Earning His Rightful Spot

Jace Holloway had never been afraid of pressure.

He thrived on it.

But now, as he stood on the training pitch at Brighton, surrounded by some of the best young footballers in the country, he felt it more than ever.

He was thinking about whether he wasn't called after the trial because there were probably more qualified players than him.

Two weeks into his extended trial.

Two weeks to prove he wasn't just a sprinter with a football at his feet.

Two weeks to show he belonged at a Premier League academy.

And time was running out.

The Brighton U18 training sessions had reached a new level of intensity.

No one was taking it easy on him anymore.

Not the midfielders. Not the defenders. Not the coaches.

They were all serious about whatever they were doing.

Every drill, every pass, every movement—scrutinized, judged, and tested.

It was a ruthless environment.

But Jace wouldn't have it any other way.

"Again!" Coach Barker shouted.

Jace gritted his teeth and reset.

The drill was simple: receive, turn, and play a decisive pass into the attacking third.

He received the ball—pressure came instantly.

A defender was already on him.

Jace hesitated.

The ball got stuck under his feet.

Intercepted.

"Damn it!" he hissed.

He was getting better, but this wasn't street football.

This wasn't just about speed.

It was about control. Precision. Thinking two steps ahead and being smarter, too, for your balls not to be intercepted.

Coach Barker shouted;

"Jace, your speed's a weapon, but if you keep hesitating, it's useless. Don't think—react!"

Jace nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead.

No time to dwell.

He had to be better.

That evening, Jace sat alone in the changing room.

The other players had already left.

His boots were still caked in mud.

His legs ached.

But his mind was spinning.

Had today been a bad day, or was he simply not good enough?

He exhaled sharply.

He couldn't think like that.

Not now.

Not when he was this close.

His phone buzzed.

Theo.

This call made him feel a bit relieved because he now had someone to actually talk to.

Theo: You alive, mate?

Jace smirked. Barely.

Theo: You overthinking again?

Jace hesitated before replying. Maybe.

Theo: Good. Means you care. Now stop sulking and get some sleep.

Jace chuckled.

Theo always knew what to say.

The next day brought another challenge: an in-house match.

It was Brighton's way of testing trialists.

An opportunity for Jace to prove himself in a competitive environment.

If he didn't perform, this might be the last time he stepped onto this pitch.

No second chances.

The match kicked off.

And Jace knew within five minutes—

This was going to be a war.

The academy players weren't treating this like a friendly.

They played like their futures depended on it.

Jace had to be just as ruthless.

The ball came to him on the right wing.

He took a touch and turned—

A shoulder check from the opposing full-back sent him stumbling.

No whistle.

"Too slow, trialist," the defender muttered.

Jace clenched his jaw.

Alright. If that was how they wanted to play it—

He'd play it that way too.

The next time he got the ball, Jace didn't hesitate.

He flicked it past the defender and took off.

Pure speed.

The full-back couldn't keep up.

Jace burst into space and whipped in a cross-—

His striker got on the end of it.

Goal.

Jace barely had time to celebrate before his teammates surrounded him.

"That's it, Holloway!"

"Keep going!"

This made him happy because he had actually created a goal, so he was confident that he would earn his rightful spot in the team.

But he wasn't done yet.

With ten minutes left, the match was level.

Jace could feel his legs burning.

Every sprint took more out of him.

But he couldn't stop now.

Then—his chance.

A counterattack.

A through ball split the defence.

Jace exploded forward.

It was him and the keeper.

One-on-one.

Jace kept his composure—waited—then slotted it past him.

The net rippled.

He barely heard the cheers.

It was a goal scored by Jace.

Because in that moment, he knew—

He'd done what he came to do.

He'd proven himself.

After the match, Jace sat in the changing room, heart pounding.

Then Coach Barker walked in.

"Jace. A word."

Jace followed him to the office, bracing himself.

The coach sat down, steepling his fingers.

"You came here as a sprinter," he said. "You're leaving as a footballer."

Jace held his breath.

"You're not perfect," the coach continued. "You still have a lot to learn. But you've earned the right to keep learning."

Jace blinked.

"Wait—"

The coach smirked.

"Welcome to Brighton, Holloway."

Jace froze.

Then—

A slow smile spread across his face.

He'd done it.

He was staying.

This was only the beginning.

He actually made it to be an official member of Brighton U18s.