Chapter 9: Proving Grounds

David sat on the bench, lacing up his boots with steady hands. Around him, the atmosphere was tense. Today was the first selection match, where the academy's best players would compete to earn a spot in the starting eleven for upcoming friendly games.

This was no ordinary match. It was a battle for survival.

Only the best would be chosen. The rest? They'd either have to wait for another chance or risk being sidelined permanently.

David took a deep breath. He had been here for just a few days, but he knew what was at stake.

Coach Danjuma's voice cut through the chatter. "Listen up! This match will decide who gets into the squad for our next game. You want to play? Then show me why you deserve it!"

David's eyes flickered to Bashir, who was stretching nearby. The tall defender smirked at him. He hadn't forgotten yesterday's embarrassment.

David knew Bashir would come for him.

Good.

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The teams were set—blue vs. white. David's team, the whites, started with possession. From the first whistle, the intensity was on another level.

Everyone was playing like their careers depended on it. Because they did.

David found himself playing as an attacking midfielder, just behind the striker. It was a familiar position—one where he could influence the game.

The first few minutes were rough. Every pass, every movement was contested fiercely. Bashir, leading the blue team's defense, was already throwing his weight around, shoving attackers off the ball.

Then, David got his first chance.

A teammate played a quick pass to him near the edge of the box. Before he could turn, he felt a presence behind him—Bashir, closing in fast.

Instead of forcing a turn, David let the ball run past him, using his body to shield it before spinning away. Bashir was caught off guard for a split second, and David took advantage.

He drove forward, skipping past another defender.

The goal was in sight.

He pulled back his leg, ready to shoot—

CRASH!

Bashir's tackle came in hard. David felt the impact before he hit the ground. The whistle blew immediately.

"Late tackle!" someone shouted.

David gritted his teeth, sitting up. His leg hurt, but he was fine.

Bashir stood over him. "Not so easy, is it, Lagos boy?"

David didn't respond. Instead, he met Bashir's glare with calm eyes.

Coach Danjuma called out, "That's a free kick! David, can you take it?"

David got to his feet and nodded. The pain didn't matter.

The ball was placed just outside the box. A five-man wall formed, with the keeper barking instructions.

David took a deep breath, focusing. He had practiced this a thousand times.

He took three steps back.

Then, as the whistle blew, he stepped forward and curled the ball over the wall—

The keeper dived—

Too late.

The ball slammed into the top corner.

Goal.

Silence followed for a moment. Then, cheers erupted.

David jogged back without celebration. This wasn't the final goal. It was just the beginning.

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The game continued with fierce intensity. Both teams pushed hard, desperate to impress.

Bashir, frustrated by David's goal, became even more aggressive. He shoved, tackled, and tried to intimidate.

But David had already adapted.

Instead of challenging Bashir head-on, he started using his quick passing and movement, making it difficult for the defender to get close.

Then came the defining moment.

A counterattack.

David's teammate won the ball and immediately launched a long pass forward.

David sprinted, his legs burning as he chased it down. The last defender was Bashir.

It was a race.

Bashir had the physical advantage, but David had momentum.

At the last second, David nudged the ball past Bashir and turned sharply. The defender lunged, but David was already gone.

One-on-one with the keeper.

He didn't hesitate.

With a smooth chip, he lifted the ball over the diving goalkeeper.

GOAL!

Coach Danjuma blew the final whistle.

David bent over, catching his breath. He had given everything.

As he straightened, he met Bashir's gaze. The defender looked furious—but also something else. Respect.

Coach Danjuma clapped his hands. "Alright! That's enough!"

The players gathered, some still breathing hard.

The coach nodded. "I've seen what I need to see." He turned to David. "Not bad, Lagos boy. Not bad at all."

A few players patted David on the back as they walked off. Even Malik grinned.

Bashir? He just walked away.

David smirked.

This was only the beginning.

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As David walked toward the dorms, his phone buzzed. A message from his father.

"Saw your goal online. Keep working hard. We're proud of you."

David smiled.

He wasn't just playing for himself.

He was playing for his family, his home, and his dream.

And he wasn't going to stop.