Chapter 2: The Earl in the Classroom

Lucien Nightshade strode down the long corridors of Harrow School, his steps silent against the polished stone floor. His posture was straight, commanding, and even though he was only 15, he carried himself with the poise of someone far older. His school uniform—a crisp white shirt and dark blazer—fit perfectly, a subtle reminder of the wealth and status he embodied.

Around him, students buzzed with energy, chatting and laughing between classes. They were oblivious to the quiet storm brewing inside Lucien's mind. As he walked, he silently observed everything—the way the teachers exchanged pleasantries, the interactions between students of different social circles. He took it all in, carefully analyzing the hierarchies and alliances that dominated Harrow's elite halls.

This wasn't just a school; it was a battleground for future power players. Most of the boys here were the sons of aristocrats, politicians, or wealthy business magnates. But none of them were him. None of them had the combination of old-world prestige, untapped footballing talent, and, most importantly, the knowledge of the future. Lucien knew exactly who among his peers would rise to prominence and who would fade into obscurity.

He passed a group of students lounging by the windows, their conversation loud enough to catch his attention.

"Spurs are a joke this season. My father says it's all Levy's fault. Honestly, they're better off selling Kane and starting over," one of the boys said, chuckling as the others nodded in agreement.

Lucien's lip twitched in amusement. How little they know. Kane would stay at Spurs for years, breaking records but never leading the club to glory. If Lucien had his way, that would change—he would change everything. For now, though, he let their ignorance slide. He had bigger things to focus on.

As he turned the corner, a voice called out to him. "Lucien! Wait up!"

Lucien stopped and turned to see Sebastian Montrose, the heir to a powerful banking dynasty, jogging up to him. Sebastian was one of the few students at Harrow who came close to matching Lucien's social standing. He was tall, with an athletic build and a sharp mind, but unlike Lucien, he was eager to please, desperate for validation from his peers.

"Montrose," Lucien greeted him coolly, nodding as the boy fell into step beside him.

"You missed the house meeting this morning," Sebastian said, slightly out of breath. "Professor Aldridge was looking for you. Something about your history paper?"

Lucien gave a dismissive shrug. "I'm sure it can wait. I had more pressing matters."

Sebastian grinned. "Always so calm under pressure. I don't know how you do it. Everyone else is stressing about the term projects, but you seem to have everything under control."

Lucien glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Stress is for people who lack vision, Montrose. If you plan your moves far enough in advance, there's no need for panic."

Sebastian laughed nervously. "I suppose you're right. So, any thoughts on the match this weekend? England vs. Germany—should be a good one."

The question was innocent enough, but to Lucien, it was a reminder of his larger goals. He could already see it: the 2018 World Cup, the England squad, himself wearing the number 10 jersey, leading the charge. The thought gave him a quiet thrill.

"I'm sure it'll be interesting," Lucien said noncommittally, not bothering to elaborate. In truth, the match barely mattered to him now. He was focused on the long game.

As they approached their classroom, Lucien's eyes flicked to the far end of the corridor, where a group of younger boys were practicing their football moves, kicking around a ball with careless enthusiasm. For a brief moment, his fingers itched to join them, to feel the ball at his feet, to show them what real skill looked like. But he resisted. Not here. Not yet.

"Lucien, are you coming?" Sebastian asked, already halfway through the classroom door.

"In a moment," Lucien replied, watching the boys for another second before turning away.

Inside the classroom, Professor Aldridge was already pacing at the front, a bundle of papers clutched in his hand. His sharp eyes landed on Lucien as he entered, and he gave a sharp nod. "Ah, Lord Nightshade, how kind of you to grace us with your presence," Aldridge said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Lucien merely inclined his head, taking his seat at the back of the class. He wasn't here for Aldridge's approval. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the game after school—on the training session where he would truly come alive.

As the lecture droned on about British imperial history, Lucien's thoughts wandered to the football field. He could already picture it—the feel of the grass beneath his boots, the ball rolling with perfect precision under his control. For the past year, he had been holding back during school matches, careful not to draw too much attention. But with every game, every training session, it became harder to conceal his true abilities. The Maradona, Zidane, and Ronaldinho templates were fully embedded in him now, their talents mixing seamlessly with his own instincts.

