The Olympique Lyonnais training facility in Décines-Charpieu was a different world.
Ethan pressed his face against the car window as Coach Bernard's vehicle pulled through the gates. Six pristine training pitches stretched out before him, each with perfectly manicured grass that looked like green carpet. Modern buildings with glass facades housed gyms, medical facilities, and classrooms. In the distance, the home of Lyon's glory days rose against the skyline.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Bernard said, glancing at Ethan through the rearview mirror.
Ethan could only nod. The contrast with the cracked concrete courts of Bondy was staggering.
His mother sat beside him, her hand gripping his tightly. She'd taken the day off from her job at the hospital to accompany him. His father was still at work, but he'd given his blessing the night before after a long conversation with Coach Bernard.
"Remember what your father said," Aminata whispered to Ethan. "Stay humble. Work hard."
"I will, Maman."
They parked in front of the main academy building. As they stepped out, Ethan saw groups of young players in matching Lyon tracksuits running drills on the nearest pitch. They all looked older than him. Bigger. More developed.
For the first time since discovering his gift, Ethan felt a flutter of doubt.
"This way," Bernard said, leading them inside.
The interior was just as impressive as the exterior. Trophies lined the hallways—Ligue 1 titles, Coupe de France victories, Champions League campaigns. Photos of Lyon legends covered the walls: Juninho Pernambucano, Michael Essien, Karim Benzema who had left just that summer.
One day, Ethan thought, his picture would hang here too.
They entered an office where a slim man in his fifties sat behind a large desk. He stood as they entered, extending his hand.
"Madame Loki, welcome. I'm Armand Gauthier, director of the Lyon academy." He shook Aminata's hand, then leaned down to shake Ethan's. "And you must be the young prodigy Bernard has been raving about."
"Thank you for having us, Monsieur Gauthier," Aminata said politely.
"Please, sit." Gauthier gestured to the chairs across from his desk. "I'll be direct. Bernard has sent me a report that frankly, I didn't believe at first. A seven-year-old with the technical ability of a teenager and the tactical awareness of a professional? It seemed impossible."
"And now?" Aminata asked.
Gauthier smiled. "Bernard showed me the video he recorded. I believe it now. Your son is extraordinary, Madame Loki."
He turned to Ethan. "But talent alone isn't enough. At Lyon, we develop complete players. That means education, discipline, character, and teamwork, not just football skills. Are you prepared for that?"
Ethan met the director's gaze. "Yes, Monsieur."
"You'll train with the U-10 squad initially, even though you're younger. Coach Martineau runs that group. He's strict but fair. You'll be expected to keep up with boys two to three years older than you. Can you do that?"
"I can."
Gauthier studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Bernard will take you to the changing rooms and get you fitted for kit. Training starts in one hour." He looked at Aminata. "We have some paperwork to review while Ethan prepares."
The U-10 changing room buzzed with energy and conversation when Bernard led Ethan inside. Fifteen boys, all significantly bigger than him, stopped talking and turned to stare.
"Everyone, this is Ethan Loki," Bernard announced. "He's joining your squad today. Make him feel welcome."
The boys exchanged glances. One of them, a tall kid with blonde hair and an arrogant smirk, spoke up. "He's tiny. Is he even old enough to be here?"
"He's seven," Bernard said calmly. "And he's earned his place. That's all that matters." He handed Ethan a bag with Lyon training gear. "Get changed. You'll meet Coach Martineau on pitch three in forty-five minutes."
After Bernard left, Ethan found an empty corner and started changing. He could feel the eyes on him, hear the whispered conversations.
"Seven years old?"
"This is a joke, right?"
"He'll get destroyed out there."
A shorter boy with dark curly hair approached him. Unlike the others, he was smiling. "Hey, I'm Antoine. Don't worry about them. They're always suspicious of new players." He extended his fist for a bump.
Ethan bumped it gratefully. "Thanks."
"Where are you from?"
"Bondy."
"Ah, rough neighborhood. Benzema's from there, right?"
"Yeah. Same area."
Antoine helped Ethan adjust his shin guards. "Look, these guys are good. Really good. But if you're here, it means you're special. Just show them what you can do and they'll respect you."
Ethan nodded, appreciating the kindness. He'd need at least one friend here.
Pitch three was a regulation-size field with pristine grass and professional goals. Coach Martineau stood at the center circle—a muscular man in his forties with a whistle around his neck and a stern expression that suggested he didn't tolerate nonsense.
The U-10 squad lined up in front of him. Ethan stood at the end, the smallest by far.
"We have a new player today," Martineau announced, his voice carrying authority. "Ethan Loki, seven years old, from Bondy. I know what you're all thinking—he's too young, too small. But Director Gauthier and Coach Bernard both vouched for him, which means he's here for a reason." His eyes swept across the group. "You will treat him like any other teammate. Understood?"
"Yes, Coach," they responded in unison.
"Good. Warm-up drills. Three laps, then dynamic stretching. Move!"
The boys took off running. Ethan kept pace in the middle of the pack, not wanting to stand out yet. His legs were shorter, but his stamina was solid from years of playing street football for hours every day.
After warm-ups, Martineau split them into groups for passing drills. Ethan found himself in a trio with Antoine and the blonde kid from earlier, whose name was Thomas.
"Don't slow us down, petit," Thomas muttered.
The drill was simple: one-touch passing in a triangle, keeping the ball moving quickly and accurately. Thomas and Antoine started fast, testing Ethan immediately.
But Ethan had already calculated the timing, the angles, the weight of each pass. His first touch was perfect, cushioning the ball and redirecting it to Antoine in one fluid motion. His second touch was even better—a crisp pass that hit Antoine's foot with exactly the right pace.
After two minutes, Thomas stopped and stared. "Okay... you can actually play."
"Told you," Antoine grinned.
The drills continued for an hour. Ball control. First touch. Short passing. Long passing. Shooting practice. Every exercise, Ethan performed at or above the level of his teammates. His technique was flawless, his decision-making instant, his execution precise.
Coach Martineau walked among the groups, observing silently. When he reached Ethan's station, he watched for several minutes without saying a word. Finally, he called out, "Loki, follow me."
Ethan jogged over, nervous.
"You've got good fundamentals," Martineau said. "Better than good, actually. But I need to see how you handle pressure. How you think under stress." He gestured toward the pitch. "See those goals? I want you to take ten shots from different positions. No warm-up. Just go."
Ethan picked up a ball and walked to the eighteen-yard box. He placed it down, took three steps back, and looked at the goal.
In his mind, he saw it. The perfect trajectory. Bottom right corner. The goalkeeper—a training dummy today—wouldn't stand a chance.
He struck the ball with his left foot. It curved beautifully, dipping at the last moment and nestling into the bottom right corner exactly where he'd visualized it.
"Again," Martineau commanded.
Ethan took nine more shots from nine different positions and angles. Top left. Bottom center. Upper ninety right side. Curling shot from the corner of the box. Driven shot from twenty-five yards out.
Ten shots. Ten different spots. Ten perfect strikes.
When the tenth ball hit the back of the net, the entire squad had stopped their drills to watch. Even Thomas stood there with his mouth open.
Coach Martineau approached Ethan slowly, his stern expression finally breaking into something that might have been a smile.
"Welcome to Lyon, Loki," he said. "Let's see what you're really capable of."
End of Chapter 3