The Decision He Made

Jace Holloway had always hated being on the outside looking in.

For as long as he could remember, he had been in the thick of it—the star runner, the one people came to watch. But now, as he stood on the sidelines of Harrow Sixth Form's football tryouts, he felt like a stranger in someone else's world.

He wasn't here to play.

At least, that's what he told himself.

The first thing he noticed was the sound—different from the silence of the track. Instead of the steady pounding of feet on a rubber surface, the pitch was filled with voices calling out, boots smacking against damp grass, and the thud of the ball being struck. Coaches shouted instructions, trialists grunted as they fought for possession, and the occasional curse rang out when someone misplaced a pass.

Jace leaned against the metal railing, separating the pitch from the stands, hands in his hoodie pockets. Marcus had already joined the others on the field, warming up with a few quick passing drills. Jace wasn't sure why he was here. Maybe curiosity, or maybe he just wanted to feel something again.

He watched as the trialists split into groups for position-based drills. The defenders worked on their tackling and positioning, midfielders focused on passing sequences, and the forwards—Marcus included—practised finishing.

Jace didn't understand the game the way these players did. Sure, he knew the basics, and he had watched plenty of Premier League matches with his dad, but playing was different.

Football wasn't just about being fast. It was about control, awareness, and decision-making. Watching Marcus move, cutting past a defender with a feint before slotting the ball into the bottom corner, made Jace realise just how much he didn't know.

Yet, when he saw a winger burst down the right flank, sprinting past a defender and whipping in a cross, something stirred inside him.

He could do that.

Couldn't he?

Speed Isn't Everything

"Oi, Holloway!"

Jace turned to see Coach Davies, one of the school's football coaches, standing near the sideline. He was a stocky man in his late forties, wearing a rainproof jacket with Harrow's logo on the chest. His sharp eyes studied Jace with curiosity.

"You here to watch or thinking about getting involved?" the coach asked.

Jace hesitated. "Just watching."

Davies smirked. "You sure? Because a boy like you doesn't just watch."because he looked like a real footballer because of his body structure and his height also.

Jace frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Davies said, crossing his arms, "I've seen you run, Holloway. Fastest kid in the school by a mile. But football's different. Speed alone won't make you a great player."

Jace already knew that. "Yeah, well… I'm not exactly a footballer."

Davies nodded as if he expected that answer. "Fair enough. But if you change your mind, let me know. We could use a bit of pace on the wings."

With that, the coach turned back to the pitch, barking instructions at the players. Jace exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Could he really do this?

He watched the wingers more closely now. Some were quick, but they weren't sprinters. They moved differently, starting and stopping in an instant, cutting inside, changing direction without losing control of the ball. Jace had spent years running in straight lines, perfecting his acceleration. This was something else.

He could still outrun them.

But could he keep up where it really mattered?

Jace didn't mean to come back the next day.

And yet, there he was.

He told himself he was just bored, that there was nothing better to do after school. But deep down, he knew that wasn't true because he knew he was destined to play football but didn't know how to start.

Something about yesterday had unsettled him the way Coach Davies had looked at him, like he saw something Jace himself couldn't yet.

This time, Jace sat on the steps near the pitch, hood up, but he wasn't listening to music. He was watching everything.

The warm-up drills were the same as before short sprints, quick touches, passing triangles. The midfielders worked on switching play, pinging passes across the field, while the strikers practised finishing under pressure. but Jace knew exactly that he would be a perfect winger.

Jace's eyes kept drifting to the wingers.

He watched how they moved,how they used their speed, not just for sprinting, but for creating space. Some hesitated before making their runs, throwing off defenders.

Others used bursts of acceleration to get behind the back line. The smartest ones slowed down just before receiving a pass, giving themselves a fraction of a second to react before sprinting away.

It wasn't just about being fast.

It was about knowing when to be fast.

That thought stuck with him.

By the third day, Jace knew he had to decide.

He sat in the locker room after school, scrolling through old videos of himself sprinting—races where he had left everyone behind, the crowd roaring as he crossed the finish line first, and many others chanting his name.

He used to feel invincible.

Now, he felt lost.

His knee still ached when he pushed too hard, a painful reminder that he wasn't the same athlete he used to be. He could still run he was still one of the fastest kids in the country, but the truth was, he'd never reach his full potential on the track again.

But football?

That was uncharted territory.

If he gave it a shot, there was no guarantee he'd be any good. No guarantee he'd even make the team. He'd be starting over, learning from scratch, training his body in ways it wasn't used to.

The idea terrified him.

But it also excited him.

Taking a deep breath, Jace stood up, grabbed his bag, and left the locker room.

When he stepped outside, the floodlights were already on, casting a glow over the pitch. Players were warming up. Marcus spotted him and grinned.

"Didn't think you'd come back," Marcus said, jogging over.

Jace smirked, rolling his shoulders.

"I think I'm ready to give this a try."

Marcus clapped him on the back. "About time, mate. Let's see if The Speed Demon can handle a football."

Jace exhaled, stepping onto the pitch for the first time.

He had no idea what he was doing.

But for the first time in a long time, he felt alive again, especially since the speed was running through his veins like a demon