As the match had just ended and applause still echoed through the stands, a female voice pierced the ambient commotion—clear and direct.
— "Hey, kid... when are you moving up to U13?"
A murmur immediately rippled through the crowd, filled with admiration and curiosity. The question, though harmless on the surface, hung in the air like a drop of oil falling into a calm pond. Several heads turned, trying to locate the source. The woman who had asked, a mother dressed in a beige coat, had bright eyes—genuinely impressed.
On the field, Tesuka slowly lifted his eyes. He had just gotten up, drenched in sweat, still breathing hard. He had given it his all. For a brief moment, he stood still. Her words struck deeper than he would admit. It wasn't the question itself… but what it implied: "You no longer belong here."
A measured smile formed on his lips. Not arrogant, but disarmingly calm.
— "When I'm deemed ready, I'll be selected," he replied with a nod. "In any case... I'm enjoying being here."
His words were simple. But they echoed like a bell in the silence that followed. To some, it was the answer of a humble prodigy. To others, a polite way of saying: "I know I've got the level."
And in the shadows, someone was listening.
Hidden beneath a gray cap, leaning against the back row of the stands, a sharp-eyed man observed the scene. He said nothing. Didn't even blink. But his fingers tapped nervously against the edge of his seat. He wasn't just a spectator.
He was one of the academy's shadow men. An "eye" among others, but this one belonged to Coach Ndikumana's inner circle—PvP U13's reputed and ruthless coach.
No sooner had Tesuka finished speaking than the man quietly exited the stands. He weaved through the crowd, skirted around street vendors, and disappeared into the streets of Buyenzi like a gust of wind.
---
A few blocks away, in a stark room inside the PvP academy bathed in bluish light from video analysis screens, the scout gave his report.
Standing in front of him, arms crossed over a glass table, was Coach Ndikumana. His chiseled face betrayed nothing, but as the man spoke, his jaw gradually tensed.
— "He said that? Really?" Ndikumana asked in a deep, low voice.
— "Yes, coach. He said it naturally, but… honestly, he had a bit of a confident look. He didn't say it outright… but it felt like he already saw himself there. He wasn't insolent… but not humble either," the messenger continued, lowering his eyes.
A heavy silence settled in the room. Then slowly, Ndikumana walked toward the bay window overlooking the training field.
— "His intention doesn't matter," he finally said in a nearly stifled voice. "It's not about what he meant to say. It's about what others hear."
He turned his head toward his assistant.
— "And I don't care what they hear. They don't run this academy. I do."
His eyes narrowed—cold, rigid. He was already thinking beyond the present moment.
Because what Tesuka didn't know was that, to Ndikumana, every word, every reaction, every move on and off the pitch was a piece of the academy's political puzzle. And that sentence—innocent to some—had just shifted the balance.
Unknowingly, Tesuka had provoked a man who did not like being provoked.
And this was only the beginning.
---
A few minutes later, Bayo, the U9 coach, knocked gently on the office door. Inside, Ndikumana was still scrolling through the match data on his tablet. He didn't even lift his head.
— "Come in."
Bayo poked his head in with a polite smile.
— "Coach, am I disturbing you?"
— "What is it, Bayo?" Ndikumana asked in a neutral, almost cold tone.
— "I just wanted to let you know… Tesuka is on another level," he said with restrained admiration. "Six goals, five assists. He was involved in every goal. We won 11-4, but honestly, he led the whole thing from start to finish. That kid could really help strengthen the U13s. He's ready."
Silence followed.
Ndikumana slowly raised an eyebrow, as if tasting every word spoken. Then he crossed his arms and slightly turned in his chair, his gaze hard.
— "Are you suggesting I can't win without him?" he asked in a voice that, though quiet, cut sharply.
— "No, no, not at all, coach," Bayo said, taking a step back, caught off guard. "I just wanted to acknowledge his potential. Honestly, I'd prefer to keep him myself. He's a joy to coach. But… I can't be selfish. It would be unfair to his development."
The U9 coach scratched his neck, searching for words.
