The crisp, almost unnatural scent of the perfectly maintained grass filled Lin Kai's lungs as he walked back to the group after his first successful drill. The approving silence from Coach Liang, the sharp eyes fixed on him, was a tangible force, a stark contrast to the roaring approval of his Phoenix District friends. The initial surge of adrenaline faded, replaced by a colder, sharper focus. He'd passed the first gate, but the path only narrowed from here. The assistant coaches moved with quiet efficiency, herding the hopefuls towards the next designated area of the vast training pitch, a space marked out with a complex grid of small cones and mannequins. The air, thick with nervous energy moments ago, now hummed with a different kind of tension – the grim understanding that not everyone would see the end of the day.
Assistant Coach Liu, his voice devoid of warmth, outlined the next trial. "Passing and vision under pressure," he announced, gesturing towards the grid. "You'll work in rotating groups of three. One ball. The goal is simple: keep possession within the grid for two minutes while two defenders pressure. Clean, sharp passes. Find the open man. Show us you can think faster than your feet move. We're looking for composure, awareness, and execution. Any turnover, any sloppy pass that significantly breaks momentum, counts against you." He paused, his gaze sweeping the group. "After each rotation, we cut the weakest performers. Understood?"
A collective intake of breath. Elimination. Already. Kai felt the familiar knot tighten in his stomach, but alongside it, a fierce determination ignited. Possession. Vision. This was the heart of being an attacking midfielder. He could do this. He *had* to do this.
He found himself grouped with a lanky, serious-looking boy named Chen who'd declared himself a defensive midfielder, and a wiry, quick winger called Wang. Their opponents: two solidly built boys who radiated aggression, clearly central defenders by trade. The whistle blew.
Chaos erupted within the small grid. The defenders pressed instantly, closing space with intimidating speed. Chen received the first pass, panicked slightly under pressure, and sent a hurried ball skittering towards Kai that was easily intercepted. A collective groan, barely stifled, rose from their group. Kai clenched his fists. *Focus. See the space.*
Next rotation. The ball came to Kai. One defender lunged. Instead of panicking, Kai used a feint he'd honed a thousand times on the uneven concrete – a subtle drop of the shoulder, a tiny drag back with the sole of his boot. The defender bit, overcommitting. In the split-second opening, Kai didn't look; he *knew* where Wang should be cutting across the back of the other defender. He flicked the ball with the outside of his right foot, a precise, weighted pass that curved around the defender and landed perfectly at Wang's feet. Clean. Incisive. Coach Liang, watching from the periphery, made a small mark on his clipboard.
They found a rhythm. Chen settled, using his body well to shield. Wang used his pace to create angles. Kai became the metronome, constantly scanning, receiving under pressure, turning away from challenges with surprising agility for his wiry frame, and releasing the ball with speed and accuracy – sometimes a simple lay-off, sometimes a disguised pass into space. They survived the two minutes without another turnover. Relief washed over them, mixed with exhaustion. Around them, other groups weren't so lucky. Whistles blew, names were called by Assistant Liu, faces fell as several boys were quietly directed off the pitch, their dreams ending before lunchtime. The field felt noticeably emptier, the competition sharper.
The trials became a relentless gauntlet, each designed to whittle down the numbers and expose weaknesses:
1. **The Agility & Speed Gauntlet:** A brutal circuit of hurdles, sprints, sharp turns around poles, and explosive jumps, all timed to the millisecond. Kai's lean build and raw athleticism served him well here. He flew over hurdles, his acceleration explosive out of turns. He wasn't the absolute fastest, but his efficiency of movement was impressive. More names were cut based on lagging times.
2. **Technical Circuit:** Stations testing specific skills under fatigue. Juggling with both feet, thighs, and head for maximum touches without dropping. Receiving high balls with various body parts and controlling instantly. Long, driven passes hitting specific targets from 40 yards. Curved crosses into marked zones. Kai's touch, hardened by years with a worn tennis ball on concrete, proved remarkably clean and adaptable. He faltered slightly on the long driven passes – power wasn't his primary weapon – but compensated with near-perfect accuracy on the crosses and flicks. More hopefuls departed, their technical flaws ruthlessly exposed.
3. **Small-Sided Scrimmages (7v7):** The most revealing trial yet. Players were mixed into random teams on smaller pitches, playing short, intense games. Here, the theoretical met reality. Could you apply skills under match pressure? Could you read the game? Communicate? Fight? Kai thrived. His vision cut through the chaos. He orchestrated attacks, played killer through-balls disguised as simple passes, and ghosted into pockets of space to receive the ball and turn. He even tracked back, a necessity drilled into him by Coach Deng's relentless demands. He scored once, a composed finish after a mazy dribble, and set up two more. He saw Wei Jiang, playing in a different scrimmage, dominate with sheer physicality and powerful runs, but also saw him lose possession cheaply trying overly elaborate flicks. The scouts watched intently. By the end of the third rotation of scrimmages, only thirty boys remained from the original sixty-plus. The sun was high, the pristine grass littered with the invisible debris of shattered hopes.
