I lock my apartment door behind me, the cool morning air brushing against my face. I adjust my backpack and start walking toward Saint Marx College, my boots tapping against the cracked pavement.
"Name's Bapala Modiri," I tell myself—and anyone listening, really. "Just moved to Jane Furse. Not much I know about this place, except one thing: it produces star football players. Football isn't just a game here… it's everything to the locals."
I grin, standing on my tiptoes and pumping my chest, feeling the familiar fire in my veins. "Good thing I love football."
As I round the corner and approach the school gates, I see everyone moving in the same direction. Curiosity tugs at me. Why is everyone headed this way?
And then I see him.
A short kid, no older than me, perched on a football like he owns it. Behind him, four intimidating individuals with a heavy presence stand like statues, guarding him as if he's untouchable. The sight alone makes my heart beat faster—not out of fear, but excitement.
He raises a hand, quieting the crowd instantly. His voice cuts through the chatter like a whistle:
"Listen up, everyone! Think you have what it takes? Think you can become a star—a Saint? You have to go through me first. From now on, you play my game, with my ball, in my field."
The crowd goes silent, tension thick in the air. My grin spreads wider.
This… is going to be fun.