New Apartment

The sun was already dipping low by the time Mr. Stein's Toyota Camry eased into the small parking lot outside the boys' new apartment block, a compact red-brick building sponsored by the academy to house its international recruits. The building stood modestly along a quiet residential street, its snow-dusted roof glinting gold under the evening light.

Just that morning, Amani and Malik had officially checked out of their hotel, where they'd spent their first couple of nights adjusting to life in the Netherlands. The hotel had been comfortable enough — a decent twin room, stronger WiFi with better computers, and a breakfast buffet Malik treated like an all-you-can-eat challenge. But it never felt like home.

This apartment, though — this was theirs.

Their new home was a two-bedroom unit, provided by the academy for the next six months. It was simple but modern, with clean wooden floors, white walls, and large windows that overlooked the snow-covered street below. The small living area came with a soft grey sofa, a wall-mounted TV, and a circular dining table squeezed into the corner near the open-plan kitchen.

The kitchen itself was nothing fancy — a compact electric stove, a microwave, and a fridge just big enough for two hungry teenagers. Amani had already taken mental notes on how to stock it with essentials: ugali flour if he could find it, rice, eggs, and maybe some samosas if they got lucky.

Each boy had his own bedroom, a small luxury neither of them had ever known back in Mbakari. Amani's room had a single bed neatly made with crisp white sheets, a small desk for studying, and a tall wardrobe waiting to be filled with his sparse collection of clothes. The radiator beneath his window hummed softly, keeping the chill at bay.

On the way over, Mr. Stein had explained the rules:

*Keep the place tidy.

*Weekly inspections from the academy.

*No guests after 10 PM.

*Quiet hours after 11 PM.

*Your neighbors are fellow academy players so treat them with respect.

The boys had barely dumped their bags and kicked off their shoes when they headed straight to the UMC Utrecht for their medicals. Now, finally back at the apartment, they could breathe — but only for a moment.

Malik, still dramatic, peeled off his jacket and threw it across the back of the chair before rubbing his thighs like an old man after a marathon.

"I swear," Malik groaned, "that treadmill aged me at least five years. My thighs are filing a complaint against humanity."

Amani laughed softly, though even he could feel the dull ache in his legs. The system had strengthened his body, but today's tests had pushed him to the edge.

"Man," Malik continued, his voice full of exaggerated suffering, "that bike thing? Torture device. And that breathing mask? Felt like someone was waterboarding my lungs."

Amani grinned, shaking his head. "You complained through the whole thing."

"Because it was unnecessary suffering!" Malik declared, slapping the table for emphasis. "They're acting like we're signing up for the Olympics."

That's when Mr. Stein, ever the no-nonsense professional, dropped a thin folder onto the table.

"Congratulations," the scout began, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You both passed your medicals."

Malik's celebration was instant. "Yes! I knew I was built different!" He fist-pumped the air so enthusiastically that the salt shaker nearly took flight.

Amani exhaled, relief washing over him — but not for long.

Mr. Stein's hand went up, silencing the moment. "But…" he said, his voice shifting into serious mode, "passing the medical is only step one. There's one final test before your academy scholarships are locked in."

Malik's smile vanished like mist in the sun. "Hold up — another test? We already survived all those scans, machines, and that evil bike! What now?"

Stein's nod was firm. "Coach Pronk isn't convinced by paperwork alone. He wants to see real football, with pressure, against real competition. Amani you will play against the U17 team on Tuesday"

Amani's fingers drummed the table anxiously. "But why throw me into an Under-17 match? I'm only thirteen."

Stein leaned back, arms crossed, studying Amani with the sharp eyes of a man who had seen potential rise and crumble a thousand times before.

"Are you scared?" Stein asked.

Amani could have lied. He could have played it cool. But what was the point?

"Yes," Amani admitted, voice low but honest.

Stein's smile widened, his eyes glinting with approval. "Good. That means you understand just how big of an opportunity this is."

