In an empty alley, a boy practiced his shots against a rusty dumpster. For hours, he kept shooting. His ball was worn out, and the metal dumpster was engraved with marks from his kicks.
Zach was fifteen years old. He wasn't raised with a silver spoon—he was raised in an unlucky home. His father was a poor, abusive drunk, and his mother struggled every day to raise him and his little sister into something better, despite their situation.
One day at school, sports were finally added to the curriculum. Everyone was asked to try out for different sports. When the bell rang, students rushed to the field, the pool, the basketball court—everywhere.
Zach didn't rush like the others. He stayed seated, staring at his desk.
What should I do? Join them… or go home and talk to Mom first?
After a moment, he stood up and said quietly,
"I'll go… and talk to her later."
Zach knew that if he joined a sport, he might get noticed—maybe even chosen by an international team someday. That money could change his family's life.
When he got home and told his mother, he expected support. Instead, she shut the idea down immediately.
"No sports. Focus on your studies. Become a doctor—or anything respectable," she said. "Not football."
Zach didn't argue, but he didn't quit either. He bought his own ball and secretly trained at a friend's house, determined to prove how great he was.
The next day, when the bell rang again, Zach didn't hesitate. He ran to the field with the others. He was lucky enough to make the squad; those who didn't had to join another club.
The coach asked everyone to show what they could do. When it was Zach's turn, fear froze him. He asked to go last.
When his turn came again, he stepped forward and dribbled cleanly. The coach nodded.
"Midfielder," the coach said.
Zach smiled. His friend Kelly was placed as center forward.
Zach was happy. He had loved football since he was a child—until his mother stopped him from watching matches with his dad, calling football a sport for people who wanted to waste their lives.
The following day, the team gathered for training, but the coach didn't show up. After waiting, most of the kids decided to train on their own.
Zach joined in.Waiting was pointless.
He dribbled past everyone on the field—defenders, midfielders, even the goalkeeper. He scored.The field went silent.
"Bro… how did you learn those skills when your mom doesn't even let you play football?" Kelly asked.
The others nodded, staring at him.
"I just played with a friend who doesn't attend this school," Zach said, avoiding their eyes.
At that moment, the coach arrived.
"Sorry, kids. All the coaches were called to the principal's office."
"For what?" the goalkeeper asked.
"Upcoming competitions."
"A competition?" Gary shouted.
"Yes. Against every school in the state."
Gary shook his head. "We've only trained for two weeks. We're going to fail."
"No, we're not," Kyle said confidently.
Everyone turned.
"Huh?" Gary asked.
"We have Zach. He's really good at dribbling. We actually have a chance."
Zach felt shy as all eyes landed on him.
"Sir," he said softly, "can you tell us more about the competition?"
The coach smiled. "First round is elimination. Win that, and you move to the main stage. Sixteen schools are competing."
"Sixteen schools," the coach continued. "Only eight advances."
The field went quiet.
Zach clenched his fists. This wasn't just a competition—it was a chance. A real one.
If he won, everything could change.
If he failed…
He didn't finish the thought.
Somewhere in the distance, a whistle blew.
The tournament had begun.