3. The Trials PT.2

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The technical drills awaited, and Francesco was more than ready to prove that his dominance on the pitch wasn't just about speed or endurance—it was about skill, intelligence, and the hunger to succeed.

As the boys gathered around Coach Smith after the break, the energy had shifted slightly. The nerves from the earlier physical tests had subsided, and now there was a sense of anticipation in the air. This was the part that everyone had been waiting for—the chance to show their technical abilities with the ball at their feet. The physical drills had weeded out some of the weaker candidates, but it was on the ball where the real magic happened.

Coach Smith stood at the center of the group, his whistle hanging from his neck as his sharp eyes scanned the faces of the eager boys. His coaching staff stood behind him, each holding a clipboard, ready to jot down notes. The sun was now higher in the sky, and the warmth of the day added a slight sheen of sweat to the boys, but no one seemed to mind. Everyone was focused.

"Alright, lads," Coach Smith began, his voice strong and commanding as always. "We've tested your speed and stamina, but now it's time to see what you can do with the ball. Football is a game of technique as much as it is about athleticism. I want to see how well you can shoot, pass, dribble, and tackle. These are the fundamentals, and if you can't get these right, you won't get far."

He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in before continuing. "We'll start with shooting drills. You'll each take turns striking the ball from the edge of the penalty box. I want to see your accuracy and power. After that, we'll move to passing, dribbling, and then tackling. These are basic skills, but the best players master them."

Francesco listened carefully, his heart pounding slightly in his chest, not from nerves but from excitement. He had spent countless hours honing these very skills in his past life, and now, with his enhanced body and footballing talent, he knew he was going to excel. Shooting, passing, and dribbling were his bread and butter. He could visualize himself performing each drill with ease. The only area that he wasn't entirely confident in was tackling. It had never been his focus. But that didn't worry him too much. As an attacking player, his game was all about creativity, vision, and putting the ball in the back of the net. Tackling was something defenders and defensive midfielders needed to worry about.

Coach Smith pointed toward one of the assistant coaches standing near the goalposts. "Coach Brown will lead the shooting drill. Head over there, line up, and take your turns one at a time."

The group dispersed, and the boys began to line up near the edge of the penalty box. A few of them were nervously adjusting their boots or practicing quick swings of their legs, preparing themselves mentally for the drill. Francesco stood near the middle of the line, calm and composed. He knew exactly what he was capable of.

One by one, the boys took their turns. Some were decent, striking the ball cleanly into the corners of the net. Others struggled, either sending the ball wide or directly at the goalkeeper, who was a young academy player assigned to block their shots. The coaches made notes after each attempt, their expressions mostly neutral, though occasionally, one of them would raise an eyebrow at a particularly good strike.

Francesco watched patiently as his turn approached. He could feel the adrenaline building up inside him, but he kept it under control. When his name was finally called, he stepped forward, eyes locked on the ball that had been placed on the grass just outside the penalty area. He glanced up briefly, scanning the position of the goalkeeper, who stood ready, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. Francesco had already made his decision.

He took a few steps back, his body loose but poised. Then, with a smooth, effortless motion, he ran up to the ball and struck it cleanly with the instep of his right foot. The ball rocketed off his boot with a satisfying thud, curving slightly to the right as it soared toward the top corner of the goal. The goalkeeper barely had time to react before the ball slammed into the back of the net, rattling the posts.

The sound of the goal reverberating caught the attention of some of the other boys, and even the coaches exchanged glances. Coach Brown, who had been overseeing the shooting drill, nodded approvingly. "That's what I'm talking about, Lee. Keep it up."

Francesco nodded back, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew that was a near-perfect strike, but he kept his emotions in check. There was still a lot more to prove.

The rest of the boys continued their turns, and Francesco watched with a critical eye. Some were good, but none had matched the accuracy and power he had just demonstrated. When the shooting drill finally came to an end, Coach Smith blew his whistle again, calling everyone back to the center.

"Next up is passing," he announced. "We'll be focusing on both short and long passes. It's not just about kicking the ball—anyone can do that. I want to see precision and control. You'll be passing to each other at different distances, and I expect you to be accurate every time."

Francesco felt another surge of confidence. Passing was one of the aspects of his game that he had always taken pride in. His vision and ability to pick out a teammate, even under pressure, had been a hallmark of his playing style. With his enhanced mind and body, he knew he could deliver passes with pinpoint accuracy.

The boys were divided into pairs, and Francesco was partnered with a boy named Adam, who had shown decent ability in the earlier drills. The two of them stood a few meters apart as Coach Smith explained the drill. They would start with short passes, gradually increasing the distance as the drill progressed.

Francesco took his position, waiting for the signal to begin. When Coach Smith blew the whistle, he immediately struck the ball with the inside of his foot, sending it rolling smoothly toward Adam. The pass was crisp, perfectly weighted, and arrived right at Adam's feet. Adam controlled it quickly and sent it back with a similarly clean pass.

As the drill continued and the distance between them increased, Francesco maintained his composure. His passes were sharp and precise, whether they were short or long. He could feel the ball leave his foot with perfect control every time, and the satisfying thud of the ball connecting with Adam's boots reassured him that he was nailing this drill.

When they reached the final stage of the passing drill, where the boys had to send long passes across almost half the pitch, Francesco took a deep breath, steadying himself. He knew this would impress the coaches if he got it right. He glanced up, saw Adam waiting on the other side, and then struck the ball with the inside of his foot, adding a bit of loft. The ball sailed through the air, spinning slightly as it arced perfectly toward Adam, landing at his feet with a soft thud.

Francesco saw Coach Smith nodding in approval once again. He had nailed it. After the passing drill ended, the boys were called back for the next exercise—dribbling.

