Dawit lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts tangled in anticipation. His body was sore, but it was a good kind of pain, the kind that meant progress. He had spent years drowning in regret, but now, each ache in his muscles reminded him that he was rebuilding himself.
Tomorrow was the match.
His first game in this new life.
Most of his teammates didn't think much about it, it was just another amateur friendly. But for Dawit, it was his first real opportunity to prove that this second chance meant something.
He shifted under the covers, listening to the quiet hum of the streets outside. The thought of stepping onto the pitch again filled him with something unnatural. Not fear. Not nervousness. Something bigger.
Amanuel's voice was calm when it whispered into his mind.
"Your match focus is unstable. Mental resilience affects performance. Adjust your mindset."
Dawit sighed. Control your emotions.
He wasn't the same player who had failed years ago. He was stronger now.
Closing his eyes, he forced himself to sleep. Tomorrow, he would let his football do the talking.
The morning air was cool when Dawit arrived at the training ground. His teammates were relaxed, chatting about weekend plans and the meaningless friendly ahead. None of them knew what this game meant to him.
Coach Jeroen stood near the dugout, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. A former semi pro midfielder, Jeroen had coached Alexandria '66 for nearly a decade, earning a reputation for tough but fair leadership. He wasn't the kind of coach to waste time with empty praise he valued effort and consistency, not fleeting talent.
"You've been putting in the work," Jeroen said, eyes scanning Dawit. "Let's see if that means something on the pitch."
Dawit nodded. He could feel the weight in the coach's words this was a test.
Warm-ups went by quickly, his body lighter than it had felt in years. He forced himself to stay calm, listening to his breath, the crunch of cleats on grass, the distant chatter of players joking before the match.
Kickoff came.
The ball moved, and instinct took over.
The first five minutes were pure adjustment. Dawit had to relearn everything in real time. His mind knew how to play, but his body was still catching up.
Jeroen watched from the sidelines, arms folded, observing. He didn't speak, didn't shout instructions he wanted to see if Dawit could think for himself.
Dawit tracked the flow of the game, his awareness heightened. His old habits kicked in as Alexandria '66 worked the ball forward. The opposition moved slowly, testing gaps in the defense.
Then came his first challenge.
An opponent received the ball in midfield, turning sharply to start an attack. Dawit saw the movement before anyone else. His body reacted a fraction of a second too late, but he adjusted mid-step.
He lunged in, cleats meeting the ball perfectly. A clean tackle.
+5 XP – Successful Interception.
Jeroen gave a small nod from the sideline.
The rush of adrenaline shot through Dawit's veins.
His heart pounded.
This was real.
No hesitation, no doubt. Just football.
The game opened up quickly. Dawit's passing was sharp, his movements more fluid than they had been in training. His teammates noticed, giving him the ball more often, trusting his decisions.
Jeroen didn't react much but that was his way. He didn't waste words on meaningless praise, not when there was still work to do.
Then his moment came.
A long ball was sent toward Alexandria '66's striker. Dawit watched the defender close in, saw the tiny opening, the space where the ball should go.
He sprinted toward the gap before anyone reacted.
One touch. Perfect.
One dribble. Smooth.
+7 XP – Dribble Success.
Now—the finish.
His body was light, his mind clear. He swung his leg with clean technique, striking through the ball with absolute conviction.
The shot was perfect.
It curled past the keeper.
+20 XP – First Competitive Goal. Talent Coins +10 earned.
Jeroen let out a short hum, barely reacting. But Dawit caught the slight nod, the approval hidden behind the coach's usual indifference.
He had noticed.
His teammates rushed toward him, shouting, grabbing his shoulders, shaking him with excitement.
But Dawit barely heard them.
It wasn't just about scoring a goal.
It was proof.
Proof that his second chance was real.
The match ended with Alexandria '66 securing a comfortable win. Dawit had played well not perfectly, but enough to get noticed.
Coach Jeroen approached him after the final whistle, studying him for a moment before speaking.
"Solid game," he said, arms crossed. "You keep playing like this, and you'll force your way into the starting eleven."
Dawit absorbed the words carefully. Jeroen wasn't giving false promiseshe was setting the expectation.
He wasn't just being noticed. He was being challenged.
Amanuel's voice echoed as Dawit sat on the bench, catching his breath.
"Your journey"
Dawit sat on the bench, his pulse still racing from the match. His teammates were celebrating their win, exchanging laughter, teasing each other about missed chances. The air was thick with the scent of damp grass, sweat, and triumph. But Dawit's mind wasn't on the result.
It was on himself.
On what he had just proven.
Coach Jeroen approached, hands in his pockets, his sharp gaze scanning Dawit as if assessing him for hidden weaknesses. His stance was relaxed, yet authoritative, a man who had seen too many young players burn bright only to disappear.
"You got your goal," Jeroen said, his tone measured. "And you had good control in midfield."
Dawit nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. Jeroen wasn't a coach who showered players with compliments, but the fact that he had taken the time to address Dawit directly meant something.
"But don't think one game makes a difference yet," Jeroen continued. "You showed discipline today, but football isn't about moments. It's about consistency. That's what separates players who fade from players who last."
Dawit tightened his jaw. Consistency. Effort. Discipline.
That was what had failed him in his past life.
Jeroen exhaled, as if gauging whether Dawit understood his words. Then, after a brief silence, he added, "Show me this level of work in training, in the next match, and the match after that. Then we'll talk about your place in the team."
He didn't wait for a response before turning away to join the rest of the squad.
Dawit sat still for a moment, absorbing every word.
This wasn't just a game anymore.
It was a battle for survival.
Amanuel's voice echoed softly in his mind.
"Your next milestone requires sustained performance. Weekly consistency will determine advancement in the system."
Dawit exhaled slowly, shaking his head with a slight smirk.
He wasn't scared.
He was ready.
The next morning, soreness greeted him like an old friend. His muscles complained, his legs felt heavier, but there was something different in him now. The pain wasn't discouraging. It was validation.
He stepped onto the pitch earlier than most, the crisp air biting against his skin. Training would begin soon, but he wasn't here to wait he was here to improve.
His first touch drills were sharper than before. The ball no longer felt foreign under his feet. His dribbling was cleaner, his movements more natural.
The match had awakened something.
Coach Jeroen arrived a few minutes later, walking past without comment, observing. Dawit didn't expect praise he didn't need it.
What he needed was to be seen as indispensable.
He pushed harder in training. Every sprint, every touch, every pass carried a weight beyond the drills themselves.
And he knew Jeroen was watching.
By the end of the session, the coach pulled him aside.
"Keep this up," Jeroen said, his tone calm, but firm. "We'll see how much you want it."
Dawit met his gaze.
He wouldn't stop.
Not until he became everything he was meant to be.