Duke didn't move from the wide white-taped rectangle. He calmly picked up the ball and began dribbling between his feet. Noah jogged toward the square on the left flank. As he passed his twin brother, he gave him a nod and a smile before continuing to his starting position. Reaching the square, Noah raised his thumb. The bald, short instructor immediately blew the whistle.
Duke made the first move, he pushed the ball with the outside of his foot before curling a precise pass beyond the edge of the middle square. Using his lean frame and explosive acceleration, Noah burst toward the ball.
The instructors didn't hesitate.
Three instructors sprinted after him, while the other three held their positions, creating a defensive line. Their strategy was simple—cover the front and the back, forcing Noah into the middle where space was the tightest. Noah reached the ball first; instead of shooting immediately, he guided it toward the opposite flank. Under normal circumstances, he would've struck the ball the moment he arrived, but the sliding instructor forced him to take another touch, pushing the ball farther wide. Weaving around the challenge, Noah lifted his head, searching for a shooting lane. His expression tightened, All three instructors had already closed the angles, leaving him with no clear view of the goal.
This forced Noah into the middle of the field. He was caged like a bird. He glanced left, then right, his mind racing as he searched for a way out. Relax. Look for a way out. Don't give in. They're using their numbers to corner you. Don't fall for it. When Noah glanced behind him, he saw his twin standing with his arms folded, watching him with a serious expression.
"Noah, focus," Darwin hissed.
One of the instructors stepped forward, trying to take advantage of Noah's hesitation. Noah reacted immediately, With a stumbling dribble, he slipped behind the instructor, using the man's body to shield the ball. As he weaved away, he spotted Duke waiting outside the drill.
Duke couldn't enter the middle of the field. The drill was designed for the strikers and midfielders inside the rectangle, while the midfielder could only provide support from inside the rectangle. Noah pushed the ball toward him, Duke received it and immediately moved down the right side.
Then the two began exchanging passes. Their tiki-taka started with short passes, but soon stretched into longer ones as they moved around the instructors. They seemed to share the same mind. Whenever Noah ran toward the right, Duke sent the ball toward the left. Whenever Duke moved forward, Noah changed his position to create another passing lane.
Noah's lean body shifted from side to side as he body-feinted the instructors. He suddenly accelerated, chasing a pass that Duke had sent toward the opposite side. He reached the ball and struck it with a knuckle-ball technique. The shot curved smoothly through the air before ricocheting off the inside of the post and into the net. Noah wiped the sweat from his forehead and raised both thumbs toward Duke. Duke returned the gesture with a nod.
"Good recovery," the bald, short instructor said, he paused, then looked directly at Noah.
"But next time, use your own intuition to break free from the pressure. In a real match, your brother won't always be there to bail you out."
Noah's expression became serious, the instructor swept his gaze across the rest of the players.
"That applies to all of you. Learn to think on your feet and make decisions for yourselves." He looked toward the man standing beside him and nodded. The man immediately began tapping on the tablet in his hands.
"Next."
Sebastian walked onto the field, with Diago following closely behind. Sebastian stopped at the Player A position while Diago moved toward Player B. Sebastian stretched his body, his muscles bulging beneath his training shirt. The physique he had been building since childhood was clearly visible.
"Alright, I'm ready."
Several youths watching from outside the drill muttered under their breath. Some glared at Sebastian, while others quietly cursed him. The bald, short instructor raised his whistle to his lips.
Pheeeep!
Diago didn't blast the ball toward the edge of the middle square like the previous players had. Instead, he calmly passed the ball into the center of the square. The unexpected pass caught the instructors and the players watching from outside off guard. Before they could react, Sebastian exploded forward. Like a blur, he sprinted past the instructors and reached the ball first.
He stopped the ball beneath his cleats. Instead of immediately dribbling away, Sebastian remained still, waiting. The instructors began closing in from different directions. Sebastian watched them approach, his expression calm. He wanted them to make the first move.
This challenge isn't difficult at all. Sebastian glanced around the field. The players before him had at least been entertaining, but this was hardly a challenge. I still wonder why Father sent me here. Maybe he wanted me to witness Duma's protégé. He has decent skills, but nothing remarkable. Perhaps he'll show me something more once he reaches Group B.
A faint smile appeared on Sebastian's face. I wish he would challenge me.
