Stepping Into the Fire

The invitation came like a bolt from the blue. Luca and Matteo stood in their kitchen, clutching letters from AC Milan's youth academy, their eyes wide with disbelief.

Trial training with the U17 squad. The words danced on the page, a mix of promise and pressure. Matteo whooped, slapping Luca on the back. "We're moving up, Cappetta!

Santini saw something in us!" Luca grinned, but his stomach churned. The U17s were a different beast—older, stronger, seasoned. Could they really belong there?

***************

The training ground buzzed with energy as they arrived, the U17 players casting long shadows across the pitch. Their broad shoulders and confident strides made Luca feel like a kid sneaking into a giant's lair.

Matteo, ever the optimist, whispered, "We've got skills they don't. Let's show 'em." Luca nodded, but his nerves jangled. He activated his Identify skill on the nearest player—a lean winger with a sharp gaze.

Overall: 70. Solid. Then a stocky midfielder: Overall: 67. Finally, his eyes locked on the squad's star, a forward whose every move screamed authority.

Overall: 76. Luca's breath hitched. Most ranged from 67 to 73, close to his own 72 and Matteo's 73. They could belong here—but they'd have to earn it.

The session started with a brutal warm-up, sprints that left Luca's legs screaming. The U17s moved like machines, their strides longer, their stamina deeper.

In the first drill—a possession game—Luca hesitated, and a hulking defender snatched the ball, leaving him flat-footed. A snicker rippled through the group. "U15s can't keep up," someone muttered. Luca's face burned, but he gritted his teeth. He wasn't here to fold.

The pace only intensified in the small-sided games. Luca found himself up against a center-back who towered over him, his 73 Overall backed by muscle Luca couldn't match.

A shoulder barge sent Luca stumbling, the ball rolling away. Coach Santini's voice cut through the air: "Toughen up, Cappetta!"

Luca hauled himself up, frustration sparking. He was outpaced, outmuscled—but he wasn't out of tricks.

Midway through, he found his rhythm. His 83 Agility kicked in, letting him twist past a marker with a flick of his hips. His 73 Dribbling shone as he danced through a tight space, drawing a foul—and a grudging nod—from a U17 midfielder.

In one play, he darted down the wing, cut inside, and laid off a pass to Matteo, who rifled it into the corner. The older players exchanged looks, their smirks fading. Santini's clipboard twitched, his pen moving.

The system chimed in his ear, a cool voice amid the chaos:

*[Task: Maintain Focus Under Pressure]*

—Objective: Finish the session without losing concentration.

Reward: +2 Focus.

Luca's eyes narrowed. This was his shot to prove his mind was as sharp as his feet. He took a steadying breath, tuning out the ache in his legs and the taunts in his ears.

The drills blurred into a test of will—every touch, every sprint, a chance to show he belonged.

By the end, Luca was drenched in sweat, but he'd carved out a foothold. A U17 winger jogged over, offering a fist bump. "Quick feet, kid. Not bad."

Luca managed a tired smile, but inside, he burned. Not bad wasn't enough—he wanted permanent. As the group broke for water, he caught Santini's eye. The coach's gaze lingered, assessing. Luca had survived day one, but the real fight was just beginning.