Femi Balogun panted heavily, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Day after day, he had pushed himself relentlessly on the training ground, honing his football skills with unwavering determination. Yet progress seemed to slip through his fingers like a fleeting shadow. He couldn't even dribble one-on-one without losing the ball, he thought bitterly, frustration gnawing at his spirit like a persistent ache. The harsh truth was settling in—he was on the brink of being released. The coaches didn't see the talent he believed he possessed. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't good enough after all.
But Femi knew his strengths. Speed was his weapon—blindingly fast, he could outrun most opponents with ease. And as a Nigerian, his physical strength and stamina were formidable assets. Against youth teams, he bulldozed through defenders with raw power and relentless energy. But the first team was an entirely different battlefield. There, his weaknesses were mercilessly exposed; he was dispossessed too easily, like a fragile leaf caught in a violent storm. Sent back to the youth squad to improve, Femi's hope flickered dimly, only to be extinguished when the club decided to release him anyway.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips.
He couldn't go back—not now. He was here because of his parents' sacrifices, their unwavering belief in him, their dreams woven tightly with his own. Disappointing them was not an option.
With tears blurring his vision, Femi lifted his gaze to the vast, open sky above.
How he wished he could become better.
Suddenly, a strange jolt shot through his head, sharp and electric. His mind cleared in an instant, as if a fog had lifted. He felt an inexplicable understanding wash over him, though he couldn't quite grasp its meaning. Confused, he glanced around, searching for something—anything—that might explain this sudden clarity. But there was nothing. Just the familiar green grass beneath his feet and the goal net swaying gently in the breeze.
Shrugging off the strange sensation, he scratched his head and returned to his training, though a faint doubt lingered in his mind.
He resumed dribbling through the poles, focusing on speed and control. Slowly, carefully, he weaved the ball between the markers, each touch more confident than the last. Then, as he reached the shooting position, something extraordinary happened. The moment he prepared to strike, he lost control of his body—not in a way that felt weak or clumsy, but as if an unseen force had taken over. His leg swung forward, and the ball soared off his foot in a bizarre, curling arc.
The ball curved beautifully, tracing a perfect path to the top corner of the goal, slipping past the imaginary goalkeeper with uncanny precision.
Femi's body snapped back to his control, but his mind was blank, stunned by the mysterious event. He looked around, half-expecting someone to have witnessed the strange shot, but the training ground was empty—silent except for the rustling grass and the distant chirping of birds.
Determined to understand what had just happened, he lined up another shot. The same thing occurred. The ball curled again, this time hitting the top beam corner with unerring accuracy.
Shock turned to disbelief as he repeated the shot again and again—twenty attempts, twenty perfect goals.
Excitement surged through him. If he could do this here, in practice, what might happen on the field? As long as the goalkeeper couldn't catch it and he had space, he could become the master of the blistering curler, the kind of player who could dominate matches with a single, unstoppable shot.
For the first time in a long while, hope ignited in Femi's heart.
He kept training long after the sun began to dip below the horizon, the sky shifting from gold to deep indigo. So immersed was he in perfecting his shots that he didn't notice the creeping darkness around him. Only when the floodlights flickered on did he realize how late it had become.
Reluctantly, he gathered the scattered balls and poles, his muscles aching but his spirit alight with newfound purpose. The cool evening air brushed against his sweat-damp skin as he made his way off the field, thoughts racing faster than his feet ever could.
Back in his rented apartment, Femi sat by the window, staring out at the quiet streets of Lille. Tomorrow, he would show the coaches at Lille OSC what he was truly capable of. The thought sent a thrill through him. He imagined the ball curling past the keeper's outstretched hands, the crowd erupting in cheers, his teammates patting him on the back.
Sleep, however, was elusive. His mind buzzed with anticipation and the vivid memory of those perfect shots. But exhaustion eventually claimed him, and he drifted off, muscles sore but heart hopeful.
Tomorrow was a new day. And Femi Balogun was ready to fight for his dream.