— "It's just that he's outgrown us now. He's reached another level—tactically, physically, mentally. Even the other kids, mine and the opponents, were looking at him with respect. You know, that kind of respect that isn't earned through age, but through presence."
Ndikumana's expression didn't change. He tapped the table once with his finger, thoughtful, then replied:
— "You should know I just humiliated Saint Augustin U13. One of the best teams in the Buyenzi region. Five-two. And without Tesuka. And you were there."
He let the statement hang in the air like a verdict.
Bayo lowered his head slightly.
— "I'm not questioning that, coach. Your team is solid—you've proved it. I completely respect your work. It's just that… sometimes, kids take a leap forward. And him, today, he didn't just shine. He elevated everyone around him. Even the shy ones dared bold passes. His play lifted the whole team."
Ndikumana stared at Bayo intensely. A barely perceptible twitch appeared in his jaw.
— "I don't select based on numbers, Bayo. You know that. Eleven decisive actions? Fine. But how many defensive recoveries? How many times did he sacrifice to cover space? How many times did he obey his captain without arguing?"
Bayo remained silent. Then calmly answered:
— "He tracked back. He even yelled at a teammate for missing his mark. It was… strange, but natural. Like something had awakened in him."
Silence returned. This time, Ndikumana said nothing. He turned his gaze to the window, eyes distant, tense.
A long moment passed. Bayo no longer knew if he should stay or go.
Finally, the U13 coach spoke:
— "He's young. Very young. And right now, everything seems easy. But U13 is a different world. It's no longer just kids chasing a ball. It's blocks, quick transitions, older players who won't hesitate to knock you down on your first touch. It's the jungle."
He snapped his fingers sharply.
— "And in the jungle… you don't send a cub, no matter how brilliant, unless he's already known fear."
Bayo nodded slowly, respectfully. But he added, almost in a whisper:
— "Sometimes, it's the cub who reminds the others they forgot how to be hungry."
Ndikumana turned his head slowly toward him. The look he gave was not one of anger. But it was heavy. Heavy with weight, rules, and doubt.
— "I'll know when the time is right. Not before."
Bayo understood the conversation was over. He nodded one last time.
— "Very well, coach."
And he left without another word, quietly closing the door behind him.
---
Ndikumana's gaze darkened. He turned back to the window, pensive. That day replayed in his mind… long before the U9 match had begun…
Everything had unfolded like in an all-too-lucid dream. The faces, the voices, the tension, the decisions… it all came rushing back. All it took was to close one's eyes for the memory to come alive—vivid, tangible.
And as if driven by that memory, the past snapped back into motion, abruptly.
The kickoff was given under a cloudless sky, in a stadium buzzing with excitement. The supporters, crammed into the makeshift stands of Buyenzi, clapped their hands, stomped their feet—anything to raise the energy.
> "Here we go, ladies and gentlemen! PvP FC versus Saint Augustin U13... a clash between two youth academies!" announced Madi, the commentator, with his signature enthusiasm.
The match began with a balanced tempo. Both teams sized each other up cautiously, trying to impose their style. Saint Augustin, true to form, played with discipline, forming a compact low block. Every player held their position to the centimeter, and their goalkeeper, Kujo, shouted instructions like a ship captain in a storm.
> "Discipline, rigor, intensity! That's the mantra of Saint Augustin's red and whites, and they're here to make it loud and clear today," Madi continued.
Their strategy was clear: win the ball, launch quickly, and find depth through Papala, their left winger—a real firecracker down the flank.
As early as the 2nd minute, Papala received a splendid through ball from Ismael. He controlled it with his chest, raised his head, and tried to take on Salomon, PvP's right back. Salomon, already in position, read the move.
> "You'll have to do better than that, buddy!" Salomon smirked provocatively.
> "Oooh! First shiver of the match!" Madi exclaimed. "What a duel we're about to witness! Papala vs. Salomon—speed against endurance, fire against steel!"
But Papala didn't back down. He followed up with a double touch, then a nutmeg that made the Saint Augustin supporters erupt in cheers. Salomon reacted instantly, recovered, and cut the play cleanly, no foul.
