Next Step?

In the cramped directors' box—really just a converted portakabin—chairman Bill Hartley exhaled deeply and closed his laptop. "Another year, at least," he said to secretary-treasurer Margaret, who was already calculating whether they could afford to keep the squad together for next season.

There'd been two scouts present, both from nearby League Two clubs doing routine checks on players whose contracts were running out. One made a brief note about the young center-back—"Lincoln, 19, decent positioning, one to watch maybe"—before packing up his notepad.

The local paper's part-time reporter snapped a few photos of the relieved players and jotted down quotes about "character" and "fighting spirit." It would make a small piece on page 7 of the weekend sports section, wedged between cricket scores and pub team results.

Wyatt's mum waited by the players' entrance, proud but practical. "Well done, love," she said, giving him a quick hug. "Now let's get home—you've got college in the morning." "Mom I am nineteen for Christ sake" Wyatt said

The celebration, such as it was, lasted about twenty minutes. By the time the floodlights clicked off, the car park was nearly empty, and Wyatt was just another young player who'd helped his local club survive another season in the fourth tier..

The weeks that followed became a whirlwind Wyatt could barely comprehend.

The article appeared in *The Guardian* three days after the match, with that headline that made him spit out his morning coffee: "If Sergio Ramos and Pepe give birth to a child, it would be Lincoln." His teammates had it printed and taped to his locker within hours, grinning like schoolboys.

But it wasn't just the joke that stuck - it was the truth behind it. The journalist had captured something that scouts from three divisions above were already whispering about. Wyatt Lincoln didn't just defend; he performed aerial ballet while doing it.

There was the bicycle kick clearance against Crawley Town that went viral on social media - 2.3 million views and counting. The impossible goalline clearance where he somehow got his boot to a header that was already crossing the line. The way he'd pluck crosses out of the air with his feet like he was picking apples, leaving strikers wondering if they'd imagined the whole thing.

The fans had started their own unofficial statistics. Someone with too much time and a season ticket had been tracking every defensive action since that legendary night:

**WYATT LINCOLN - SEASON STATS**

- Aerial duels won: 22

- Interceptions: 47

- Clearances: 35

- Shots blocked: 40

- "Impossible saves": 7 (fan-counted)

- "Ramos moments": 12 (acrobatic clearances)

His phone buzzed constantly now. Agents calling. Lower Championship clubs "expressing interest." His Instagram followers had jumped from 340 to 18,000 overnight.

But what struck Wyatt most wasn't the attention - it was walking through town and seeing kids in the park trying to recreate his clearances, their parents filming them with proud smiles.

He was nineteen years old, his first professional season was over, and somehow he'd become exactly what every young defender dreams of being: unforgettable.

The boy who'd saved his club had become the man everyone wanted to sign.

The phone call came on a Tuesday morning while Wyatt was still in bed, scrolling through Twitter mentions that made his head spin. His agent's voice was barely contained excitement.

"Wyatt, mate, you need to sit down for this one."

"I'm already lying down, Tony."

"Leicester City want you."

The words hung in the air like smoke. Leicester City. The club that had won the Premier League just nine years ago. The miracle team. The Foxes who'd shocked the world and made grown men cry with joy.

Sure, they'd fallen hard - relegated from the Championship to League One in a spectacular collapse that had dominated the back pages for weeks. Financial troubles, point deductions, a fire sale of players. But still... Leicester City.

"They're offering £850,000 for you, son. Plus add-ons that could take it to £1.2 million if you hit certain targets."

Wyatt's current club had paid nothing for him - academy graduate, homegrown, pure profit. This was a life-changing sum for a League Two side fighting relegation.

"And for you personally - £12,000 a week to start, rising to £18,000 if you establish yourself in the first team. Signing bonus of £50,000."

The numbers were staggering. Wyatt was currently on £800 a week, supplementing his income with a part-time job at the local sports shop. This was generational wealth for a nineteen-year-old from a working-class family.

"Leicester City, Tony," he whispered, the reality hitting him. "They want me?"

"They want you, lad. Enzo Maresca's been watching the tapes. Says you remind him of a young Maldini with the athleticism of Virgil van Dijk. They're planning to build their promotion push around you and a few other signings."

