Initial Draft

One Month Later

Elijah lay sprawled on the ground, sweat dripping down his face as his chest rose and fell heavily. It had been a full month of grueling training, and his body showed the results. His once-lean frame now had more definition his abs forming into a clear four-pack, his chest slightly broader. But despite the progress, the training never seemed to get easier.

"No matter how much I train, it just keeps getting harder and harder," Elijah thought to himself, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Zidane walked into the training hall, his presence commanding the room with the ease of a king stepping into his domain. His usual smirk stretched across his face as his eyes scanned the group of exhausted players scattered across the floor. Elijah lay sprawled on the ground, his chest heaving with each labored breath. He'd come a long way in a month, his body leaner, more defined his four-pack visible, chest slightly broader, but the weight of the training had clearly taken its toll.

Zidane couldn't help but grin.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "Look at you guys. Looking like kings. I like it. Seems my training is doing its job."

Elijah pushed himself up from the ground, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a grimace. "Oh, it's been hard, alright. We haven't even seen you for two weeks only Zalika."

Zidane raised a hand dismissively, his gaze narrowing with a flash of arrogance. "Yes, yes. I had personal matters to attend to, but trust me everything I do, benefits you. You'll see." He cracked his neck casually and turned to Davis. "Davis, get me a chair."

Davis, still trying to catch his breath, groaned but got to his feet. "I swear, man. You could at least help us out here."

Ignoring Davis' grumble, Zidane sat in the chair that was brought to him, his posture relaxed but dominant. He leaned back, his sharp eyes sweeping over the group. "You guys can sit too. Relax, my revolutionaries."

The group sank down to the floor around him, forming a loose circle.

"So," Zidane began, crossing one leg over the other, his tone teasing but laced with an underlying seriousness, "How are you liking it here?"

Kyren shrugged. "It's not bad."

Fugo scoffed, glancing at Zidane. "I don't really like it."

Elijah laughed tiredly. "The training's brutal."

Zidane leaned forward, his smile growing wider, predatory. "Well then, leave. You have the freedom to walk away anytime you please, you know. This isn't a charity, and I'm not here to babysit."

The words hung in the air, and the room fell into a tense silence. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.

Zidane snapped his fingers, and the large screen behind him flickered to life, displaying a list of names with small profile pictures next to them. The rankings.

Elijah squinted at the screen. "What's that?"

"It looks like a ranking system," Kyren muttered.

Zidane stood up, walking over to the monitor and gesturing to the list. "That's your ranking. Based on your performance, technique, and contribution to this program. I figured I'd make things fun for you. As you can see, Kyren is ranked first..." He paused for effect, then glanced down at the bottom of the list. "And Fugo... you're ranked 60th."

Fugo's eyes widened. "Wait, what the hell?! I'm lower than Elijah? No offense, Elijah."

Elijah just chuckled, and the others laughed along, but Zidane remained cold, unamused. His gaze was sharp, calculating. "Now, don't think I'm here just to mock your rankings. No, no. I'm here for something far more entertaining."

With a snap of his fingers, the screen shifted, and two bold words appeared: INITIAL DRAFT.

Zidane turned to face the group, his smirk never faltering. "Let me explain. The Initial Draft is a game a competition. Each team consists of five players: a Quarterback (QB), two Wide Receivers (WR), a Linebacker (LB), and a Defensive Back (DB)."

Someone in the back scoffed. "Isn't that just flag football?"

Zidane turned toward them, his eyes glinting with an ego that could fill the room. "Yes, yes. But let me clarify, sir. The Quarterback (QB) leads the offense, throws passes, makes decisions. The Wide Receivers (WR) run routes, catch passes, stretch the defense. The Defensive Back (DB) covers receivers, defends passes, and prevents big plays. And the Linebacker (LB) defends short passes, rushes the QB, and plays a crucial role in coverage." He leaned in closer to the group, his voice lowering to a deadly seriousness. "Oh, and let me be crystal clear: there are no flags involved here. This is full-contact."

Elijah squinted. "Why this game, though?"

Zidane's grin widened, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "Simple. I need to see where you all stand before September. Because you have a match coming up. It's a secret for now, but you'll need to be ready."

The room buzzed with curiosity, but Zidane wasn't done.

"Not only will this determine your positions, but I also have specialized training for each role. Your performance in the Initial Draft will decide your spot on the team."

The monitor shifted again, displaying a bracket-style tournament layout.

"There are 60 of you," Zidane continued. "That means 12 teams six teams on one side, six on the other. The teams with the most wins will face off against each other. The first team to 28 points wins."

Davis folded his arms, raising an eyebrow. "So when do we start?"

Zidane smirked, eyes cold as ice. "Matches start tomorrow. You have until tonight to form your teams and choose your positions."

His voice took on a more intense edge. "When you play, I don't want to see any hesitation. Use your techniques. Use your drive. Use your impulse. Don't hold back. You have one job: Win."

With that, Zidane turned to leave but paused at the doorway. "Good luck," he said over his shoulder. "Not that I believe in it."

The door slammed shut behind him, and the silence in the room was palpable. Fugo let out a low whistle.

"Well, damn."

The tournament had begun.