're different.
"The thing is," Erik continued, closing the tablet with a snap, "I can only pick one child from this region. One golden ticket to Amsterdam. One chance at greatness."
The weight of those words settled on Takeshi's shoulders like lead.
"I haven't met the other five yet, but I will. And when I do, I'll have to make a choice. Will it be you? Or will it be someone who wants it more?"
Erik leaned closer, and Takeshi could smell his cologne... expensive and cloying.
"Don't let me down, Takeshi. The program doesn't accept failure. Neither do I."
The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in. Takeshi's hands were shaking, and he couldn't stop them.
"What... what happens if I don't meet expectations?"
Erik's laugh was like broken glass.
"Oh, my boy. Let's just say that Ajax has very high standards. And very creative ways of dealing with disappointment."
The door handle rattled, and instantly Erik's demeanour shifted back to professional warmth. By the time Takeshi's parents entered, the scout was the same charming European gentleman who'd left with them.
"Everything settled?" his father asked.
"Absolutely," Erik said, his voice light and reassuring. "Takeshi is going to do wonderfully. Aren't you, son?"
Takeshi nodded numbly, unable to speak.
As they gathered their things to leave, Erik shook hands with his parents again, all smiles and reassurances. But when he grasped Takeshi's small hand, his grip lingered just a moment too long, his fingers pressing just a bit too hard.
"See you in Amsterdam," he whispered, just loud enough for Takeshi to hear. "The new era begins now."
Walking to the car with his parents, Takeshi felt like he was moving through water. Everything seemed distant, muffled, wrong.
What have I gotten myself into? What kind of program is this really?
His mother was chattering excitedly about the travel arrangements, his father was already planning how to stay in touch while he was gone. They had no idea what had just happened in that room.
Five other kids. All "special" like me. All are competing for something that might not be what it seems.
The Ajax opportunity he'd been so desperate for now felt like a trap closing around him. But it was too late to back out now. His parents had already agreed. Arrangements were already being made.
The new era begins now.
Erik's words echoed in his mind as they drove home through Tokyo's neon-lit streets.
What kind of era am I walking into?
And what happens to the kids who don't make the cut?
The questions followed him like shadows, dark and inescapable, as the city lights blurred past his window.
Three weeks until Amsterdam.
Three weeks until he found out what being "chosen" really meant.
God help me.