"Talent survives anywhere. Belief survives only where it is protected."
Late Night – Luke's House
They stayed up far past midnight.
What started as casual talk slowly turned into everything they had been carrying alone.
They spoke about the past—about the dusty streets, the games that ended only when someone's mother shouted from a window. About dreams they once said out loud without fear. About dreams that now felt heavier, more complicated.
Luke talked about the academy—about drills that never ended, teammates who passed only to those they trusted, and coaches who spoke in diagrams instead of emotions.
Theo listened. And then, quietly, he spoke too.
About being alone.
About the walls.
About feeling like football was slipping away even though the ball never left his feet.
At some point, the heaviness broke.Luke suddenly laughed.
"Do you remember that game?"
Theo groaned. "Don't."
"You celebrated before the ball went in," Luke said, already laughing.
Theo covered his face. "I was six!"
"You slid on your knees," Luke continued, "screaming like you'd won the World Cup—"
"—AND THEN IT HIT THE POST," Theo shouted.
Luke fell backward on the bed, wheezing. "You blamed the ground."
"It was uneven!"
"You blamed the sun."
"IT WAS IN MY EYES."
Luke wiped tears from his face. "And then Gabi ran onto the street and told everyone you were celebrating an assist."
Theo laughed despite himself.
For a moment, the academy didn't exist.
The fence didn't exist.
They were just two kids again, laughing at a goal that never was.
Theo reminded Luke of a ridiculous moment from years ago—when Luke tripped over his own fake shot and blamed the ball. And an even worse memory: Luke celebrating a tap-in like he'd won the World Cup.
They laughed until their stomachs hurt.
For a few hours, it felt like nothing had changed.
The next morning, Theo stood at the doorstep, tying his worn-out laces.
"Hey," Luke called.
Theo turned.
"Come to training tomorrow."
Theo blinked. "Your academy training?"
Luke nodded.
Theo laughed. "Nice joke. Would your coach even let me touch the ball?"
Luke shrugged. "He's a tough nut to crack. But sometimes the others bring friends along. Just tell me—are you in or not?"
Theo stared at him. Academy. Cones. Boots. Coaches.
"Is that even a question?" Theo said finally. "Just pray you don't get benched when your coach gets impressed by me."
Luke grinned. "Sure. Let's see who kicks whose ass tomorrow. Just be early. He hates late arrivals."
Theo walked home with his chest lighter than it had been in weeks.
His brother Gabriel spotted him immediately.
"Hey, shorty," he said, smirking. "What happened? Did Ana finally propose?"
Theo's face turned red. "Knock it off. There's nothing going on between me and Amy."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Nothing at all? Then what were you doing last—"
Theo bolted for his room.
"GABRIEL!" his mother shouted. "Stop teasing him! Aren't you late already? Your father's waiting."
"Yes, yes, I'm going," Gabriel replied, heading out. "Good luck tomorrow, academy star."
Theo shut the door, leaned against it, and smiled.
Tomorrow wasn't just another day.
Theo couldn't sleep.
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, imagining tomorrow over and over again—every possible version of it playing out in his head. At some point between hope and exhaustion, his eyes finally closed.
Noise.
Cheers. Applause. Whistles. Booing.
The sound was everywhere.
This—this was what he had wanted all his life.
"It's Theo Jr. on the ball!" the commentator shouted.
"One of the brightest young talents we've seen. A player with outstanding quality—able to unsettle defenders, score goals, and deliver spectacular performances!"
Theo glided forward, the ball glued to his feet.
One defender beaten.
Two.
Three.
The crowd rose as one.
"This is spectacular!" the voice cried. "What a performance—AND HE SCORES!"
The stadium exploded.
"Theo! Theo! Theo!"
He celebrated in his iconic pose, teammates piling onto him from behind, laughter and joy crashing over him like a wave.
This was football heritage.
"Theo."
The chant grew louder—but wrong.
"Theo."
The faces in the crowd began to blur, shift, change—until they became one familiar face.
"Theo!"
He jolted awake.
His mother stood over him, arms crossed, trying not to smile.
"You said you wanted to wake up early. Why are you still sleeping?"
Theo shot up, heart racing.
"Luke's waiting downstairs," she added. "Hurry."
Reality hit him like a tackle.
Theo scrambled out of bed, grabbed his shoes, pulled on his shirt and shorts, and bolted down the stairs.
"Hey, hey—calm down," Luke said, laughing. "We've got time. I came early because I knew exactly how this would go if I didn't."
Theo glanced at the clock. Luke was right.
Luke looked him up and down. "You're not seriously coming in that old Brazil kit, are you?"
Theo shrugged.
Luke rolled his eyes and handed him a folded jersey.
"Spare kit. Change. Let's go."
They walked toward the training ground, teasing each other the whole way—about bad haircuts, missed chances, and who'd get benched first.
After a while, Luke slowed.
"We got here fast today, huh?"
Theo stopped.
The academy gates stood in front of him—tall, open, quiet.
His dreams flickered in his eyes.
Theo had never been afraid of space.
But this place had too much of it.
The academy gates stood taller than Theo remembered.
And for the first time, the walls weren't behind him—they were watching.