June 30th, 2013
By the time the bus rolled into Lagos, the sun had begun to set, painting the skyline in shades of red and gold. The air was different here thick, loud, restless. The city breathed ambition but also dread. Every street corner hummed with movement, every shout or car horn carrying the spirit of someone chasing something bigger.
Jeremiah leaned forward slightly as they crossed into Surulere. The smell of roasted corn and exhaust fumes filled the bus. The other players began to stir from their naps, some rubbing their necks, others stretching restlessly. It had been nearly six hours on the road.
Coach Benson stood and cleared his throat. "Alright boys. We don't reach. That small hotel there," he pointed through the window, "na where una go dey rest this night. Tomorrow na serious business."
The hotel was modest, two stories high, with paint faded in places, and a flickering bulb above the reception door. A small sign read "Golden SKY" in peeling gold letters.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of cleaning agent and damp fabric. The narrow hallway led to ten small rooms, each with two bunk beds, thin mattresses, and a humming ceiling fan working overtime against the heat.
Jeremiah dropped his bag near one bed, only to realize Coach Benson had walked in behind him."You're with me," Benson said, tossing his small duffel onto the other bunk. "The younger ones stay with me. I no want noise disturbing my sleep."
Jeremiah nodded quickly. "Yes, Coach."
Coach Benson sat on the edge of his bed, unlacing his shoes. "You seem not to talk much. Always thinking. You can talk small, you know?"
Jeremiah smiled faintly. "Yes, Coach. I like to observe first."
"Observation no bad," Benson chuckled. "But I go like see that observation turn to voice tomorrow." He stood, stretching his back. "Trials for Lagos boys no dey easy. Everybody gats talent, and dem go fight like say na life or death."
"It is life or death," Jeremiah murmured, eyes fixed on his bag.
Benson looked at him curiously but said nothing. For a long moment, there was only the sound of the ceiling fan creaking as it spun.
Finally, the coach sighed. "Sleep early. You'll need your legs and head tomorrow."
Jeremiah nodded, climbed into bed, and closed his eyes but he didn't sleep. His mind went through scenarios in his head that may come up through the trials, visualizing the rhythm of play, the La Pausa. He also contemplated how he would or should interact with his best friend from his former life.
Somewhere between thoughts, the sounds of the busy street outside finally lulled him into a light sleep as he went to practice with the system once again.
****** *********
July 1st, 2013
The next morning came with a cool breeze and the distant sound of traffic. The entire group gathered in the hotel parking lot, boots dangling from their bags, faces half awake. Two small buses were waiting to take them to the stadium.
Jeremiah rubbed his eyes, energy surging back as soon as he spotted the massive field coming into view, the National Stadium of Lagos. As they stepped out of the buses, Coach took the players, "From now on it's all about you, I'm only an observer from here forward, do your best and let faith handle the rest". He led the players through the entrance and registration process.
As hundreds of players stood on the pitch conversing a voice over a microphone echoed across.
"Welcome" announced one of the coordinators as the players came to a stop. "Today is a test of your physical and mental grit. Every player goes to run track, four hundred meters. Group of eight. Not just about speed, also about fitness and control."
The boys exchanged uneasy glances. Even for professionals, 400 meters was no joke.
Jeremiah's name was called in the fifteenth group. His teammates looked at him, some whispering. He ignored them focusing and preparing on his race. It wasn't until they called a name that caught Jeremiah's attention.
"Pelumi Adesina"
He turned. There, standing a few meters away, was a face from another life, his old friend.
Pelumi had been his best friend back in his first life, Jeremiah had never attended these particular trials in his past life due to his being 13. But in that timeline, Pelumi had lost both his parents in a car crash when he was 2.
After that, he would go on to live with his grandmother but by his estimation, his grandmother should have passed 2 months ago making him an orphan, after the trials were over he would connect with Coach Benson and move to Edo state for football, where he and Jeremiah would meet later on.
He was the more talented of the duo making it to the top of the Nigerian Premier Football League before signing for a Tanzanian team. As of the time of his death, he had secured a move to a team in the Turkish Super League.
Now, here he stood again. The same grin, the same confident posture. Only this time, Jeremiah knew everything.
"Hello", " Jeremiah said as he approached him, "Hello" Pelumi replied.
Before they could say more, another voice cut in, eager, boyish, full of energy. "Omo, make una no waste time o, dem don call our group!"
Jeremiah turned to see a skinny boy tying his boots tight, a wild grin on his face. Someone whispered beside him, "That's Victor Osimhen. Fifteen only, but that boy get speed like lightning, na well known striker for Lagos."
Jeremiah's heart skipped. Osimhen. In his former life, he would become one of Nigeria's brightest stars. Seeing him here, so young and hungry, made everything feel real.
The official shouted, "Group 15 to the line!"
Pelumi, Osimhen, Jeremiah, and five others stepped onto the red dirt track.
The smell of the track's dust filled Jeremiah's nose. He bent low, steadying his heartbeat.
"Remember," Coach Benson called out from the sidelines. "Focus! Not just legs control your breathing!"
The whistle shrieked through the air.
They took off.
Jeremiah's legs carried him in rhythm—controlled strides, technique intact. Pelumi powered ahead quickly; his running form was strong. Osimhen, at fifteen, was built light and fast, springing like a deer down the curve.
But Jeremiah didn't rush. He found his rhythm halfway around the track, letting the others burn their lungs early.
By the final stretch, Osimhen's pace began to falter slightly. Jeremiah pushed forward, overtaking him in the last thirty meters, finishing just behind Pelumi, who blazed through the line almost effortlessly.
The boys collapsed, breathing hard. Jeremiah bent over, chest heaving, but a small, proud smile formed on his lips.
Coach Benson nodded from the side as the coaches and scouts started jotting somethings into their notebooks. "Good," he muttered. "Very good."
Pelumi looked up, panting. "Nice one," he said between breaths. "Didn't think you'd still be running like that."
Jeremiah smirked faintly. "I told you before, Pelu. I don't stop till I get there."
"Pelu" Pelumi repeated, a bit surprised by Jeremiah's comfort level
Osimhen laughed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Na this kind spirit I like. Lagos no dey smile o!" he said, slapping Jeremiah lightly on the shoulder before jogging off to grab water.
Jeremiah stood still for a moment, watching them both, his past and the nation's future, realizing that fate had given him another crossroads.
This time, he wouldn't be the one standing in the shadows.