Richard Vs Troy

It had been a week since Richard arrived at the football academy, and things were going smoothly. His exceptional skills on the pitch had impressed everyone—players and coaches alike. With his easygoing personality, he quickly made friends and blended in.

Everyone seemed to like him—except Troy Miller.

From the moment Richard arrived, Troy had been watching him with resentment. No matter how much praise Richard earned, Troy couldn't stand the new kid stealing the spotlight.

During a break in practice, Troy stood with his closest friend, Liam, kicking a ball back and forth. His eyes, however, were fixed on Richard—who was effortlessly weaving through a dribbling drill under Assistant Coach Beckett's watchful gaze.

"He's already the favorite, and it's only been a week," Liam said, his voice laced with mild jealousy.

Troy scowled. "Hmph. He's nothing special." His gaze darkened as Richard nailed the drill without a single mistake. "I'll make sure he knows it."

Liam glanced at him curiously. "What are you planning?"

Troy smirked coldly. "I have my ways."

Later That Day, After another intense training session, Richard strolled toward the locker room. His muscles burned from the extra drills with Assistant Coach Beckett—but he welcomed the challenge. If he wanted to dominate on the field, he had to outwork everyone else.

He pushed open the locker room door. The space was quiet and dim, most players having already left. Richard didn't mind—he preferred taking his time to cool down.

As he bent to untie his cleats, a shadow fell over him.

"Hey, new kid," a familiar voice drawled.

Richard looked up to see Troy leaning against the lockers, flanked by Liam and another boy, Jake. Troy wore his usual smirk—the arrogant kind that came from being used to getting his way.

"You think you're something special, huh?" Troy said, stepping closer.

Richard stood, meeting his gaze with an unshaken calm. He'd dealt with guys like Troy before—loud, overconfident, and predictable.

"I don't think," Richard said coolly. "I know i am."

The smirk slipped from Troy's face. He wasn't used to anyone talking back to him. "Big words," he sneered. "But you're still just a newbie. You're nothing here."

Richard tilted his head slightly, as if examining Troy. "If I'm nothing," he said quietly, "why are you so worried?"

Liam let out a quiet snicker, but Troy's expression darkened. He took another step forward, trying to loom over Richard. "You're getting too comfortable," he warned. "Maybe you need someone to put you in your place."

Richard didn't move, his heartbeat steady. He wasn't intimidated—not by Troy or anyone else.

"You want to try?" Richard asked, his voice sharp as a blade.

For a moment, the air grew tense. Troy expected him to back down—but Richard's calm confidence rattled him.

Jake shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, Troy. He's not worth it."

But Troy wasn't backing down. Not in front of his friends. With a sneer, he grabbed Richard's bag and dumped its contents onto the floor. "Oops," he said mockingly. "Clumsy me."

Richard exhaled softly, crouching down to collect his things—calm and unbothered.

"You're not gonna do anything?" Troy taunted.

Richard stood up, stepping closer until there were only inches between them. His gaze was sharp and unwavering. "I could," he said quietly. "But I'd rather beat you where it matters—on the pitch."

Troy's jaw clenched in anger. "You think you can beat me?"

Richard didn't blink. "I don't think—I know."

Troy's hands curled into fists, his temper flaring. Just as he was about to take a swing, Liam's voice cut through the tension.

"Assistant Coach Beckett's coming—let's go!"

Troy hesitated before backing away, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "You're lucky," he muttered. "But this isn't over."

Richard smiled faintly. "Whenever you're ready."

With one last glare, Troy and his friends slipped out of the locker room just as Assistant Coach Beckett entered.

Beckett's sharp eyes swept the room, landing on Richard. "What are you still doing here? You should be heading out."

"I'm leaving now, Coach," Richard said smoothly, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he walked out.

The Next Day

The academy held a practice match the following day—a perfect chance for the coaches to assess the third-string players under real game conditions. Assistant Coach Beckett was especially eager to see how Richard and Troy would perform—and by fate or design, they were placed on opposite teams.

From the first whistle, Troy came at Richard hard. Every time Richard touched the ball, Troy was there—shoving, stepping on his toes, doing everything he could to break his focus.

But it didn't work.

If anything, Richard only played better.

Near the sideline, Richard received a crisp pass. Troy charged in aggressively, but with a smooth step-over and a spin, Richard left him behind like he wasn't even there. Players watching from the sidelines murmured in awe.

"Too slow," Richard called over his shoulder.

Troy's frustration boiled over. The next time Richard had the ball, Troy lunged in harder—too hard. But Richard was already two steps ahead. With a soft flick, he slid the ball between Troy's legs—a perfect nutmeg.

"See you later," Richard said, flashing a cocky grin.

Assistant Coach Beckett blew his whistle. "Goal for Richard's team!" he announced, his voice laced with clear approval.

By the time the match ended, Richard's team had won 3-1—with Richard scoring two goals and assisting the third. Despite his aggression, Troy didn't manage a single shot on target.

After the match, Assistant Coach Beckett gathered the players around. His expression was serious, but there was a spark of pride when his gaze landed on Richard.

"Overall, solid effort from everyone," he began. "But I have some advice for each of you."

He worked his way down the line, offering individual feedback. When he reached Richard, his sternness softened.

"You were fabulous today. Keep up the hard work," Beckett said, a rare smile crossing his face.

"Thank you, Coach," Richard replied, feeling a surge of pride.

Further down the line, Troy's fists clenched as he watched Richard bask in the praise. His stomach twisted with resentment.

When Beckett finally turned to Troy, his voice lost its warmth. "You let your anger cloud your judgment. Work on it."

Troy's face burned with humiliation. "Yes, Coach," he muttered.

As the players dispersed, Richard felt the weight of Troy's glare on his back—but he didn't care. He wasn't here to fight in locker rooms. He was here to win on the pitch.

And if Troy wanted a battle, Richard was more than ready.