Amani swallowed hard. He knew exactly what was waiting on that pitch — bigger, stronger players who had been training in elite setups since they could walk. These weren't street players. They were Europe's future stars.

Stein's tone softened. "Amani, do you watch the Premier League?"

Amani blinked, surprised at the sudden shift. "Of course."

Stein's smile turned nostalgic. "Then you should know about Cesc Fàbregas, right? Made his Arsenal debut at sixteen — against men, not boys. And you know what? He didn't just survive — he controlled the game."

The weight of the name hit Amani square in the chest. Fàbregas. A boy who didn't wait for permission. Amani's mind raced — to Messi, to Ronaldo, to future Mbappé. They had all stepped into the fire young. They hadn't asked if they were ready. They proved it.

If I aim for the top now, Amani thought, even if I fall short, I'll still land somewhere great.

His fingers curled into fists beneath the table, that flicker of fear starting to harden into something sharper — a hunger to prove. To show everyone — the coaches, the players, even himself — that he belonged.

"I get it," Amani said, his voice no longer shaking. "I'll show Coach Pronk I belong."

"That's the spirit." Stein slapped the table. "But remember — talent is just the engine. You're the one who will do the steering."

Amani nodded, though guilt nagged at the edges of his mind. This 'talent' wasn't natural. The system had given him tools that no other player had. But the work — the sweat, the drills, the hunger — that was all him. That was real.

Then, with the flair of a man who loved dramatic reveals, Stein leaned forward conspiratorially. His voice dropped low like they were spies trading secrets.

"There's something else," he said. "You didn't hear this from me… but a special guest is watching that match."

"Who?" Malik's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"The first team coach of FC Utrecht." Stein's grin turned wicked. "He's on the hunt for new talent to fast-track into the pro squad."

Amani's heart stumbled. Malik's mouth hung open.

"Wait, wait," Malik spluttered. "If Amani shows out next week, he could go straight into the first team? Skipping the whole academy grind?"

"He is still too young but it's happened before," Stein said. "Rare, but not impossible."

Malik slumped back dramatically. "Why does this guy get all the golden chances?"

Stein's smile vanished. "Malik, if you want chances like this, you need to take your fitness seriously. Your medical flagged excess body fat."

Malik's smile faded too. "It's just… you know, a little extra nyama choma…"

"No." Stein's voice sharpened. "It's laziness. If you want European football, you need to change your mindset and work ethic. If you don't fix this, I'll personally call Coach Juma back home — and your father."

Malik sat up straighter than he had in weeks. "Okay! Okay! Starting tomorrow, I'm a changed man."

"Good." Stein stood, smoothing his coat. "But no training tomorrow morning. We have a busy day."

"What's the plan?" Malik asked.

"8:30 sharp," Stein said. "We're going to sort your residence permits and open your Dutch bank accounts for your allowances. After that, Amani goes straight to his pre-match training session with the Under-17s."

"And me?" Malik asked.

"You're coming with me to check out the gym you'll be training in for the next six months."

"Do we have to pay for the gym?" Amani cut in. He'd already spotted a small basement gym in the building — it looked good enough for his extra work.

"No fee," Stein reassured. "It's free if you train between 6 and 8 AM — academy players' hours."

"Perfect," Amani said, already planning his weekend routine — gym at dawn, shooting practice in the afternoon, and a deep dive into studying Dutch tactics.

"Use your time wisely," Stein added, his voice serious again. "The boys you'll face next week — they're polished products of the system. You'll need more than talent to match them."

"I'll be ready," Amani promised.

Malik leaned closer, studying Amani's face. "Yo, where's all this fire coming from?"

Amani grinned. "You'll see — if you wake up early enough to train with me."

Malik offered his fist. Amani bumped it without hesitation.

As Mr. Stein left, closing the door softly behind him, Amani walked to the window. Snow still floated lazily from the sky, each flake catching the light of the streetlamp like tiny stars.

The snow wasn't cold anymore.

It felt like a curtain rising, a silent signal that his story — the real one — was about to begin.

~~~

Nyama Choma - Kenyan Bbq meat