A Reject in Name Only

One fateful morning in the city of Leeds.

A fair-skinned, wide-eyed 17 year old strolled past the humongous gates of Leeds FC.

His face was full of vitality, as evidenced by the spring and inspiration in his step.

What's behind those eyes full of vigor was his current reality.

He's a reject.

A young footballer let go by his parent club's academy— one of the most esteemed in England, and the world— and was not given a senior contract.

That academy has produced countless greats for the club and the country. A real machine that produces high caliber youngsters and thrusts them into the limelight of the wonderful world of football.

He's a graduate from one of the sport's biggest football academies: Sporting Club Manchester Academy.

Well... considering the fact that he's here in a lower division club's ground, you'll realize the predicament he was in. Some of his fellow graduates, and friends, are living life under the bright lights of their boyhood club, meanwhile he's here... trying to latch on to a team that would give him a shot.

A team that would take him along on his journey to the top.

That's if he impresses anyone in the exit trials.

***

Blaise Atkinson breathed in the stadium's tense atmosphere.

This was his first time in this stadium in this life. He's played multiple away games here in his first one.

He always had the fascination of away game days ever since he was a boy. The exhilaration of blaring whistles, hostile crowds, and oppressive away aura kicks his competitiveness up another level. That didn't change even when he became a pro.

In his past life he was known in the Manchester youth circles as a dead ball specialist. A footballer that excels in the art of free kicks, corner kicks, penalty kicks, and throw-ins.

He wasn't the physical specimen top clubs tend to salivate on though. Nor he was the classy, technical maestro they love spending their big bucks on either.

He's just a hometown boy that loved his city's biggest football club the same way his parents, and grandparents did. He's… just that.

At least in his first life. Not anymore.

Blaise knew having a single standout trait that could only be very effective in specific situations will never cut it in the big leagues anymore.

Sure, you can be a one trick goal scorer and succeed, because hell if you can score goals with ridiculous frequency you'll be a hot commodity for any club in the world.

But being a dead ball specialist isn't one of those skills that scouts think would be enough, at least if it is your lone great trait.

"I'm gonna be at the top this time. I promise."

Blaise mixed in with the hundred or so fellow hopefuls in the middle of the field.

Almost all of them were doing one thing or another before the official start of the trials. Some were shooting from different angles in either goals. Some were just doing some standard keepy uppies. Some are just talking with their fellow trialists, something Blaise was surprised about.

Some of the more eccentric bunch are on their phones. While some of the more muscular men are already doing push-ups in the corner.

'Damn… they're gonna get tired quick.' Blaise was seriously pondering if he should just sit in the stands and do some simple seated exercises before the event starts. He knows every single bit of stamina should be saved in preparation for the grueling day he's going to endure.

Not that he's in any way not confident of his chances, considering his wealth of experience in football.

Every young reject here knows that they only have this chance to secure the best possible contract. If they fall here, some may wound up at the hinterlands of the lower tiers of English football. The others may grind it out with university teams, before getting a chance to go pro. The hardest way to go out, though, is quitting the sport altogether.

They have to go through all this for a tiny chance to get signed on by a Football League team.

In the middle of Blaise's little exercise (contemplation) session, a man in a navy blue jacket appeared. His experienced gait, and air of knowledge, made Blaise even more determined to impress.

He got up to his feet and rushed from the stands back to the pitch, as the other trialists rushed to do the same.

This man in the middle had a beard and mustache combination made even more fitting by those wizened, discerning eyes.

He's a former England international, a Madrid FC legend, and now a scout for the English Football Association.

At the heart of his jacket were the initials GH. If you're a middle aged football fan in England, you'll know him as Grant Hughes, the midfield maestro of all those England teams years ago.

Now, he's the one in charge of the exit trials.

"Good morning, young gentlemen. Today, you'll be undergoing a single match that could determine your future as a pro. I'll tell you right now that this is not your last chance, even if people would tell you otherwise. But I'll also tell you to treat this exit trial as if it's your last."

Grant scanned the youths before him. "As you should know, I myself am a product of one such exit trial in my youth. I was from the Gunners FC academy, was released, and was signed by a League Two team through this trial… and the rest, as you know, is history."

Blaise's eyes burned with determination. He promised he'll do better this time.

'I still hate you, you bastard Hughes. I will never forget what kind of humiliation you put me through in my first life.'

"You see the people in the stands?" Hughes pointed to the people behind him on the stands over his shoulder. "They might seem like the people that hold your fate. But no… it is only you who holds it! Take charge of your own fate!"

He raised his right hand high up in a show of will. The trialists yelled with a deafening roar.

"Yes!"

The crowd dispersed as the early morning session drills had begun. The drills include the usual ball-control, running, shooting, and defending drills.

"I thought there'd be some deviation… but even the drills were the same…" Blaise is deep in thought while doing the drills with utmost efficiency. "So… if everything was the same… could those League One scouts really be here as well?