After seeing this, Leonardo didn't waste any more time. He didn't hesitate, didn't second-guess himself. His eyes moved quickly, calculating the position of the player, the angle of the pass, and the exact placement of the ball. Everything slowed down for a split second in his mind, like the world had given him just enough time to prepare.
Then he moved.
He ran toward the ball with purpose, his steps controlled but urgent. As he reached it, he struck it cleanly with the inside of his foot, making sure his left leg was firmly planted and perfectly aligned with the ball's position before contact.
The connection was precise.
The ball lifted off the ground and glided across the pitch, calm and composed, spinning gently as it cut through the air. It didn't rush. It didn't wobble. It moved like it knew exactly where it was going like it had a mission.
And in a way, it did.
The striker reacted instantly the moment the ball was struck. His body leaned forward as he burst into motion, adjusting his run slightly toward the ball's path. He stole a quick glance at the goalkeeper, just enough to register his position, then snapped his focus back to the ball.
It was descending now.
He adjusted his posture, lowering his center of gravity slightly. His neck tightened just enough to control the motion without straining. Then, with a sharp, controlled movement, he flicked the ball with the left side of his head.
The redirection was immediate.
The ball changed course mid-air, shifting from the center of the 18-yard box toward the left side of the bar. It curved just enough to avoid the goalkeeper's reach before slamming into the net.
The goalkeeper reacted late.
He stretched, dove, and tried to recover but it wasn't enough.
The ball was already in.
"Peewee," the coach, blew sharply into his whistle, the sound cutting through the field.
"That was okay," he said, his tone calm but observant.
He gestured for the next set of players to continue the drill while Leo jogged back to the starting side, his part of the trial finished for now.
There was no celebration. No excitement.
Just quiet acknowledgment.
After a bit of give-and-go between the other players, time passed quickly. Before long, about forty-five minutes had gone by, and everyone had completed their turns.
The coach gathered them together again, offering a short lecture before introducing the next exercise.
The sun had climbed high into the sky by now. The heat pressed down steadily, no longer gentle. The air felt heavier, and even the grass seemed to hold warmth beneath their feet.
Leo stood still for a moment, taking it all in.
Around him, boys stretched their legs, rolled their shoulders, and shook out the tension. Some laughed loudly, trying to mask their nerves. Others stayed quiet, lost in their thoughts, replaying their performances.
Some had done well.
Some had done just enough.
And some… knew they hadn't met the mark.
Everyone looked calm on the outside.
But inside, it was different.
Everyone here understood what this trial meant. Opportunities like this didn't come often, and no one wanted to be the one who wasted it.
Leo exhaled slowly.
Why am I even thinking about them? he thought. I've got my own problems to deal with.
His mind drifted back to his earlier performance.
An "okay" rating… even with the Arjen Robben template? That's not good enough.
He wasn't frustrated just aware.
And they're only taking a few of us… that's the real problem.
A sharp whistle cut through his thoughts.
"Warm up, boys," the coach called out.
"You're going around the field twice. Get your blood flowing. Loosen up. You'll need it for what's coming next."
He paused, scanning their faces.
"And listen carefully I don't want to see anyone slacking. If you're caught, you'll get warnings. Ignore them, and you're off the trial ground. No exceptions."
He stepped back slightly, giving them space.
"Move."
They started jogging almost immediately.
At first, it felt easy. Natural.
Some of the boys carried a light energy, their movements relaxed, almost playful. You could feel their confidence spreading outward. Others, though, dragged their feet, already showing signs of fatigue or nerves.
But overall, the atmosphere held steady.
It felt right.
Like this was where he was supposed to be.
By the time they completed the second lap, their bodies had warmed up. Muscles loosened, breathing steadied, and movements became lighter.
Then the balls were brought out.
They lined up for the next drill cones arranged ahead in a straight formation.
One by one, players stepped forward and dribbled through. Some rushed, trying to impress, only to lose control halfway through. Others hesitated too much, slowing themselves down.
Then it was Leo's turn.
The ball rested just ahead of him.
He stepped forward and stopped.
For a brief moment, everything else faded the noise, the chatter, the pressure.
He took a deep breath.
Held it.
Then released it slowly.
The cones stretched ahead, evenly spaced, waiting.
His mind sharpened.
In that quiet space inside his head, he began mapping everything out every touch, every step, every shift in movement. Even the way the air might resist the ball became part of his calculation.
Another breath.
Then he moved.
His first touch was soft and controlled, just enough to push the ball forward without losing contact.
He didn't chase it.
He guided it.
And then he felt it.
That subtle shift.
Like something was helping him.
The system… the Arjen Robben template, he realized. That's useful.
He approached the first cone.
His body opened slightly as he used the inside of his foot to shift the ball across.
Smooth.
No hesitation.
Second cone.
He switched feet effortlessly. The ball stayed close, almost as if it were connected to him. His movements were light, balanced, precise.
He wasn't forcing anything.
He was flowing.
Third cone.
Now his rhythm locked in completely.
Touch… step… touch… step.
Everything became consistent.
The ball never drifted too far.
Never got stuck.
Always within reach.
Always under control.
He didn't rush.
That was the difference.
Most players panicked at this point they sped up, lost focus, and made mistakes.
But Leo stayed calm.
His knees remained slightly bent, ready to adjust. His body leaned naturally into each turn, maintaining balance and control.
Fourth cone.
A sharper angle.
He used the outside of his foot this time.
Clean.
Efficient.
Perfect execution.
He could feel the attention now.
Eyes on him.
Watching.
Evaluating.
But it didn't matter.
He was in control.
Final cone.
One last touch past it.
Then a smooth push into open space as he accelerated forward.
Not aggressive.
Not rushed.
Just confident.
He slowed down gradually, turned, and walked back.
"Nicely done, boy," the coach said with a nod.
"Thanks," Leo replied quietly.
No mistakes.
No panic.
No wasted motion.
Just control.
And anyone watching could see it clearly
He didn't just complete the drill.
He dominated it.
Leo glanced down briefly.
"Thanks, system," he muttered under his breath.
A quiet response followed in his mind.
Welcome.