It was exhilarating, yet frustrating. He had the skill to outshine every player on the field, but he needed to play the long game. His rise to the top had to be calculated, each move deliberate. Breaking into Fulham's first team was his first major goal, but beyond that, his ambitions stretched to Europe, to the Premier League, and beyond.

The sharp ring of the bell broke him from his thoughts. His classmates hurriedly packed their bags, eager to escape the monotony of Aldridge's class. Lucien moved at a slower pace, his mind already shifting to the training session that awaited him.

On the Field: Fulham Academy

The Fulham training ground was a far cry from the aristocratic halls of Harrow. It was raw, electric with the energy of young players trying to prove themselves. Here, status meant nothing. Only skill mattered.

Lucien arrived at the academy with his usual calm demeanor, but his mind was laser-focused. Today's session would be more intense—he could feel it. The academy's coaches had begun to take notice of him, whispering about his extraordinary ball control, his tactical mind. But still, they hadn't fully realized just how far he could go. Today, he planned to push just a little bit more. Show them a glimpse.

He changed quickly in the locker room, pulling on his number 10 training kit. The others gave him nods of acknowledgment, some with a hint of envy in their eyes. Lucien was the captain of the Fulham U21 team, and everyone knew he was destined for something bigger. Even at 15, his presence on the field commanded respect.

As they jogged onto the pitch, Lucien took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs. The pitch stretched out before him, a perfect canvas for his art. The coaches called for a warm-up, but Lucien was already mentally preparing for the drills and scrimmage to come. He could feel the weight of expectation on him, and he welcomed it.

The session began with passing drills, and Lucien moved with fluidity, making each pass with pinpoint precision. His teammates tried to keep up, but Lucien's movements were on a different level. His vision of the field was far sharper than theirs; he saw spaces they couldn't even imagine, opportunities they missed in the blink of an eye.

"Nice pass, Nightshade!" one of the coaches called out as Lucien threaded the ball through a narrow gap between two defenders.

Lucien nodded in acknowledgment but kept his focus. That was nothing, he thought. Just wait.

When the scrimmage began, Lucien knew it was his time to shine. He positioned himself centrally, playing in his natural number 10 role. As soon as the ball came to him, everything around him seemed to slow down. His first touch was immaculate, cushioning the ball perfectly under his boot. A defender rushed toward him, but Lucien barely glanced in his direction. With a quick flick of his foot, he performed an elastico—drawing the ball toward himself and then flicking it in the opposite direction. The defender was left stumbling, completely out of position.

Lucien advanced up the field, his eyes scanning the options ahead. His body moved instinctively, Ronaldinho's flair combining with Zidane's composure. He spotted a teammate making a run on the left wing and without a second thought, delivered a no-look pass that curved perfectly into his path. The crowd of players watching on the sidelines erupted in gasps.

His teammate didn't hesitate, sending the ball back to Lucien near the penalty box. Lucien knew this was his moment. With a quick step-over to wrong-foot the last defender, he was free, and with a sharp strike of his right foot, he curled the ball into the top corner of the net. The keeper didn't even move.

The field was silent for a moment as everyone processed what had just happened. Then the coaches started clapping, their faces a mix of astonishment and approval.

"Brilliant, Nightshade! That's what we need to see more of!" Coach Harris called, clearly impressed.

Lucien jogged back to his position, his expression calm, though inside he felt a surge of satisfaction. He had let them see a little more of his true ability today, just enough to keep them talking.

As the scrimmage continued, Lucien orchestrated the game from midfield, pulling the strings like a maestro. His dribbling was unstoppable, his passes flawless. Every touch, every movement had purpose. His teammates began to rely on him more and more, feeding him the ball at every opportunity.

By the end of the session, it was clear who the standout player was. Lucien had dominated, and the coaches knew it. As they gathered the players for a debrief, Coach Harris pulled Lucien aside.

"Lucien, your vision today was something else," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "You've got the potential to go far, but I need to see consistency. Keep pushing yourself like this, and it won't be long before you're knocking on the door of the first team."

Lucien gave a respectful nod. "I understand, Coach. I won't let you down."

As the sun began to set over the Fulham training ground, Lucien walked off the pitch, his mind already racing ahead to the future. Today was just the beginning. He could feel it—the moment when the world would know his name was fast approaching.

For now, he would keep playing the game, both on and off the pitch. But soon, everyone would see the true extent of his abilities. And when they did, he would be unstoppable.