David Archer

"I heard you got scouted. Congrats, bruv!"

"You're finally leaving the street youts."

"I'm not leaving... yet."

In front of a medium-sized house, three boys, all around seventeen years old, sat atop a small, rotting wooden bench. Two of the boys were chatting animatedly while the third just smiled, watching them talk.

"Like I said, I'm not leaving yet," David, the quiet one, said with a grin. He had black, curly hair, cut into a low afro. His brown eyes, full of quiet determination, complemented his well-shaped face. "It's just a trial, fam. If I do well, then yeah, man's out the ends. Till then…"

"Nah, forget all that trial ting," Oliver, the boy on his right, interjected. "Man heard the same chat when they came for my older brother. Told him he weren't good enough, like man weren't balling out. But trust me, bruv, you're levels above him. You got this."

"Safe, bro." David gave a half-smile but didn't let himself get too gassed. He knew talent alone didn't mean success.

"Wait, hold up," James, the other boy sitting beside David, leaned forward, his interest piqued. "What happened to your brother, though? I swear you never chat about him."

Oliver shrugged, looking off into the distance for a moment before answering. "Life'd up. Didn't get in, lost his head, started moving mad. Ended up assaulting some scouts, bruv. Killed one."

The air around them shifted slightly. The casual street banter came to a halt.

David started to say something, but the words dried up in his throat. What do you even say to that?

"That's…" He trailed off, deciding against finishing his sentence.

"Psychotic, init?" Oliver finished for him. "I know. Man lost himself. He wanted it too much. Like… man was obsessed. Thought it was his only way out. When they told him 'nah', he snapped."

James exhaled sharply. "That's peak, fam."

"Yeah, well, man's different, init?" Oliver forced a smirk. "You, though, D? You ain't like that. You got a calm head. You ain't gonna move dumb. You're gonna make it."

David nodded, but the story stuck in his mind. He had always known the game was ruthless, but this? It made him wonder just how many other boys from the ends had their dreams shattered and never recovered.

The three of them continued talking for a long while, the conversation drifting back to easier topics—football, school, "mandem" from the estate moving recklessly. The night got colder, and eventually, Oliver and James made their way home, leaving David alone in front of the house.

He stretched his arms and let out a deep breath before heading inside. Just as he reached the front door, a sharp voice called out.

"Dust your bum before you enter."

David scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Seriously?"

He turned to see Anne standing in the doorway. A woman in her early thirties, she had blonde-dyed hair, a fair complexion, and a face partially covered by a nose mask. In one hand, she clutched a can of insecticide like a weapon.

"Yes," she said firmly, nodding at him. "You sat on that disgusting bench all day. Lord knows what kind of insects managed to cling onto you."

David sighed but did as he was told, giving his clothes a half-hearted brush. To his mild disgust, a couple of tiny insects actually did fall off. Anne wasted no time spraying them with insecticide before—without warning—turning the can on him.

"Oi!" David recoiled, coughing. "What the fuck?!"

"Just making sure I got all of them," she said with a shrug, completely unbothered.

David blinked at her, unimpressed. "Swear down, you do this every damn day."

"Well, maybe you little monkeys should find somewhere else to sit instead of that insect-infested bench," Anne shot back.

David let out a laugh. "Oi, white woman calling a group of teenage black boys monkeys in 2022? That racism charge I'm about to file is gonna hit like crack."

Anne rolled her eyes, unfazed. "White woman who adopted a black boy and lets his black friends loiter outside her house, sitting on a rotten bench like feral mo--- mofos, arrested for racism. How ironic."

David smirked. "You were about to say monkeys, weren't you?"

"Bugger off!" she huffed, retreating inside.

David chuckled and shut the door behind him, shaking his head. Anne was a piece of work, but she meant well. It was strange sometimes, being raised by a white woman in the middle of South London. But she was family, and that was all that mattered.

He made his way to his room, the one place that was entirely his own. A small but clean space, with posters of football legends scattered across the walls—Ronaldo, Henry, Neymar. But the centerpiece was the massive image of Lionel Messi above his bed. The GOAT himself.

Stripping off his clothes, he let his mind drift as he stepped into the shower. The warm water hit his skin, but his thoughts were far away. The last few months had been a blur.

It all started with that school tournament. He had played out of his skin, moving different on the pitch. The streets always said he was cold, but that tournament? That's when he knew he had something real. Arsenal scouts had been there, watching. And somehow, out of all the ballers they could've picked, they had invited him for a trial.

Arsenal. The biggest club in London. Maybe even England. If he smashed it at the trial, his whole life could change.

But it wasn't just him. There would be other ballers there—probably players who had been in academies since they were kids, who had trained at elite levels since they were ten. He had to prove he could stand shoulder to shoulder with them. He had to prove that he wasn't just as good as them, but he was better than them.

He exhaled, his fingers pressing against the tiles as the water ran down his face. "Fuck, I really hope I don't mess this up."