Izan watched himself as the system zoomed in on the face, on the eyes specifically.
And there it was, the thing he'd forgotten about that version of himself, the thing that these last few years of winning and records and magazine covers had gradually buried under everything else.
The kid's shoulders were down.
His body language was the body language of someone who had just been told that he wasn't going to be able to do what he loved in life.
But his eyes, they were doing something else entirely.
The eyes showed strength, hunger, and above all, fascination with the round object he had been kicking around.
[That],the system said, [is not a kid who is ever going to lose his love for the game.]
Izan looked at the fourteen-year-old on the patchy grass in Alboraya for a moment longer.
Then the image shifted, and the system added:
[The World Cup is also not going to be a breeze.]
He frowned at that, wondering what that could mean, but when he asked, no response came.
