(A couple of months ago)
"Good morning, boys. We've got a new recruit joining us today. He might still be young, but I believe he's got the ability to be here. So treat him like one of your own. Go ahead, introduce yourself."
Che glanced nervously at the coach, then at the tall, unfamiliar faces in front of him. His mouth was dry, words stuck.
"Go on."
He finally forced his voice out. "H-hey, my name is—"
"Speak up, they can't hear you!"
Che swallowed and straightened up. "Hey, my name is Che Louw! I'm 13 years old—turning 14 in December. Uh… I'm originally from Paraguay in South America, but I moved here recently with my family. My favorite position is forward!"
"Paraguay? Then how do you speak German?"
"I, uh—I was homeschooled. My mom's German, so I had to learn it growing up."
"Ah, cool. Well, I'm Adrian, captain of the team. I'm a forward too. Welcome to King's View Academy."
The rest of the players started changing into their kits.
"Man, coach really did it this time. A kid? Look how tiny he is."
"Whatever. We've been terrible lately—maybe he figured we couldn't get any worse."
Leon bumped into the pair of them, clearly overhearing. "Come on, guys. He's new. Doesn't matter where he's from—he can hear you."
"Yeah, yeah."
Leon jogged over to Che. "Hey, Che, right? I'm Leon. Don't mind them. Some people just love hating."
Che nodded shyly, laced up, and followed Leon to the pitch.
Warmups began—no balls in sight. Just endurance and stamina drills. Che kept up, quiet and focused. The others, not so much. Groans echoed between sets.
After an hour of lung-burning running, the coach finally brought out the ball.
"Yes! Finally!" Leon shouted.
"For the last hour, we'll play eleven-a-side—starters versus reserves," the coach said. "Match this weekend, so show me something."
The assistant coach tossed out bibs.
"Subs in blue and white, starters in red."
(20 minutes into the game)
Che hadn't even touched the ball. On defense, he looked lost—his positioning was off, and his reactions were slow.
To the rest of the team, he was dead weight.
Even when he made good runs, his teammates ignored him.
"Here! I'm open!" he called again and again. Nothing.
It was like they didn't even see him. The starters had no problem playing 11 vs 10.
When the ball went out for a corner, Che walked over to one of the senior midfielders.
"Hey, why won't you pass? I'm making space."
"Play the game, kid. No one's got time for you."
"I'm on your team—your teammate."
"Doesn't matter. You don't belong here. I don't care what coach says—we're all fighting for starting spots this weekend. So do us a favor, and get out of the way."
Che didn't understand. The reserves were getting battered. Still, no one gave him a shot. Everyone playing selfish. No chemistry. No hope.
He decided if no one would give him the ball, he'd take it himself.
When the starters regained possession and began passing comfortably again, Che saw his moment.
He darted in from the wing and intercepted a lazy pass near the left-back. The ball stuck to his foot like glue.
He lifted his head.
A gap.
A real gap.
No one had even noticed him sneak in.
He took off—sliced through one player, then another, gliding like he'd been waiting his whole life for this moment. The midfield tried to recover, but he was already sprinting through their lines.
Then, just out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a teammate making a run down the wing.
Perfect.
Che slotted a through ball ahead of him. It was now a foot race.