Leicester City. The King Power Stadium. Premier League football still within reach.

The boy who'd made one crucial tackle was about to become a Fox.

The phone hadn't stopped ringing since Leicester's offer. Wyatt's agent Tony sounded like he was running on pure adrenaline and coffee when he called back that same afternoon.

"Right, before you make any decisions about Leicester - we've got two more clubs in the mix."

Wyatt sat up straighter in his cramped bedroom, still processing the Leicester offer that would transform his life.

"Sunderland have just come in. They're offering £950,000 upfront, potentially rising to £1.4 million with add-ons. And get this - they're offering you £15,000 a week from day one, no performance clauses. They want to make you the cornerstone of their push back to the Championship."

Sunderland. The Stadium of Light. Forty-thousand passionate Mackems who'd followed their club through hell and back. Tony Mowbray had built something special there, and they were desperate for defensive reinforcement after losing their star center-back to injury.

"But here's where it gets mental, Wyatt..."

Tony paused for dramatic effect.

"FC Köln. From the Bundesliga. They've been watching you through their English scouting network. They're offering €1.1 million - that's about £950,000 - but the personal terms are insane. €25,000 a month, which works out to about £22,000 a week. Plus they're talking about fast-tracking you for their first team if you adapt well."

Wyatt's head was spinning. Three months ago he was stacking shelves at Sports Direct. Now German football wanted him.

"Köln see you as the perfect fit for their high-pressing system. They think your acrobatic defending and reading of the game could translate beautifully to the Bundesliga. Plus, imagine learning German football methodology at nineteen..."

Leicester's history. Sunderland's passion. Köln's development potential.

The boy who'd made one tackle now had three different futures spread before him like a tactical formation.

*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*

The alarm clock's shrill cry cut through Wyatt's restless sleep like a rusty knife. He'd been dreaming about penalty boxes again - Leicester's blue, Sunderland's red and white stripes, Köln's pristine white shirts all blending together in a kaleidoscope of possibilities.

"WYATT! WYATT LINCOLN! GET YOUR LAZY BACKSIDE OUT OF THAT BED!"

His mother's voice echoed up the narrow staircase of their terraced house, carrying that familiar mix of exasperation and love that had been waking him for nineteen years. The floorboards creaked ominously as her footsteps approached.

"I KNOW YOU'RE AWAKE UP THERE! DON'T MAKE ME COME UP!"

Wyatt groaned and rolled over, his phone screen showing seventeen missed calls from Tony, forty-three Instagram notifications, and twelve unread messages from teammates asking if the Leicester rumors were true. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool - he'd stayed up until 3 AM reading about German football and watching Sunderland highlights on YouTube.

"Coming, Mum!" he croaked, his voice barely functional.

The bedroom door burst open anyway. Margaret Lincoln stood there in her nurse's uniform - blue scrubs that reminded him uncomfortably of Leicester's colors - with her hands on her hips and that look that had terrified him since he was five.

"College starts in forty minutes, and you've got that presentation today. Football offers or no football offers, you're finishing your education, Wyatt Lincoln. Now MOVE!"

She tossed his college bag at his head and disappeared back downstairs, muttering something about "getting too big for his boots" and "eighteen thousand followers going to his head."

Wyatt stumbled toward the shower, his mind still swimming with transfer fees and weekly wages, trying to remember what his Sports Science presentation was supposed to be about.

Normal life, he realized, was about to become very complicated.

The lukewarm shower did little to clear Wyatt's head as the three offers swirled around his mind like a tactical formation he couldn't quite crack. Leicester's history, Sunderland's passion, Köln's promise of Bundesliga football - each path felt like stepping through a different door into a completely different life.

He pulled on his jeans and hoodie, the same clothes he'd worn to college for months, but everything felt different now. The boy staring back at him in the mirror was still nineteen, still living in his childhood bedroom, but somehow he wasn't the same person who'd signed his first professional contract eight months ago.

