"You boys have put in a solid day. I saw each and every one of you out there giving it your all, pushing through the drills, fighting to prove something," Coach Henrik bellowed.
"But come tomorrow, the matches start. That's your chance to show us how you play in a team and how you think on your feet. So get some rest tonight, eat well, and come back ready to give it everything."
"Any questions?" He looked around.
A hand went up near the front. The boy was short and stocky, with curly blond hair plastered to his forehead from sweat. Henrik nodded at him. "Go on, introduce yourself first, then ask."
The boy straightened up a bit. "My name is Nils Ekberg, sir. I'd like to ask, how will we be arranged in teams and positions tomorrow?"
Coach Henrik crossed his arms. "Good question, Nils. We'll assign you to teams and positions based on what our scouting team has seen, your strengths, your style, and all the data they've got on you. Then we factor in how you performed today and what you showed us in the drills, and we'll place each of you where we think you'll fit best. That's how we'll do it."
"Any other questions?" He glanced around again. No hands this time.
"Alright, then. That's it for today."
After Coach Henrik dismissed them, they started to break off, heading toward their bags scattered around the pitch.
Sebastian walked to where he had left his duffel near the sideline, feeling eyes on him as he moved. Some boys shot admiring glances, open and impressed, while others had envy flickering in their stares. A few looked conflicted, their faces caught between respect and worry. This was a competition, after all. Only the top would get picked.
He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed to the locker room. The shower was quick, cold water rinsing off the sweat and grime. When he stepped out, he pulled a gray hoodie and loose black track pants from his bag, slipping into black slides, comfy and broken-in. His training gear went back in, damp and crumpled. He walked outside the stadium, bag bouncing lightly against his side, and sat on a bench near the entrance to wait for his dad.
Sitting there, he stared at the empty road ahead, thoughts drifting to the trials. He had given his all today, no question, and pushed hard through everything they threw at him.
Tomorrow were the matches, and he would do the same. He had to give his absolute best to get selected for Malmö FF's academy. Training alone in the yard or with his school team could only take him so far. He needed their coaches, their system, and their level of play to keep climbing. Without it, he would hit a wall, stuck at good when he wanted great.
A gray sedan rolled into view down the road, his dad's car. Sebastian stood as it turned, pulling up in front of the stadium. He started toward it but then heard a shout.
"Sebastian!"
He turned his head. Martin stood a few meters away, waving one hand, his bag slung over his shoulder. "See ya!"
Sebastian waved back. "Bye." He reached the car, opened the door, and slid into the passenger seat.
**********
Thomas's POV
I watched from the driver's seat as Sebastian opened the passenger door, the stadium lights casting a faint glow over the lot. A voice called out his name, and I glanced past him.
A boy stood there, a touch shorter than Sebastian, lean with a mess of brown hair stuck to his forehead, waving one hand while the other gripped a bag over his shoulder. "See ya!" the kid shouted. Sebastian waved back, simple and short. "Bye."
My son slid into the seat, buckling in as I shifted the car into gear. "Someone's made a new friend," I said, a small grin tugging at my mouth.
I had always thought Sebastian acted older than his years, too mature, too focused. It kept him apart from most kids his age, leaving him with barely any friends. Seeing him wave to that boy and hearing the easy goodbye felt good. Rare.
"He's Martin," Sebastian said, settling back. "We played against his school in the tournament."
"When?" I asked, pulling onto the road.
"The finals," he replied.
I raised my eyebrows. "Is he sore about it?"
"Nah," Sebastian said. "He's cool. We got along fine."
We drove in silence for a bit, the stadium shrinking in the rearview. I glanced at my son, then out the window. "How was work?" Sebastian asked.
"You know, same old, same old," I said with a shrug. "Enough about me. How'd the trials go?"
Sebastian leaned back in the seat. "I think I did well."
My lips twitched into a half-smile. Of course he did well. Sebastian had been born gifted, no doubt about it, a spark that set him apart early. But it came with a catch.
That maturity, that intensity, made him different, kept him distant from other kids. Football changed that. Ever since he could kick a ball, Sebastian had dreamed of being one of the best footballers out there. Not just good, but world-class. It lit something in his eyes, brought him alive.
I remembered the first time I had noticed. Sebastian, barely six, kicking a ball around the yard for hours, relentless even then. Doctors had called it a syndrome once, something about how he perceived the world, but Sebastian turned it into a strength. He trained like it was his whole world.
I had always known my son was good at football, but how good he was compared to others his age, I didn't know. Well, that was until the tournament his school participated in.
I had missed most of the games since work always got in the way, but I made it to that last one, the finals.
Seeing Sebastian dominate the pitch that day had left me stunned, and pride burst through me as I watched him play. That was why it hadn't taken much to convince me to let him attend the trials when the Malmö FF scout reached out with the invite afterward.
The car rolled along the road, early evening light still hanging in the sky, and I let my thoughts drift. Turning football into a career was no easy path. Making it professionally and playing in one of the best leagues in the world took more than talent. It took everything. But Sebastian wasn't content with simply becoming a professional. He wanted to be remembered as one of the greats, and I believed if anyone could climb that mountain, it was my son.