Chapter 4 : Train Me.....

As soon as Nico got home from school, he didn't linger. He freshened up, changing into more comfortable clothes before stepping outside.

The villa's lawn area was vast and pristine, with a mini football pitch that looked as if it belonged in an elite training facility rather than a private home.

As he walked onto the field, his eyes immediately locked onto a familiar figure in the center of the pitch.

Johan Cruyff.

His legendary grandfather stood there, casually juggling the ball with effortless precision.

Despite being 58 years old in 2005, Johan moved with a grace that defied age. Each touch was immaculate, each movement smooth, each flick of his foot completely controlled. He wasn't even trying, yet the ball obeyed him as if it were an extension of his body.

Even dressed in simple training gear, he looked as cool as ever—his presence alone commanding respect.

Nico stopped in his tracks.

For a few seconds, he just watched.

Johan noticed Nico standing there, his small frame illuminated by the golden hues of the setting sun. A soft breeze carried the distant hum of Barcelona's evening life, but at this moment, all that mattered was the two of them.

With a knowing smile, Johan called out, his voice warm yet firm.

"Come here, Nico."

The young boy didn't hesitate. He made his way across the lawn, stepping onto the soft grass, feeling its familiar texture beneath his small feet.

As Nico sat down beside him, Johan took a moment to simply look at his grandson—the boy who bore the Cruyff name, who carried the same fire in his eyes that he once had.

"How was school today?" Johan finally asked, his tone light, casual.

Nico, with all the honesty of a five-year-old, simply shrugged. "Nothing too special."

Johan chuckled, shaking his head. "I see. Well, today is your birthday. That means you get to ask for something. So, tell me—what do you want?"

Nico turned to him, his emerald green eyes filled with something deeper than just childish excitement. There was a purpose behind them, a resolve that should have been far beyond his years.

"I want you to train me," he said, his voice unwavering.

The words hung in the air.

Johan's smile faded—not in disappointment, but in deep thought. His eyes studied Nico carefully, as if searching for something beyond what was being said.

His grandson sat there, waiting, his expression serious. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing in his voice.

For the first time, Johan saw it—the burning desire within Nico.

Yet, despite this, he did not respond immediately.

Instead, he remained silent for a few minutes, his gaze fixed on the boy who had just asked for something far greater than a mere birthday gift.

Johan finally broke the silence, his voice calm yet curious.

"Tell me, Nico," he said, turning to face his grandson fully. "Why do you want to be a footballer?"

Nico didn't take long to answer. He didn't go into a deep explanation or offer some grand philosophy. He simply spoke from the heart.

"Football makes me happy," he said, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

For a second, Johan was taken aback by the simplicity of the answer. Then, a warm, hearty laugh escaped him.

He placed a hand on Nico's head, ruffling his silky black hair.

"Well," Johan said with a smile, "that's a beautiful reason."

He then stood up, dusting off his pants before glancing back down at his grandson.

"Now, let's see if you have the talent to match that happiness."

Johan led Nico onto the pitch, the soft evening light casting long shadows across the grass. He turned to face his grandson, his expression serious yet expectant.

"If you want me to teach you, you'll have to satisfy me first," Johan said, folding his arms. "Show me something special."

Nico nodded, his mind already made up.

"Guard the goal," he said confidently.

Johan raised an eyebrow, amused by the request, but he complied. He walked over and stood in front of the net, watching as Nico positioned himself.

The boy carefully placed the ball 27 meters away from goal. It was a significant distance, especially for a five-year-old. He knew he didn't yet have the power to strike it with force, but he had something else—his technique.

Taking a few measured steps back, Nico steadied his breath. His emerald green eyes locked onto the goal, his body perfectly aligned.

Then, he struck the ball.

It wasn't the hardest shot, but it didn't need to be.

The ball moved unpredictably, swerving left and right in the air, an unnatural, chaotic motion that made it impossible to track.

Johan's eyes widened slightly.

He could read almost any ball flight, but this was different—erratic, deceptive, beautiful.

The ball curled and settled neatly into the upper left corner of the goal, nestling into the net with a satisfying rustle.

For a moment, there was silence.

Johan let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he had just seen. But he didn't say a word.

Instead, he walked toward Nico, a teasing smirk on his face, his arms crossed over his chest. The sunlight cast a soft glow on his weathered features, highlighting the amusement in his sharp eyes.

"I'm still not satisfied, Nico," he said, his voice carrying that familiar authority, the tone of a man who had shaped football itself.

Nico didn't flinch. If anything, a small, confident grin played on his lips. His emerald green eyes shimmered with excitement, his porcelain skin slightly flushed from the effort, and his silky black hair moved gently with the evening breeze.

Johan then gave him a new challenge, stepping back onto the pitch with the same confidence he had carried throughout his career.

"Get past me."

He lowered his stance slightly, positioning himself in a way that showed he was serious. He wasn't going to use force, nor was he going to rely on the years of experience that had made him one of the greatest minds in football. He just wanted to see what Nico would do when faced with an opponent.

Nico took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his small chest. He wasn't just going to dribble past Johan. He was going to dazzle him, make him see that he wasn't just some ordinary child who happened to love football.

With the ball at his feet, he started with the Pendulum, shifting the ball rapidly between his feet. Left, right, left, right—his body moving rhythmically, his small frame swaying with every motion.

Johan's sharp eyes observed his footwork closely. Most five-year-olds would struggle to control the ball with such precision, let alone perform a move like this with intent.

But then—in an instant—Nico accelerated.

