2. The Trial PT.1

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Francesco smiled back at her, grateful for her support. He knew she meant every word, but inside, he couldn't help but feel a surge of ambition. He wasn't just aiming to do well—he was aiming to become the best. The trial would be the first step in his journey, and Francesco Lee was ready to take it.

Six days passed quickly, and the morning of the Arsenal Youth Academy trial had finally arrived. The sun had just begun to rise over the streets of London as Francesco sat in the back seat of his parents' car, staring out the window. His mind raced with thoughts of everything he had practiced—Thierry Henry's quick movements, Dennis Bergkamp's perfect first touches. He was ready. Today, he would show the coaches what he was capable of.

His father, Mike, sat in the driver's seat, focused on the road ahead, while his mother, Sarah, turned around from the passenger seat to give him a reassuring smile.

"Nervous, Francesco?" she asked gently.

Francesco shook his head, though in truth, he felt a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling inside him. "No, just ready," he replied, his voice steady.

Mike glanced at him through the rearview mirror and grinned. "That's the spirit, son. You've got this. Just remember what we talked about—play your game. Don't worry about anyone else. Show them what you've got."

Francesco nodded, appreciating the encouragement but knowing that today was the most important day of his young life so far. He wasn't just going to play; he was going to make a statement. His entire future could hinge on this trial, and he didn't want to let the opportunity slip through his fingers.

For an hour, the car weaved through the busy streets of London, finally arriving at the outskirts of the city where the Arsenal Youth Academy was located. As the car pulled into the academy's parking area, Francesco's heart began to race. This was it. He could see other parents and children gathering in small groups, some kids in full football gear, already kicking balls around while their parents looked on nervously.

Mike found a spot and parked the car. As they stepped out, Francesco took a deep breath, feeling the cool morning air hit his face. The academy was massive—far bigger than he had imagined. The main building loomed in the distance, with several football pitches surrounding it. On the far side, he could see coaches setting up drills and cones for the trials. The grass was perfectly manicured, almost glowing under the soft sunlight.

"There's a lot of people here," Sarah remarked, looking around. Her hand rested gently on Francesco's shoulder. "But don't let that get to you, okay? You're here because you deserve to be."

Francesco gave her a quick nod, his eyes scanning the crowd of parents and children. There were so many kids, all of them likely talented, and all of them here for the same dream. But Francesco had something that no one else had—he had been here before, in a way. His past life, his knowledge of football's future, gave him an edge, and he planned to use it.

Together, they walked toward the line forming outside a registration desk near the main entrance. Parents and kids alike were waiting anxiously, some checking paperwork, others quietly talking among themselves. Francesco could hear snippets of conversation—some children talking about their favorite players, others nervously discussing the drills they might face. He wondered how many of them were feeling the same pressure he was.

Mike, Sarah, and Francesco joined the line, standing behind a tall man and his son, who looked about Francesco's age. The boy was bouncing on his heels, clearly full of energy, while his father flipped through some documents. Francesco glanced at him, feeling a competitive spark ignite. He's probably good, Francesco thought, but he reminded himself that it didn't matter. Today wasn't about anyone else.

After waiting for a while, it was finally their turn. A young woman in an Arsenal jacket sat behind the registration desk, her face kind but professional. She glanced up as they approached, holding a clipboard in her hand.

"Good morning," she said brightly. "Welcome to the Arsenal Youth Academy trials. Can I get the name of the child participating today?"

Mike stepped forward, offering a warm smile. "Yes, good morning. Our son Francesco Lee is here for the trial."

The woman nodded and began writing on her clipboard. "Francesco Lee. Great. And your names?"

"I'm Mike Lee, and this is my wife, Sarah Lee," Mike responded, gesturing to Sarah, who smiled politely.

"Fantastic," the woman replied, checking off some more boxes. She handed Mike a sheet of paper. "Here's some information on what the trial will involve today. You'll want to hold on to this. We've got a lot of kids here today, so we're running the trial in groups. Francesco's group will be starting in about thirty minutes over on Pitch Two."

Mike took the paper and thanked her, and the three of them stepped aside to review the information. The sheet outlined the structure of the trial: a warm-up session, followed by various technical drills—dribbling, passing, and shooting. After that, there would be small-sided games where the coaches would evaluate how the boys played in a team setting.

Francesco read over the sheet, feeling a surge of confidence. 'This is my chance', he thought. 'I know exactly what I need to do.'

Mike knelt down beside him, folding the paper and placing it in his pocket. "You've got this, Francesco. Just remember what we talked about."

Francesco nodded. He had spent the last six days mentally preparing, rehearsing the moves he wanted to show off. He knew how to make the right impression—he'd showcase his quick, precise dribbling and his ability to finish, just like Thierry Henry. He'd also demonstrate Bergkamp's calmness and vision, picking out the perfect passes when needed. He wanted the coaches to see that he wasn't just a regular player, but he was a complete player that capable leading the team.