— "This isn't over," Papala warned through clenched teeth.
Once again, Papala got the ball on the left wing. With his first touch, he ignited. A blazing sprint—like lightning streaking along the sideline. His legs whirred at dizzying speed, his cleats blurring before the spectators' eyes.
> "Watch out, the rocket's taking off!" Madi shouted. "Papala hits turbo mode—it's raw speed versus Salomon's defensive reading!"
But Salomon didn't panic. He backed off with precision, absorbing every meter Papala gained. The winger then tried a shoulder feint followed by a sharp left-foot cut, aiming to create a sliver of space.
Salomon waited. He knew the real threat wasn't the dribble, but the acceleration.
At the exact moment Papala pushed the ball for his final burst—chac!—Salomon launched into a perfectly-timed sliding tackle, mid-height. The ball was cleanly deflected, ricocheting toward Chekinah just near the sideline.
The crowd rose as one.
> "Perfect intervention! What composure in defense! Salomon just neutralized a missile at full speed!"
Papala, abruptly stopped, had no choice but to slow down, panting, frustrated. Salomon had stood in his way like a wall of anticipation and nerve.
> "I always keep an eye on fast guys like you," said Salomon calmly. "Compared to my teammate Chekinah, you're a baby."
> "Uurgh!" Papala grimaced.
"We'll see. The match is just getting started."
When Chekinah, PvP FC's left winger, got the ball, he, too, let his legs do the talking. He outpaced Rahim, the opposing right back, on a long ball from Salou Keita.
Chekinah cut inside, then tried a samba dribble followed by a flip-flap to return to his left foot. The crowd responded with impressed "OHH!"s. But Rahim fought back, recovered, and got just enough of the ball to slow the action.
— "Nice one, old man," Rahim panted.
— "That was just a warm-up," Chekinah replied with a wink.
> "What intensity on the wings! This is going end to end like a boxing match!" Madi exclaimed, his mic shaking in his hand.
A minute later,
In the center, twins Hassan and Hussein were trying to dictate the tempo. The ball moved between them with dizzying fluidity. Their chemistry felt almost supernatural.
— "Your turn, Hassan."
— "Back to you, Hussein."
They strung together three short passes, making their marker dance, before Hussein attempted a sharp through ball to Kobisi, positioned centrally. But Kobisi, supposed to be the playmaker, looked out of it.
He received the ball... and immediately lost it under pressure from Amadou.
> "Kobisi… one touch too many! You can feel the hesitation in PvP's young number 10," Madi analyzed. "Could be nerves... could be something else?"
On the bench, Coach Ndikumana frowned. He watched silently, arms crossed. Next to him, Sabiti was still seated, tracksuit on, his gaze piercing. He observed every movement, every space, every mistake.
On the pitch, Salou Keita intercepted a sloppy clearance from Rahim and advanced a few meters. He sent a diagonal pass to Abou on the right wing. The ball arrived at chest height. Abou brought it down perfectly, feigned cutting inside… then spun around Ismael with an outside roulette.
— "Nice one, Abou!" Salomon shouted from the back.
Abou lifted his head. He spotted Khudhaïf in the box, surrounded by two defenders. He attempted a lofted cross... too high.
> "Great idea from Abou, but the execution had a bit too much force!" Madi pointed out. "They'll need calm and precision to break down Kujo!"
In the stands, the cheers rained down. Young fans waved blue and white flags. Older supporters nodded at every missed pass.
— "We need some magic here," murmured a spectator. "Someone who sees what the others can't…"
Ndikumana said nothing, but his eyes slowly drifted to Sabiti.
At the 10th minute,
Just as the match was settling into rhythm, Ndikumana abruptly rose from the bench. His gaze was cold, calculating, but a fire gleamed in his eyes.
With a simple wave of the hand, Sabiti—still seated, wearing his warm-up vest—lifted his head. Calmly, he stood, removed the vest, and tightened his laces like a samurai strapping on his blade.
---