Ray Arlon stepped out of the cab and stood still for a moment. The air was cool and carried the scent of freshly cut grass. His eyes were fixed on the sign above the building—Chelsea Youth Academy. The letters shimmered faintly under the morning light. It was real. This place he had only seen on TV, read about in articles, and imagined in his dreams, now stood before him.
As he walked through the gates, the first thing that caught his eyes were the walls. On both sides of the entry hall were massive framed images of Chelsea legends. Frank Lampard in mid-kick. Didier Drogba lifting a trophy, mouth open in a roar. John Terry with his captain's armband. Petr Čech diving for a save. The hallway felt more like a museum than a football academy.
Ray paused to take it all in. The photos gave him goosebumps. He could almost hear the roars of Stamford Bridge in the background. He had grown up watching these players, studied their movements, mimicked their celebrations. Now, he was walking the same path some did.
He wasn't alone. Dozens of boys from all over the world arrived in waves. Some wore national team tracksuits. Others had headphones in, focused, expressionless. A few stretched quietly in corners, while others gathered in small groups, talking and laughing nervously. Each of them had something to prove.
But one stood out.
Ray noticed him the moment he entered. He moved differently. He wasn't the tallest or the biggest, but he walked with a calm that drew everyone's attention. His black hair was tied back in a short ponytail, and his boots were spotless. His stride was smooth, like every step had purpose. When he passed by Ray, it felt as though the air changed. There was power in how he carried himself.
"Who is that guy?" someone whispered behind Ray.
"That's Zhang Wei," another answered. "Chinese-American. He was in the Bayern youth camp last year."
Zhang Wei didn't look at anyone. He went straight to the pitch.
The trial session began not long after. The boys were herded onto the field where a tall man with a whistle around his neck stood waiting. His eyes were sharp, and even before he spoke, Ray could feel his presence.
"Alright, listen up," the man said. "I'm William Hamilton. Some of you might know the name. Former striker for Chelsea. Scored ninety-seven goals in two hundred games, not to brag."
A few heads nodded. Some murmured.
"Today isn't about what you were back home. It's about what you do here. This trial is simple. One of you will be picked. One striker to join the Chelsea U18 team for the 2024/2025 Premier League U18 season. One spot, for the best."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"You're not just here to run drills. You're here to show you're ready to lead the line. That means forward positioning. Clinical finishing. Integrated dribbling. Shot power. Penalty proficiency. Quick reactions. We measure everything."
The first test was heading. Three simulated corner kicks. One of the best midfielders from the U18 team, Ibrahim Salem, would be sending in the crosses. Ray had heard of Ibrahim. They called him "Little Iniesta." His passes were crisp and clean, always landing exactly where they should.
The players were lined up one by one. Each would get three chances.
Ray watched as others took their turns. Some connected well. Others mistimed their jumps. But Zhang Wei, when his name was called, he was perfect. His first header struck the net with speed. The second had finesse, angled into the far post. The third was a leap above the dummy defender's head, a textbook finish.
Three out of three.
Ray's name was called.
He stepped forward.
His heart thumped. He wiped his hands on his shorts. The ball was crossed.
He jumped.
Missed.
It wasn't even close. His timing was off, and he felt it as soon as his feet left the ground.
Okay... first one gone. Two more. Just focus, can't slip now, he told himself.
The second ball came in. Perfect height. He tracked it.
He jumped again.
This time, his head met the ball, but not cleanly. It glanced off the side of his forehead and rolled out wide.
No. No, no... come on, Ray. One more. Just one. You can do this. Is either now or ever.
He tried to steady his breathing, hands clutched—forming a fist smashing against the pitch.
He could feel eyes on him. Watching. Judging.
The third ball came.
He took a step back, timed it right, and ran forward. His boots left the ground. The ball met his forehead in the center.
Thud.
The sound of contact was crisp. The ball shot toward the goal and hit the back of the net.
One out of three.
Ray stepped aside, sweat forming on his brow.
At least I didn't go scoreless. It wasn't perfect... but I'm not out yet.
He looked over at Zhang Wei, who was talking with one of the assistant coaches. Even now, Zhang's face showed no sign of pride or pressure. Just calm. Controlled.
Hamilton blew the whistle.
"Scores are being tallied. The point system is simple: meet one hundred percent of the objective, you get three points. If you're above sixty percent but below perfect, you get one. Anything less than sixty—zero."
Ray nodded to himself. He had no point. It wasn't over, but it wasn't the worst—at least he scored a header.
But this was only the beginning of the trial. More tests were coming.
And Ray knew he had to be better.
Much better.
The next session was forward positioning. Hamilton explained that the players would need to read plays, predict passes, and move into goal-scoring positions before the ball arrived. A coach would shout out a formation, then the midfielders would run a drill where the striker needed to make themselves available for a cut-in pass or long through ball.
"It's not just about speed," Hamilton said. "It's about instinct. Strikers don't wait for the ball. They run into spaces before anyone else sees them."
Ray took his turn.
"4-3-3," a coach shouted.
The drill began.
The midfielder looked up, and Ray made his move. He cut between the two defenders. The pass came a second too late. He was offside.
Second try.
This time, he delayed his run, but the ball came too soon, and he missed the timing.
Third try.
He slowed, watched the midfielder's eyes, and dashed forward just in time. The pass reached him. He tapped it into the net.
One out of three again.
Zhang Wei scored all three. He was never offside. His movements were smooth, calculated, always a second ahead.
More drills followed. Shot power and finishing came next.
Ray knew this may be his only chance to make his long last dream come true, he either go all out or go home with nothing.
"That's all for now", Hamilton said as he blew his whistle, ending the first part of the training session.
"We come back in three hours time, next will be shot power testing, clinical finishing and penalty proficiency. Go warm up and remember only one will be chosen."