Onto The Trial (2)

David, Oliver, James, and Anne stepped out of the house, the cool morning air hitting them as they walked toward Anne's car. The streets were still quiet, save for the occasional car passing by, and the sky was painted in soft hues of blue and orange. David inhaled deeply, trying to settle the jittery energy running through him. Today was the day.

"Shotgun!" Oliver called out, dashing ahead and hopping into the front passenger seat before James could react.

"Fam, allow it, man!" James groaned, reluctantly getting into the back with David.

Anne chuckled as she started the car. "You lot are ridiculous."

The drive to the training ground was relatively quiet, with the radio playing a mix of UK rap and Afrobeats in the background. Oliver and James occasionally cracked jokes, trying to ease the tension they could feel radiating off David, but he mostly stared out of the window, lost in thought. His mind replayed every goal, every pass, every moment that had led him here. This trial wasn't just an opportunity; it was everything.

"You got this, bro," James muttered, nudging him. "Real talk."

David managed a small nod. He appreciated it, even if the nerves were still there.

As they neared the training ground, Anne spoke up. "Alright, listen. When we get there, don't overthink things. Just play your game. You wouldn't be here if you weren't good enough."

David let out a slow breath. "Yeah."

The car pulled up at the entrance of the facility, and David's stomach flipped at the sight. Arsenal's training complex stretched out before him, pristine pitches gleaming under the morning light. The crest on the gates looked almost intimidating. This was it.

They parked, and as David stepped out, he noticed other players arriving. Some were stretching, some chatting, others standing alone with focused expressions. They all looked sharp, athletic—serious competition. David clenched his jaw. No turning back now.

"Oi, look at these man," Oliver muttered, eyeing the other trialists. "All of them look like they been eating spinach and protein shakes since birth."

James laughed. "Chill, man."

Anne checked the time. "You should get inside. I'll wait here."

David nodded and adjusted his duffel bag on his shoulder. "See you lot after."

"Show 'em what real ballers move like," Oliver grinned, dapping him up.

James followed. "No fear, fam. You belong here."

David exhaled and turned toward the entrance, stepping through the gates. His heart pounded in his chest as he walked toward the check-in table, where a few coaches were handing out bibs.

"Name?" one of the staff asked, glancing at a clipboard.

"David Archer."

The staff member ran a finger down the list, then nodded, handing him a red training bib. "You're in Group B. Get changed and head to Pitch Three. Warm-ups start in fifteen."

David took the bib and nodded. "Thanks."

He made his way toward the changing rooms, his grip tightening around the strap of his bag. Inside, the room was buzzing with quiet conversations. Some players seemed relaxed, already cracking jokes with each other, while others sat in silence, focused on their own thoughts. David found an empty bench and sat down, unzipping his bag. He pulled out his kit and quickly changed, slipping on his cleats last. The familiar feel of the boots grounded him, gave him a sense of control.

As he tied his laces, he overheard a conversation nearby.

"Yeah, man, I've been in the academy since I was eight. Just trying to get a scholarship now."

"For real? Man, I been at Chelsea's youth setup before I left. Just looking for a new place."

David kept his head down but felt the weight of their words. These guys had been in academies for years. He had been grinding on the streets, playing cage football. Was that enough?

Before he could spiral further, another voice cut through the room.

"Alright, let's go, boys! Warm-ups starting soon!"

David finished tying his boots, took a deep breath, and stood up. This was it. No more doubts.

As he stepped outside onto the training pitch, the morning air filled his lungs, crisp and cool. He glanced around—coaches watching, players stretching, the Arsenal crest on the banners lining the fences. This was where he had to prove himself.

More players filed onto the field, some looking confident, others just as nervous as he felt. A few of them exchanged greetings, while others kept to themselves. The atmosphere buzzed with quiet intensity.

One of the coaches, a tall man with a clipboard and a commanding presence, stepped forward. "Alright, listen up! Trials are about to begin. We're looking at everything today—your technique, your awareness, your decision-making. Play smart, play fast, and show us why you deserve to be here."

"A lot of you come from other top academies and think that you're all that". While he was speaking, he glanced at one of the figures that David overhead speak earlier. "And a lot of you don't come from the best of places. A lot of you are here by luck, and call me Superstitious but I believe in destiny and I believe that all of you here now were brought here by destiny. It's up to you to take your destiny in your hands and make sure that it doesn't break you. Make sure that it takes you not where it wants you to go but where you want to go! Your fate is in your hands!"

The aftermath of the coach's words were a plethora of murmurings coming from the players. He glanced at the players murmuring and shook his head.

'At least half of this bunch have been eliminated for poor discipline'. The coach thought. He turned to his other coaches and signaled them with his hand.

"Alright, we'll start shortly"

David swallowed hard but straightened his back. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He took one last deep breath, feeling the cool breeze against his skin.

A whistle blew, signaling the start of the warm-ups.

It was time.