He executed Robben's Cut-In, pushing the ball forward before slicing inside with an elegant yet devastating movement. It was clean, fluid, and precise.

Johan instinctively stepped forward, reacting as if he were still playing professionally, but before he could process what had happened, Nico had already pulled his leg back for the shot.

His small foot met the ball with just the right amount of force, sending it soaring toward the goal.

The ball curled, bending as if it had a mind of its own, twisting in the air before settling into the upper left corner of the net.

Johan didn't move.

He just stood there, dazed.

He had just witnessed something deadly—something magical—something that no five-year-old should ever be capable of doing.

Sure, Nico's technique wasn't flawless. There were tiny imperfections, slight delays in his movement, moments where his body hadn't yet fully adapted to the technique. But those flaws didn't matter.

What mattered was the genius behind it.

Johan had spent a lifetime in football. He had seen thousands of talented youngsters, had personally shaped many of them into legends. He knew the difference between talented and special.

And what he had just seen?

It was special.

Johan took slow, measured steps toward Nico, his face thoughtful, his piercing eyes scanning the young boy who had just stunned him with pure, raw brilliance.

Nico stood there, still catching his breath, his tiny chest rising and falling, but his emerald eyes burned with determination. He had shown his ability, but he could sense that Johan had something more to say.

Johan placed a hand on Nico's small shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

"Come, sit down," he said, his voice calm but firm.

They both walked toward the edge of the mini-pitch and sat on the well-manicured grass, the warm glow of the setting sun casting long shadows over the field. Johan exhaled, leaning back slightly on his palms, as if lost in thought.

Then, after a moment of silence, he turned his gaze to Nico.

"Do you know why so many talented players fail to reach their potential?"

Nico's lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He had his own theories, of course. In his past life, he had seen it happen over and over again—players with incredible talent fading into obscurity, never fulfilling what seemed like a guaranteed destiny.

Johan took his silence as an answer and continued.

"They lack the spirit and the hard work," he said, his tone carrying the weight of experience. "Many have talent, but very few have the spirit to push themselves beyond their limits. To suffer, to sacrifice, to dedicate themselves fully to the game."

He turned his full attention to Nico now, his expression serious.

"I can see that you have talent. That much is obvious. But I don't know yet if you have the spirit."

Nico's hands clenched into fists. He knew he did. He knew there was nothing he wanted more than to become the best. But Johan wasn't just looking for words. He was looking for proof.

Johan leaned in slightly, his voice lowering.

"But I will tell you this, Nico."

His eyes burned with a fire that had never faded, despite the years that had passed since his own playing days.

"I will train you to become the best in the world."

A shiver ran down Nico's spine.

The best in the world.

The words echoed in his mind, setting his soul ablaze.

"But," Johan added, his voice steady and strong, "you have to make me a few promises first."

He locked eyes with Nico, waiting for his response.

Nico didn't hesitate. He nodded immediately, his emerald eyes filled with unwavering determination.

Johan studied him for a moment, his sharp gaze searching for any sign of doubt. Finding none, he took a deep breath and spoke, his voice steady and firm.

"First, you must never drink. Ever."

His words were absolute, leaving no room for negotiation. Nico remained silent but nodded again, understanding the weight of the promise.

"Second," Johan continued, "you will train and listen to everything I say until you reach the first team. No questions, no excuses."

Nico's fingers pressed into the grass, his heart pounding in excitement. This was it. He was about to embark on a journey that would shape the rest of his life.

"Every day, you will wake up at 5 AM," Johan instructed. "From 5 to 7, we will work on your fitness. Strength, endurance, speed, agility—everything your body needs to be elite."

Nico nodded again. He was ready.

"After school, from 5 to 7 PM, we will work on your football—your technique, your dribbling, your passing, your shooting. We will perfect every touch, every movement, until your body reacts instinctively."

Johan paused for a moment, watching Nico's reaction. But the boy's face showed no hesitation, only hunger.

"And from 7 to 8 PM, we will study positions, tactics, and formations. Football is not just played with your feet, Nico. It is played with your mind. If you do not understand the game, you will never be the best, no matter how much talent you have."

The sky above them had begun to darken, the warm hues of the setting sun fading into twilight. But neither of them noticed.

Johan leaned forward slightly, his voice growing more intense.

"I am willing to train you. I am willing to make you the greatest player the world has ever seen. But only if you are willing to do all of this."

His piercing blue eyes bore into Nico's own.

"If you ever break this agreement—even once—I will stop training you."

Silence fell between them. The only sound was the distant hum of the city and the soft rustling of the trees.

Johan waited, watching Nico, giving him one last chance to back out.

But Nico didn't even blink.

His voice was clear, unwavering.

"I will do it."

Johan let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.

"Oh, I forgot to mention something." He leaned back on his hands, watching Nico closely. "From now on, you will only eat meals made by the nutritionist who will start working from tomorrow."

Nico blinked, processing the sudden addition to his already intense regimen.

"No sweets?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Johan smirked. "No sweets. No junk. Only what's best for your body."

Nico exhaled but didn't complain. It was a small price to pay. He had lived through far worse in his past life. If this was what it took to become the best, he would do it.

Johan studied him again, amused by how calm and serious he was for a five-year-old. Most kids would throw a tantrum at the mere mention of restrictions, but Nico? He was built differently.

"You really are something, Nice," Johan muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Then, he stood up and stretched.

"Alright, that's enough talk for today." He looked down at Nico, smirking. "Enjoy your last meal of freedom tonight."