Impressing Coach

Assistant Coach Beckett led Richard to a smaller training field, tucked away from the main group. A bag of footballs rested beside the goalpost, and the crisp scent of freshly cut grass hung in the air.

"Let's start simple," Beckett said, tossing a ball toward him. "Dribbling. Show me your control."

Richard nodded, his body relaxing into a familiar rhythm. The moment his foot touched the ball, he moved with fluid grace. Weaving through the cones at a blistering pace, his touch was light and precise. Each movement flowed effortlessly—like the ball was a natural extension of him.

When he reached the final cone, Richard flicked the ball up with his left foot, spun around, and caught it on his right. With a controlled roll, he sent the ball back to Beckett.

"Not bad," Beckett said, though his raised eyebrow revealed his surprise. Most kids struggled with basic dribbling under pressure. Richard? He made it look effortless.

"Passing next," Beckett instructed, setting up targets across the field—small nets and cones placed at awkward angles. "Hit them all. Both feet."

Without hesitation, Richard adjusted his stance. Each pass—whether short, long, or curved—was delivered with pinpoint precision. He switched seamlessly between his left and right foot, striking every target.

Beckett folded his arms, watching closely. In his years of coaching, he'd tested many young players—but Richard's ambidexterity was rare. Most players heavily favored one foot. This kid had no such weakness.

"Alright, let's see your shooting," Beckett said, pulling on his gloves and stepping into the goal. "Give me your best."

Richard's eyes gleamed with excitement. He lined up his first shot, planted his left foot, and drilled the ball with his right. It sailed past Beckett, slamming into the top corner.

"Again," Beckett ordered, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Switching feet, Richard fired another rocket—this time with his left—into the bottom corner. Shot after shot followed, each one a perfect blend of power, accuracy, and finesse.

By the time Beckett peeled off his gloves, his palms stung from the force. He couldn't hide his admiration. This kid wasn't just talented—he was exceptional.

"Who taught you to shoot like that?" Beckett asked, still processing what he'd seen.

"I taught myself, Assistant Coach," Richard replied casually.

Beckett blinked in surprise. "Self-taught?" He let out a low whistle. "I'm impressed."

Resting a hand on Richard's shoulder, he said, "Alright, one last test—game intelligence."

He reset the field with mannequins and cones, simulating defenders. "Imagine you're in a match. You're the playmaker—read the situation and react."

Richard didn't hesitate. He navigated through the defenders with ease, weaving past the obstacles like they weren't even there. But what stood out most was his awareness—he constantly scanned the field, anticipating plays before they developed.

Reaching the penalty box, instead of taking a shot, he delivered a flawless no-look pass to an imaginary teammate—exactly the right decision. It was the kind of instinct usually seen in seasoned professionals, not a boy his age.

Beckett blew his whistle, signaling the end. For a moment, he was silent—stunned. Most players were either technical or athletic. But Richard? He had it all—speed, skill, and intelligence.

Of course, what Beckett didn't know was that Richard had been using subtle precognition Talent.

"You're something else, kid," Beckett finally said, shaking his head in disbelief. "How long have you been playing?"

"Since elementary school," Richard answered seriously.

Beckett chuckled softly. "Well, keep working like this, and you'll go far."

As they walked back toward the main field, Beckett felt a quiet excitement stirring in his chest. In his years at the academy, he had seen many promising players—but Richard? Richard had the potential to become a legend.

When they arrived, they found Head Coach Tyler waiting for them.

"How is he?" Coach Tyler asked without preamble.

Beckett grinned. "He's the real deal—no question."

Richard overheard the praise, and a spark of pride flickered inside him. He had passed his first test—but he knew the road ahead would only get tougher.

Catching Richard's gaze, Coach Tyler said, "Go join the others and work on your drills."

"Yes, Coach," Richard answered, jogging toward the group.

After Practice

Once the training session ended, Richard headed to the showers. The warm water eased the tension from his muscles. After drying off and changing, he made his way back to his dorm.

On the way, he noticed a boy peeking at him from behind a pillar.

"Hey, you—what do you want?" Richard called out, pointing at the boy.

The boy hesitated, then stepped forward. "I just wanted to warn you about something," he said quietly.

Richard narrowed his eyes. "Warn me? About what?"

"Some players want to mess with you," the boy explained. "Especially Troy. He's mad because you were personally selected by Coach Tyler. If you get promoted, he might lose his spot in the starting lineup."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "I've only been here a day, and someone already wants to mess with me?"

The boy shrugged. "That's how things work here. Oh, by the way, my name's Sam Davis."

"Richard Collin," Richard replied. "Thanks for the warning—I'll keep an eye out."

Sam grinned. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Not yet," Richard admitted.

"Stick with me, and I'll make sure no one bothers you," Sam offered confidently.

Richard considered the offer. He could handle bullies, but wasting energy on them wasn't worth it. After a moment, he nodded. "Alright, deal."

"I'm heading to the canteen. Meet me there after you check in your room," Sam said.

"Got it," Richard replied as Sam walked off.

Back in His Room

Richard set his bag down and immediately called his mother.

The moment she answered, her voice filled with worry. "Richard! How are you? Are you eating enough? Is everything okay?"

Richard chuckled softly. "I'm fine, Mom. You don't need to worry."

"You're all grown up now, huh?" she teased, her tone warm and playful.

Their conversation eased the lingering tension in Richard's mind. After reassuring her he was safe, he ended the call and headed to the canteen.

At the Canteen

Richard found Sam waiting for him. They ate together, chatting about the academy. Though most students ignored them, Richard couldn't help but notice one player—Troy—glaring at him from across the room.

He didn't say anything—but Richard knew this wouldn't be the last time he'd cross paths with Troy.

After finishing his meal, Richard returned to his dorm. Austin wasn't back yet, so he stretched out on his bed and, exhausted from the day, quickly drifted off to sleep.