Downstairs, his mum had left a bacon sandwich wrapped in foil and a note: "Don't let any of this go to your head. You're still my son who can't remember to put his dirty socks in the hamper. Love you. - Mum"

The twenty-minute walk to college usually helped him think, but today every step felt surreal. His phone buzzed constantly - teammates, friends, even some girl from his Media Studies class he'd never spoken to asking if he was "really going to Leicester."

As he approached the campus gates, he could already see the cluster of students waiting. Ever since he'd signed professional terms, he'd become something of a celebrity at Middlesbrough College. The only student with a professional contract, the only one whose name appeared in actual newspapers.

"Oi, Wyatt!" Danny Morrison called out - no relation to his team captain, just another Sports Science student who'd suddenly become his best mate after ignoring him for two years. "Is it true about Leicester? My dad says they're offering mental money!"

Sarah from his English Literature class appeared beside him, phone already recording. "Can you confirm the transfer rumors for my TikTok? Please? Just a quick soundbite?"

More students gathered around him like iron filings to a magnet. The attention that had once thrilled him now felt suffocating. He just wanted to get to his Sports Biomechanics lecture and pretend he was still a normal teenager trying to pass his A-levels.

But normal had left the building the night he'd made that sliding tackle.

"Sarah, just... f*ck off, yeah?" Wyatt snapped, pushing through the crowd with more force than necessary. The phone cameras and grinning faces suddenly felt like vultures circling overhead.

Sarah's mouth dropped open in shock, but Wyatt was already walking away, leaving Danny Morrison mid-sentence about his dad's opinion on transfer fees.

He needed air. Space. Someone real.

"Bit harsh on the TikTok girl, wasn't it?"

Wyatt turned to find Marcus Chen leaning against the brick wall near the sports building, that familiar crooked grin on his face. Marcus - his academy partner, his roommate during youth team trips, the left-back who could have been anything before his ACL gave out at seventeen. Now he was studying Physiotherapy, helping other people's dreams stay alive since his own had died on a muddy pitch in Hartlepool.

"Marc," Wyatt breathed, feeling his shoulders drop for the first time all morning. Here was someone who understood. Someone who knew what football dreams actually cost.

"Heard about the circus," Marcus said, nodding toward the dispersing crowd of disappointed students. "Leicester, Sunderland, and some German club, right? Tony's been calling my mum trying to get your location."

They fell into step together, heading toward the quiet corner of campus where they used to sit and plan their professional debuts back when they were both going to conquer the world together.

"It's mental, Marc. Three clubs. All that money. And I can't even think straight because everyone wants a piece of me."

Marcus was quiet for a moment, his slight limp barely noticeable after two years of physiotherapy.

"Remember when we used to dream about this exact scenario? Sitting in the academy dorms, planning which clubs we'd choose when they all came calling?"

Wyatt looked at his best friend - the boy who should have been fielding his own offers right now if life had been fair.

"Yeah," he whispered. "We were going to take on the world together."

Marcus stopped walking and turned to face Wyatt, his expression serious now. The easy grin had faded, replaced by something deeper - the wisdom that comes from having your dreams shattered and rebuilt into something different.

"Listen to me, Wyatt. Properly listen."

They sat down on the low wall outside the engineering building, away from the crowds and cameras and chaos.

"I know everyone's telling you about money, about prestige, about which club has the best facilities or the biggest stadium. But that's not what matters." Marcus picked up a small stone and rolled it between his fingers. "What matters is where you'll actually play. Where you'll develop. Where you'll be happy."

Wyatt started to speak, but Marcus held up his hand.

"Leicester's got history, yeah, but they're a mess right now. Financial problems, new manager, desperate for promotion. You could get lost in that chaos. Sunderland's got passion, but they'll expect miracles from day one - forty thousand fans who'll worship you one week and crucify you the next."

Marcus tossed the stone toward a bin and missed by inches.

"But Köln... that's different. That's professional football education, mate. German coaching, tactical discipline, learning from the best league in the world for developing defenders. You're nineteen - you've got time to make mistakes there, time to grow."

He looked directly at Wyatt, his eyes intense.

"Don't chase the money, don't chase the fame. Chase the place where you'll become the player you're meant to be. Because talent gets you noticed, but development makes you unforgettable."

Marcus smiled sadly. "I never got to make that choice. You do. Make it count."