The alley behind Jan Breydel Stadium was quiet after midnight, the only light coming from a flickering streetlamp. Ibukun adjusted the strap of his duffel bag, his body still aching from the match. The adrenaline of his first professional goal had faded, leaving behind the raw reality—he was still just a rookie in this world.
Then—
Shadows moved.
Three figures stepped out from behind a dumpster. Laurent, Anderlecht's defensive midfielder, cracked his knuckles. His two teammates—both bigger, stronger—flanked him.
*"You got lucky today,"* Laurent spat. *"But luck runs out."*
Ibukun set his bag down slowly. He wasn't afraid—just tired. Tired of being tested.
The first punch came without warning.
---
### **The Fight**
Ibukun blocked the initial swing, but the second caught him in the ribs. He grunted, countering with an elbow that barely fazed Laurent.
One of the others grabbed him from behind.
**CRACK.**
A bottle shattered against his back. Pain flared, but Ibukun had felt worse. In the Celestial League, this would've been child's play. Here, it was enough to stagger him.
A knee drove into his thigh.
A fist clipped his jaw.
He went down hard.
---
### **The Aftermath**
Ibukun woke in a hospital bed, his ribs taped, his face swollen.
A man in a Manchester United polo sat by the window—Jim Lawlor, their Belgian scout.
*"You're lucky it wasn't worse,"* Lawlor said, tossing him a newspaper. The headline read: *Anderlecht Youth Players Suspended After Alley Attack.*
Ibukun sat up slowly, wincing.
*"We're interested,"* Lawlor continued. *"But you're raw. Another year in Belgium, maybe two. Then we'll talk."*
He left a business card on the bedside table.
*"Don't waste your talent."*
---
### **The Reality Check**
Alone, Ibukun stared at the ceiling.
Jay-Jay's hologram flickered to life. *"Tough break, kid. But you knew this wouldn't be easy."*
Ibukun didn't answer.
He was just a rookie here.
And rookies had to earn their place.
---