CHAPTER 6 — After the Whistle
Morning light crept through the blinds of David's cramped office, slicing across the cluttered desk — match reports, scout notes, and a cracked coffee mug with "WORLD'S OKAYEST COACH" printed in fading letters.
He sat slouched in his chair, scrolling through headlines on his phone.
"KIBERA UNITED: A DRAW THAT FELT LIKE A MIRACLE."
"DAVID MURIUKI PARKS THE BUS — BUT PARKS HIS PRIDE TOO."
"THE LEAGUE'S LAUGHINGSTOCK SHOWS SIGNS OF LIFE."
David smirked at that one. Laughingstock showing signs of life.
That was all he'd wanted — a heartbeat.
A knock at the door.
Moses Wekesa stepped in, still in training gear, armband stuffed in his pocket.
"Morning, Coach."
"You look like you didn't sleep," David said.
"Didn't," Moses replied. "Kept replaying that second half. Felt… different."
David leaned back, studying him.
"You led," he said. "Not with shouting — with effort. They followed you."
Moses nodded slowly. "The kid — Samuel — he played like fire. Reminds me of… me, a long time ago."
"Then teach him what the years taught you," said David. "Before life does."
A burst of laughter echoed outside — Samuel and Babu messing around near the gym, kicking a ball made of tape and plastic.
Kevin Oduor walked past them, earbuds in, pretending not to see.
David watched from the window.
"Still quiet between them?" Moses asked.
"For now," David said. "But it's coming together. Slowly."
He looked at the practice pitch — still uneven, still rough. But for the first time, he could imagine it full of fans again.
Later that Day
Training was sharper. Voices louder.
David noticed it — the change in rhythm. Even mistakes carried intent.
"Samuel, faster on recovery!"
"Yes, Coach!"
"Kevin — switch play earlier!"
"Got it!"
He smiled under his breath.
The same players who once dragged their feet were now shouting for each other, not at each other.
At the water break, Kevin walked up, towel around his neck.
"Coach," he said quietly. "You were right."
David raised an eyebrow. "About what?"
Kevin shrugged. "Passing earlier. Playing for them."
He glanced at Samuel across the field. "Kid runs like he's being chased by destiny."
David chuckled. "Good. Because he is — and now so are you."
The Owner Arrives
A black SUV rolled up near the pitch.
Mr. Kilonzo stepped out, sunglasses gleaming, expression unreadable.
"Coach Muriuki," he said, voice slick. "I saw the match. One point. Not bad. But one point doesn't sell tickets."
David wiped sweat from his face. "You want points or progress?"
"I want both," said Kilonzo. "The sponsors are asking if you're the real deal or another experiment. We need results."
David's jaw tightened. "We're building something that lasts, not just wins headlines."
Kilonzo smirked. "Headlines pay the bills, Coach."
He turned to leave, but paused. "Next match — home game. Don't lose it. The fans deserve hope, not pity."
After the car rolled away, David stood still for a long moment, the dust settling around his shoes.
Samuel jogged over. "Coach, you okay?"
David looked at him — that young face, eyes full of trust.
"I'm fine," he said softly. "Just remembering why we started."
He clapped Samuel on the shoulder.
"Tell everyone — full training tomorrow. No excuses."
Evening — Locker Room Quiet
The sun dipped, throwing orange light across empty benches.
David sat alone, listening to the muffled city outside.
For the first time in years, he didn't feel like a man running from failure.
He felt like a man building again.
He opened his worn notebook and scribbled:
"They believe — just a little. Enough to build on."
He underlined the last line twice, then closed the book.
Tomorrow, the fight would start again.
But tonight, for once, Kibera United wasn't dead.
It was alive — bleeding, breathing, believing.
End of Chapter 5