They made their way toward Pitch Two, where a group of boys had already begun stretching. Francesco recognized some of the drills the coaches were setting up—cones for agility work, small goals for shooting practice. The sight filled him with excitement. He wanted to get out there and start.

As they approached the pitch, Mike placed a hand on Francesco's shoulder. "We'll be watching from over there," he said, pointing to the sidelines where other parents had gathered. "Just do your best, okay?"

Francesco nodded, his face serious. "I will, Dad."

Sarah gave him a quick hug, whispering, "We're so proud of you, Francesco. Just have fun out there."

Francesco smiled, feeling a rush of warmth from their support. As his parents moved to the sidelines, he joined the other boys on the pitch, all of them getting ready for the trial to begin.

As he stood there, adjusting his socks and looking around at the other kids, Francesco felt a calm settle over him. This was it—his moment. All the practice, all the preparation, had led him here. Today, he would prove that he wasn't just another boy with a dream. He was a player destined for greatness.

And as the coach blew the whistle to signal the start of the warm-up, Francesco took a deep breath, his mind already racing with thoughts of Henry and Bergkamp. 'This is my time', he thought, stepping forward with confidence.

After thirty minutes of intense warm-up exercises, where Francesco and the other boys jogged around the pitch, stretched, and performed basic agility drills, the head coach blew the whistle. The group gathered in front of a tall, imposing man wearing an Arsenal tracksuit. His piercing blue eyes scanned the crowd of young hopefuls with a mixture of seriousness and expectation.

"Alright, lads," the coach began, his voice commanding immediate attention. "My name is Coach Smith, and I'll be leading today's trial with my coaching staff. What we're looking for isn't just skill on the ball. We want to see how hard you work, how you move without the ball, and most importantly, what you do under pressure."

Francesco stood attentively, soaking in every word. This was it—the moment to impress.

Coach Smith continued, "First, we're going to start with some physical tests—speed, stamina, and endurance. This is important because football isn't just about technique. You need to be fit, fast, and able to outlast your opponents. If you can't do that, it doesn't matter how good your dribbling or passing is."

The boys murmured amongst themselves, clearly nervous but eager to prove themselves. Francesco stayed quiet, his focus unshakable. He knew that physical conditioning was just as critical as technical ability, and he'd prepared accordingly.

Coach Smith motioned toward the track running alongside the pitch. "We'll start with the running test—100 meters. One by one, you'll take your turn, and my team will be recording your times. After that, we'll move on to the stamina test, which will involve continuous running to measure your endurance."

Francesco watched as the first few boys stepped forward to take their turns. Some were fast, others not so much. He could see the tension in their faces as they sprinted as hard as they could. The coaching staff made notes on clipboards, their expressions giving nothing away.

Francesco was still waiting for his turn, his muscles loose but his mind sharp. He felt no nervousness—just a calm confidence that came from knowing exactly what he could do. He was fully aware that his speed and stamina would surprise them. In his past life, he had been a football enthusiast, but now, with his second chance, he had a body and mind fine-tuned for athleticism.

After what felt like an eternity, Coach Smith called his name. "Francesco Lee, you're up."

Taking a deep breath, Francesco walked toward the starting line. He could feel the eyes of the other boys on him, some sizing him up, others whispering amongst themselves. His parents stood at the sideline, their expressions full of encouragement.

Coach Smith blew the whistle. Francesco's body shot forward like a bullet, his feet pounding against the track with an effortless rhythm. Every muscle in his body was working in harmony, his form perfect, his movements fluid. The wind whipped past his face as he accelerated down the track, his mind focused only on reaching the finish line as fast as possible.

As he crossed the line, one of the coaches called out his time. There was a slight pause, and the coach glanced at the stopwatch with raised eyebrows before jotting down the number.

Francesco slowed to a stop, his breathing steady. He felt good—better than he'd even expected. Glancing at Coach Smith, he noticed the man was staring at him, intrigued.

"Not bad, Lee. Let's see how you do in the stamina test."

Francesco nodded, stepping aside as the next boy took his place on the track. He had noticed the reaction of the coaches, but he didn't let it distract him. There was still work to be done.

After everyone had completed the sprint test, Coach Smith signaled for the group to move on to the next stage—the stamina test. This test was simple but grueling: a continuous run around the pitch, with coaches watching closely to see who could keep up the pace and who would start to falter.

One by one, the boys began running. Francesco kept a steady rhythm, his legs moving with ease as he paced himself. Some of the other boys sprinted ahead at first, eager to impress, but Francesco knew better. Endurance wasn't about starting fast; it was about maintaining a pace that would last.