"Alright, boys, now we'll test your control on the ball," Coach Smith said, gesturing toward a series of cones laid out in a zigzag pattern. "You'll dribble through the cones as quickly as possible, but I want to see control. Speed is important, but if you're losing the ball or knocking over cones, you're doing it wrong."

This was another drill Francesco was confident in. His dribbling ability had always been one of his strong points. As the boys took their turns, weaving through the cones with varying degrees of success, Francesco watched closely, mentally preparing himself.

When it was his turn, he stepped up to the starting point, the ball at his feet. Coach Smith blew the whistle, and Francesco was off. He kept his eyes focused on the path ahead, his feet moving in quick, fluid motions as he guided the ball through the cones. Each touch was light but controlled, and he never lost his balance or rhythm. His body moved with ease, almost as if he was dancing through the cones.

He finished the drill in record time, the ball still firmly under his control as he crossed the finish line. There was a murmur of approval from the sidelines, and Francesco saw the coaches scribbling more notes. He could tell he had impressed them once again.

Finally, it was time for the tackling drill. Francesco knew this was his weakest area, but he wasn't worried. He had already made a strong impression, and he wasn't aiming to be a defensive player. When it was his turn to go up against an opponent, he focused on timing his tackle rather than diving in recklessly. He managed to get a few decent tackles in, but he knew they weren't as strong as his performance in the other drills.

Still, by the time the tackling drill was over, Francesco was confident he had done enough to stand out. Coach Smith called the boys back together, his expression serious but approving.

"Good work, lads," he said. "I've seen some real talent today, and I can tell some of you are ready for the next level. We'll wrap things up with some small-sided games, so get ready to show us what you've got in match situations."

Francesco felt a surge of excitement. This was it—the final test. He had dominated the physical and technical drills, and now it was time to put it all together in a game scenario. He was ready to prove, once and for all, that he was the best in this trial.

Coach Smith's voice carried across the field as the boys stood around him, some of them catching their breath after the tackling drills. "Before we move on to the small-sided games, we'll take a short break—thirty minutes. Rest up, grab some water, and get your heads ready for the match. This is where you'll show us how you play in real game situations, so be prepared."

Francesco felt the adrenaline ebb slightly, allowing him to focus on recovery. He turned away from the group and began walking toward the sidelines, where his parents, Mike and Sarah, were waiting for him with proud smiles. He could feel the slight fatigue in his legs, a reminder of the effort he had put into the drills, but his mind was sharp, already thinking ahead to the match.

As he reached his parents, Mike handed him a bottle of water, and Francesco took a long drink, savoring the cool liquid as it eased the dryness in his throat. He sat down on the lawn beside them, stretching his legs out in front of him. Sarah crouched down beside him, brushing a few stray strands of hair from his forehead.

"You were fantastic out there, Francesco," she said softly. "You've already caught their attention."

Francesco smiled, nodding as he leaned back on his hands. "I feel good, Mom. Just need to keep this momentum going."

Mike sat down next to him, his voice filled with encouragement. "You've done all the hard work, son. This match is just the final piece. Keep playing the way you've been playing, and there's no doubt you'll stand out."

Francesco glanced around at the other boys, many of whom were sitting with their parents or talking quietly amongst themselves. He noticed a few of them sneaking glances in his direction, their expressions a mix of curiosity and, perhaps, a little intimidation. Francesco had made a strong impression, and he knew the upcoming game was his chance to cement his place as one of the top performers.

The thirty minutes passed quickly, and soon, Coach Smith's sharp whistle echoed across the field, signaling the boys to gather once more. Francesco stood up, stretching his legs and rolling his shoulders to shake off the stiffness. His parents gave him one last nod of encouragement before he jogged back to join the group.

Coach Smith was already standing in the middle of the pitch, his hands on his hips, waiting for the boys to assemble. His assistant coaches stood nearby, holding a bag of colored vests.

"Alright, lads," Coach Smith began, his voice firm and steady, "it's time for the small-sided games. We'll divide you into two groups. Group one will wear the red vests, and group two will wear the yellow. You'll play a thirty-minute game, split into two halves of fifteen minutes each. We're looking to see how you work as a team, how you read the game, and, most importantly, how you perform under pressure."

Francesco could feel the excitement building within him. This was what he had been waiting for—a chance to show not just his technical ability, but his game intelligence, his positioning, his decision-making. He was ready.

The assistant coaches began handing out the vests, dividing the boys into two groups. Francesco was placed in group one, wearing a red vest. He quickly scanned the other players in his group, recognizing a few faces from earlier in the day. Some of them had shown flashes of talent during the drills, but Francesco knew this game would be where they truly distinguished themselves.

Once the boys were separated into their respective teams, Coach Smith gave them a few more instructions. "The game will be fast-paced, so keep your energy up. Play smart, pass quickly, and make sure you're always looking for space. This isn't just about individual skills—it's about how you work with your teammates."

Francesco nodded along with the rest of the boys, his mind already racing through different strategies. He knew how to play as a team, how to use his vision to link up with others, but he also knew that if an opportunity arose, he had the ability to take control and create something on his own.

"Group one, you'll start on this side of the pitch," Coach Smith said, pointing toward the goal closest to them. "Group two, take the other end. We'll be watching closely."

The boys jogged to their positions, and Francesco took his place in the midfield, just behind the strikers. It was a role that suited him perfectly—he could control the tempo of the game, make key passes, and get into attacking positions when necessary. His eyes scanned the field, taking in the positions of his teammates and the opposing players. He knew that this the moment he show his talents and soon the wolrd will know him.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 5 (2003)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : None

Championship History : None