Test Of Worth

Xavier walked through the hallway, his footsteps echoing faintly against the tiled floor. Now dressed in Rochester's training kit, he felt a slight sense of relief.

The snug sweater and joggers were far more comfortable than the damp clothes he had worn during his frantic sprint to get here.

At least all that sweating had been worth it.

He adjusted his sleeves, savoring the feeling of finally being dry.

With a small smile, he muttered to himself, "Looking sharp." He hyped himself up, trying to shake off the lingering nervousness.

As he neared the entrance to the training grounds, the familiar sounds of activity reached his ears—the sharp thuds of balls being kicked, the gruff commands of coaches, and the occasional bursts of laughter from teammates. The rhythm of the place was alive, each sound layering over the other to create a kind of symphony. His heart pounded in anticipation, but nerves gnawed at him, threatening to unravel the confidence he was trying to build.

This was only the second club he had ever joined after his stint with Lukechester. The memories of his time there weren't exactly comforting. Every mistake had been magnified, every failure etched into his mind like a scar. Coming to Rochester, he couldn't shake the uncertainty of whether this experience would somehow turn out even worse.

But who cares?

As long as he could take one step closer to achieving his dreams, that was all that mattered. The road ahead might be rough—treacherous even—but he had decided long ago that nothing, not ridicule, not failure, would deter him from reaching his goal.

Pushing through the entrance, his eyes scanned the field. A group of players moved in unison, passing the ball.

Others jogged along the sidelines, their movements fluid and purposeful. The green expanse of the training ground seemed endless, bordered by tall fences that stretched toward the sky.

Before he could fully take in the scene, the coach appeared at his side, his commanding presence cutting through the noise.

Without a preamble, the man barked, "Join them."

Xavier froze. That was it? No instructions, no guidance—just join them? His confusion only deepened when he glanced at the field. Who exactly was he supposed to join? There were multiple groups of players, each engaged in their own drills.

He hesitated, his feet rooted to the ground. Unsure, he began walking tentatively toward the center of the field, his mind racing. The uncertainty didn't go unnoticed.

A ball suddenly rolled toward him, stopping at his feet.

"Kick the ball!" one of the players shouted, his voice laced with amusement.

The laughter that followed made Xavier's stomach tighten. Heat crept up his neck as their chuckles echoed around him, but he complied, kicking the ball back into the group.

They continued their passing drill, the ball zipping between them with practiced ease. Xavier joined in awkwardly, trying to match their rhythm.

Pass. Receive. Pass.

The movements were mechanical and repetitive, but every mistake he made felt like a glaring spotlight on his inadequacy.

He bit his lip, focusing harder. The drill shifted to jogging laps. Xavier found himself running alongside the others, his legs moving on autopilot as the ball was passed back and forth between them. The exercise tested both stamina and coordination, but tension built inside him, each missed pass weighing heavily on his mind.

Then came the moment he dreaded: penalty tryouts.

The coach announced the exercise with an air of finality, his voice cutting through the hum of activity. "We'll see where you fit—if anywhere." His gaze was sharp enough to slice through steel.

Xavier's palms began to sweat. This wasn't just about his position on the team. This was about his worth. Would he remain a striker? Be relegated to midfield? Worse—would he become nothing more than a benchwarmer?

One by one, the players stepped up to the penalty line. Xavier's attention was drawn to one in particular—a tall player with jet-black hair tied into a neat bun. He strode confidently to the ball. The air seemed to shift around him, the usual chatter fading into an expectant silence.

Xavier recognized him immediately. Zack Carter. Rochester's star player. His hat trick in a critical match had propelled the team to second place on the league table last season. The guy was practically a legend.

KICK

Zack kicked the ball, sending it rolling with smooth precision. The goalkeeper dived for it, but the ball effortlessly curved to the other side of the post, slipping past him.

Applause rippled through the team, but Zack remained stoic, his expression unreadable.

Xavier's heart sank. How could he measure up to someone like that?

His name was called. He stepped up to the penalty line, the ball waiting for him like a challenge he wasn't sure he could meet. His heart hammered in his chest, the sound deafening in his ears.

You can do this.

"You're the GOAT, not the WOAT," he told himself.

THUD.

He took the shot.

The ball veered sharply to the right, bouncing off the post with a loud clang before rolling back toward him, as if mocking his effort.

Laughter erupted from some of the players. It wasn't just a chuckle—it was the kind of unrestrained laughter that made Xavier's face burn with humiliation.

It seemed there was no difference between this club and the last—except these players were great.

Before he could say anything, the coach's voice cut through the noise like a whip.

"Shut up," he barked. "He tried his best."

Xavier felt a flicker of gratitude but quickly shoved it down. Thanking the coach would only make him look desperate. And this wasn't the kind of man who welcomed weakness.

"Try again," the coach ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Xavier reset the ball, his focus narrowing to a single point. This time, he aimed for the top left corner.

The ball soared… too high.

It landed in the stands, bouncing comically before coming to a stop on an empty chair. The laughter this time was louder, echoing across the field. Even the coach chuckled—though his amusement seemed more self-deprecating, as if questioning his own decision to bring Xavier onto the team.

Xavier's chest tightened, a sharp pain shooting through him, but he swallowed it down. He wouldn't let them see him break.

"Step aside," the coach said, his voice firm but not unkind. "You'll get extra training today."

Xavier nodded, biting back his frustration. He moved off to the side, watching as the rest of the team continued their drills. His gaze lingered on the coach, noticing, for the first time, a subtle shift in his expression. The man's usual stern demeanor softened slightly as he turned toward someone else.

"You're late again," the coach said, his voice carrying a hint of exasperation.

Xavier blinked, confused. The comment hadn't been directed at him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement near the sidelines. A figure was approaching—a young woman with striking red hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Her steps were purposeful, yet there was an air of hesitancy about her, as if she was unsure of her place here.

"I'm sorry, Father," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the field.

Xavier's was silent.

'Wait… is that the beautiful miss from the elevator?'

Recognition hit him like a freight train. The red-haired woman was the same person he had awkwardly spoken to in an elevator a day ago. The memory was still fresh in his mind—her quiet demeanor, the fleeting glance they had exchanged.

But now, she was here, addressing the coach as her father.

Was this a good thing? No. He needed to focus. And now that he knew this strict coach was Miss Elevator's father… he had no chance.

Before Xavier could fully process the revelation, a ball hurtled toward him out of nowhere. Gasps echoed around the field as everyone braced for impact.

Instinct took over.

Xavier leapt, meeting the ball with his forehead. The header was precise, sending the ball flying straight into the goal.

The field fell silent.

No one had expected that—not the players, not the coach, not even Xavier himself.

For a moment, all eyes were on him, wide with disbelief.

The coach's usual stern expression faltered. Even Zack began to clap—a slow, deliberate applause filled with surprise and… respect.

Xavier was silent. He hadn't meant to prove anything.

Yet somehow, in that moment, he had.

He had unknowingly scored.