As the laps continued, Francesco began to overtake those who had started too quickly. One by one, he passed them, his breathing still controlled, his body in perfect condition. He could see some of the boys struggling now, their faces red, their legs heavy. But for Francesco, it felt almost effortless. His body, a product of his wish for a physique that didn't tire easily, was designed for this.

As the test wore on, more and more boys began to fall behind. Some dropped out altogether, too exhausted to continue. But Francesco kept going, his pace never faltering. The coaches were watching closely, their eyes following his every move. Even Coach Smith, usually stoic, seemed impressed.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Coach Smith blew the whistle, signaling the end of the test. Francesco slowed to a jog before coming to a stop, his breathing still steady. He glanced around at the other boys—many of them were bent over, gasping for air, their hands on their knees as they tried to recover.

Coach Smith approached the group, his expression serious but impressed. "Alright, lads, good effort from all of you," he said, his eyes scanning the group before landing on Francesco. "Some of you stood out today, and we've taken note of that."

Francesco felt a surge of pride, but he kept his expression neutral. He wasn't here to boast or show off—he was here to prove himself.

"Lee," Coach Smith said, stepping closer to him. "I don't know where you've been training, but those were some of the best results we've seen all morning. Fastest time on the sprint, and you crushed the stamina test."

Francesco nodded respectfully. "Thank you, Coach."

Smith studied him for a moment, as if trying to figure him out. "We'll see how you do in the next drills, but keep it up. You've made a strong first impression."

Coach Smith blew the whistle again, signaling a break for the boys after the grueling physical tests. "Alright, everyone, take an hour to rest up. Grab some water, get something to eat if you need to, and we'll start the technical drills after the break."

Francesco exhaled, grateful for the short reprieve. He turned and started walking toward the sidelines where his parents, Mike and Sarah, were waiting for him. As he moved through the field, he couldn't help but notice the quiet buzz of conversation around him. The other parents were whispering to each other, many of them casting curious glances in his direction.

"That boy—did you see his sprint? Unbelievable," one man murmured to his wife.

"He barely looked tired after the stamina test," another parent said, shaking his head in disbelief. "He's a natural."

Francesco kept his head down, pretending not to hear, but the words fueled his confidence even more. His performance had clearly made an impression, not just on the coaches, but on the other parents and kids as well.

When he finally reached his parents, Mike had a broad smile on his face, and Sarah's eyes were glowing with pride. They didn't need to say anything—Francesco could tell from their expressions that they were thrilled with how he had done so far.

"You were incredible out there," Mike said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I don't think I've ever seen you run that fast."

Francesco smiled, still catching his breath. "I felt good, Dad. The training paid off."

Sarah stepped forward and gave him a quick hug. "We're so proud of you, Francesco. You've already made a great impression. Now just keep going."

Francesco nodded, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over him. He had worked hard for this moment, but he knew the trial wasn't over yet. The technical drills and the small-sided games were still to come, and he had to stay focused. Still, for now, it felt good to savor the moment with his family.

Mike handed him a water bottle, and Francesco took a long drink, cooling himself down from the intense physical exertion. "You've got some time to rest, so don't overthink it," his father advised. "The next part's going to be more about skill. You've got that in the bag."

Francesco sat down on the grass beside his parents, his legs stretched out in front of him as he relaxed. All around him, the other boys were doing the same—some sitting with their parents, others chatting quietly amongst themselves. There was a palpable mix of excitement and tension in the air.

From time to time, he caught a few of the other kids glancing in his direction, as if sizing him up. He could tell they were taking notice of him now, wondering who this boy was that had just dominated the physical tests. It was a good feeling, but Francesco knew he couldn't let it go to his head. There was still so much more to prove.

As the hour ticked by, Francesco remained calm, conserving his energy for the next stage. His parents talked quietly beside him, giving him the space he needed to mentally prepare. He replayed the drills in his mind—his quick dribbling, his sharp passing, his finishing ability. This was where he would really shine, where he could show off the talent that had been refined over years of practice and, of course, his knowledge of the future from his past life.

The whispering from other parents and the glances from the other boys might have been distracting for someone else, but for Francesco, it was motivation. He knew that the coaches were watching closely, and he couldn't afford to let his guard down.

As the hour came to a close, Coach Smith's whistle echoed across the field again, calling the boys back to the pitch. Francesco stood up, rolling his shoulders to shake off any lingering stiffness, and gave his parents a confident nod.

"Time to get back out there," he said, his voice steady and determined.

"Go show them what you've got," Mike said, giving him one last encouraging smile.

Francesco jogged back toward the field, his mind focused, his body ready for the next challenge. The physical tests had been the first hurdle, and he had cleared it with ease. Now it was time to show the coaches the full extent of his footballing ability.

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.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 5 (2003)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : None

Championship History : None