His attention shifted toward Winston, who was watching the drill carefully with a serious expression. Two instructors suddenly sprinted toward Sebastian. They had noticed his distraction, Sebastian turned his head. The moment he saw them, his expression changed.
In one smooth motion, he shifted his weight and accelerated. For a brief instant, it looked as though his body had left an afterimage behind. The instructors reached the spot where Sebastian had been standing, but he was already behind them. Only Winston managed to catch a glimpse of the movement.
What was that?
Sebastian didn't slow down—he mixed several dribbling techniques together, shifting his body from side to side as he weaved through the remaining instructors.
One body feint—a step-over—a sudden change of direction. Then another burst of acceleration. Within seconds, he reached the edge of the box. The instructors looked stunned, they immediately twisted their bodies and sprinted after him. Sebastian chuckled—instead of shooting, he gently lifted the ball into the air. The ball sailed over the instructors and dropped toward Diago.
Diago casually trapped it beneath his cleat. The instructors immediately turned their attention toward Sebastian, leaving Diago completely unmarked.
Diago placed his hands on his hips and grinned. He shook his head before pushing the ball a few steps forward.
The instructors glanced toward him. That was their mistake—While they were distracted by Diago, Sebastian slipped behind them. By the time they realized what had happened, Sebastian was already sprinting toward the ball.
"Too slow," he muttered with a chuckle.
The instructors rushed toward him, Sebastian and Diago exchanged a glance. They both knew what to do, Their movements suddenly mirrored the combination Winston had watched from Noah and Duke. A short pass—a return pass, another pass into space. They began exchanging the ball through the instructors, their tiki-taka becoming faster with every exchange—the instructors struggled to keep up.
Whenever one tried to close Sebastian down, Diago immediately sent the ball into the space behind him. Whenever another moved toward Diago, Sebastian appeared in the opposite direction.
The two moved as though they shared the same mind. Within moments, they had beaten every instructor.
Sebastian collected the final pass, he took one touch—then he curled the ball toward the far post. The shot bent beautifully through the air—the ball struck the inside of the post, ricocheted across the goalmouth, struck the opposite post and rolled into the net. The field fell silent for a moment, then the youths watching erupted into murmurs. Sebastian turned over his shoulder and glanced at Winston, Darwin, with a satisfied grin.
"Fantastic skills. Sometimes chemistry is the key to beating defenders," the bald, short instructor said, clearly impressed by Sebastian. "When you feel cornered, always look for a way to break through the defensive line."
He turned toward the players waiting outside the drill.
"Next."
Lucas bumped between Winston and Oswin with a chuckle. He glanced over his shoulder at Oswin before continuing onto the field. He took the Player A position while Diago remained in Player B.
"He's starting to annoy me," Winston said, watching Lucas with disdain.
"Don't let him get to you," Oswin replied. "That's what he's good at. As long as I've known him, he's always liked starting trouble, so don't fall for it." Oswin patted Winston on the shoulder.
"Yeah, I'm starting to think that. I've been trying to ignore him, but he keeps provoking us."
"Don't worry. We only have a few weeks until the scouts arrive. Let's focus on climbing into Group A so we have a better chance of being noticed by the bigger clubs."
Winston looked at Oswin, taken aback by his calmness, "Why aren't you mad? I mean, he injured you for an entire year. Don't you want to hurt him back?"
Oswin remained nonchalant. "Wis, I know. But if I focus on that, it means Lucas is under my skin. I don't want to give him that satisfaction." He paused, his expression softening. "Besides, since I met you and the others, I realized how much I love playing football. Meeting all of you only made that feeling stronger."
"I'm glad."
The bald, short instructor blew his whistle.
Diago lowered his shoulders as he prepared himself. The moment the whistle sounded, he released the ball, curving it toward the front edge of the middle square—Lucas had already sprinted toward it. The instant he trapped the ball, three instructors closed in, attempting to box him in. Lucas flicked the ball over them, sending it sailing above their heads. The other three instructors were busy guarding Diago, leaving the middle of the field exposed.
Lucas immediately took advantage.
He accelerated through the gap and unleashed his sharp shooting technique. The ball blasted past the turning instructor, curling violently through the air before crashing into the top corner—the net rippled. A few youths watching from outside the drill let out impressed murmurs. Lucas barely reacted. He simply turned and walked back toward his position as though scoring against six instructors had been nothing special.