Earl of Football

Jacob Vincent woke with a gasp, cold sweat trickling down his forehead as his heart pounded against his chest. He was alive—except, he wasn't Jacob Vincent anymore.

The last thing he remembered was the sterile white walls of Homerton Hospital. The searing pain in his gut, the icy fear that had wrapped around his throat, and the sound of sirens—so distant, so hopeless. He had died there. The gang fight had gone too far. Blood. Pain. Darkness.

But now… this. His mind swirled in confusion. The rich scent of expensive cologne and fresh linen filled the air. He blinked, the bright sunlight filtering through the tall windows making him squint. He wasn't in a dingy East London flat or in some hospital. He was somewhere else—somewhere that screamed luxury. The room was massive, a blend of modern design and old-world grandeur. His eyes darted to the side table, where a gold-framed note rested against a vase of fresh flowers.

Lucien Nightshade. Born February 19th, 2001.

The note continued, but the name alone sent a jolt of recognition through him. Lucien Nightshade… that's me. I'm Lucien now.

Jacob—or Lucien, as he now had to think of himself—could feel the weight of the memories flooding his mind. It was a rush at first, like water bursting from a dam, drowning him in fragments of another life—his new life. Lucien Nightshade, the Earl of St. Andrews. The son of Henry and Matilda Nightshade, one of the most influential families in England, with ties to the British royal family.

As the memories settled, clarity took over. He wasn't just some pampered rich kid. He was so much more than that. Lucien Nightshade, 15 years old, with a body strong as steel and… football. His love for the sport pulsed through him, sharper than ever before. The note mentioned a gift: the skills of three of the greatest footballers to ever grace the game—Maradona, Zidane, Ronaldinho.

He could feel their power within him. A quiet confidence surged in his veins. He stretched out his limbs and noticed the strength, the power that now coursed through his body. His memories of football from his past life felt minuscule compared to the raw talent that now infused his muscles and mind. It was as though he had been playing with his eyes half shut, and now they were wide open.

Lucien crossed the room and stood in front of the tall mirror near the wardrobe. The face staring back at him wasn't Jacob Vincent's anymore. His reflection was a striking young man with ocean-blue eyes and a strong, angular jawline. His blonde hair glowed in the sunlight, and his expression—calm, calculating—was that of someone far older than fifteen.

"I've been given another chance," he whispered to himself, his voice deep and steady.

He turned away from the mirror, his thoughts racing. In his past life, football was just a dream. Something to escape the harsh realities of Hackney. But now? Now, football was his destiny. He had the talent, the skills, and the body of three of the greatest players merged into one. There was no limit to what he could achieve.

Lucien stepped towards the window, overlooking the vast estate that was his home. His eyes narrowed in determination. He knew the future—he had seen it all before. The football world, the rise and fall of players, teams, and managers. But this time, things would be different. He had the power to change it all.

"Fulham," he said, remembering his current team. The Fulham Academy was good, but Lucien had grander visions. He had no intention of staying there forever. Fulham was just a stepping stone. His mind raced through the possibilities—Premier League domination, World Cups, Ballon d'Ors. He knew which clubs were worth joining and which ones were a waste of time. And then there was England. He wouldn't let his country fall short in the 2018 World Cup like they did before. He would lead them to victory.

But for now, he had to lay the groundwork. His body was only fifteen, but his mind held the knowledge and ambition of someone far older. He had to start making connections, influencing the right people. No one needed to know what had really happened to him—his rebirth was a secret he would carry alone.

Lucien turned back to the note on the table. The final line caught his eye.

"Make no mistake, Lucien. You were chosen for a reason. Now, show the world what you can do."

He smiled, a slow, calculating smile. "I'll be more than just a legend. I'll be a king on and off the pitch."

With a deep breath, he stepped out of his room, ready to embrace the world of Lucien Nightshade and forge his path to greatness.