A short, tense break for water and energy bars was granted. Kai found a quiet spot near the corner flag, gulping down water, his muscles screaming, his mind replaying every touch, every decision. He scanned the remaining players. They all looked capable, hardened by the trials. Wei Jiang stood with a small group, laughing too loudly, projecting confidence. Kai met his gaze across the pitch; Wei gave a slight, dismissive smirk before turning away. Kai looked down at his worn boots on the perfect grass. *Still here.*
Coach Liang's sharp whistle cut through the murmur. He stood in the center circle, flanked by his assistants. "Alright. Thirty remain. Impressive stamina, most of you." His tone offered no real praise. "The final technical assessment: Set pieces. Free kicks from various angles. Corners. Delivery and finishing. We assess technique, decision-making under fatigue, and nerve." He gestured towards designated spots. "Liu, organize them."
The pressure intensified. Delivering a perfect corner onto a teammate's head while exhausted and under the critical gaze of the coaches was a different beast. Taking a free kick with a wall of mannequins and the expectation of bending it over or around them felt like performing surgery with trembling hands. Kai focused on technique, on the clean strike Yuelin had filmed him practicing endlessly. His corners were decent, finding their targets more often than not. His free kicks were accurate, curling just over the wall, though lacking the blistering power some others exhibited. He saw one boy curl a magnificent shot into the top corner from 25 yards, drawing a rare, slight nod from Coach Liang. Kai gritted his teeth. *Do your job. Control what you can.*
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of precise kicks and near-misses, Assistant Liu called a halt. The coaches huddled briefly, clipboards consulted, low murmurs exchanged. The tension on the pitch was suffocating. Kai wiped sweat from his brow, his heart hammering against his ribs. Coach Liang stepped forward again.
"Fifteen names," he stated flatly. "These fifteen will participate in the final assessment. The rest… thank you for your efforts today. Your journey with Jinjiang United ends here." He nodded to Assistant Liu, who began reading names in a clear, emotionless voice.
Each name was a hammer blow or a reprieve. "Wei Jiang." Obvious. "Zhang Lei." The physical powerhouse. "Chen Ming." The composed defender. Name after name. Kai's palms were slick with sweat. He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to breathe. *Please.*
"Lin Kai."
The sound of his own name hit him like a physical jolt. Relief, so profound it was almost dizzying, warred with the immediate, crushing pressure of what came next. He was in. The final fifteen. He stepped forward slightly, joining the small cluster of survivors. Around them, the other fifteen boys walked off the pitch, shoulders slumped, faces etched with disappointment or stoic resignation. The field felt vast and terribly exposed now.
Coach Liang addressed the final group. "The final test is simple. Football. Eleven versus eleven. You fifteen, plus two academy players returning from injury, will form one team." He gestured towards a group of players in pristine Jinjiang United U18 kits who had been warming up on a nearby pitch – clearly the club's current second-string U18 side. "You will play against them. Forty-five minutes. Show us you belong. Show us you understand the game at this level. Positions will be assigned."
Kai's heart sank as positions were quickly called out. He listened desperately for 'Attacking Midfield'. Instead, the coach called, "Lin Kai. Left Wing."
Left Wing? Kai felt a cold wave wash over him. LW wasn't his position. He was an AMF, a central playmaker, operating in the heart of the action. The wing was about pace, direct running, crossing… things he could do, but weren't his *strength*. It felt like being asked to fight with his wrong hand. A sideways glance caught Wei Jiang smirking; he'd been assigned Central Attacking Midfield. *Of course.*
Disappointment warred with defiance within Kai. *Fine. Left Wing it is. I'll show them.* He pulled on the unfamiliar pinnie handed to him – a garish orange – over his faded red shirt. He took his position on the left flank, feeling strangely isolated. The whistle blew.
The difference was immediate and brutal. The academy second team played with a cohesion and understanding the trialists couldn't match. Their passing was crisp, their movement intelligent, their pressing organized. The trialist team, a collection of talented individuals thrown together, struggled to find any rhythm. Kai spent the first ten minutes chasing shadows, isolated on the wing, barely touching the ball. When he did receive it, deep in his own half, an academy right-back closed him down with alarming speed and strength, forcing him into a hurried, misplaced pass. He saw Wei Jiang trying to force the play centrally, losing possession with ambitious flicks that didn't come off. Frustration mounted.
Then, a spark. The trialist goalkeeper made a smart save, launching a quick throw towards the left. Kai, reading the play, was already on the move, accelerating down the touchline before his marker could react. He controlled the bouncing ball with a deft first touch, instantly pushing it past the recovering right-back. *Direct. Take players on.* Yuelin's words echoed. He exploded down the flank, pure pace he didn't know he had in reserve. He cut inside, away from the touchline, driving infield towards the penalty area. One defender lunged; Kai feinted to shoot, dragged the ball back with the sole of his boot, leaving the defender stumbling, and then unleashed a low, driven cross towards the penalty spot. It fizzed across the six-yard box, begging for a touch, but the trialist striker was a fraction slow. A collective groan rose from the trialist sideline. But Coach Liang's eyes tracked Kai's run intently.
He grew into the game. He learned to time his runs, using his acceleration to exploit space behind the full-back. He linked up sporadically with the trialist left-back, playing simple one-twos. He tracked back diligently, showing a work ethic that impressed the watching coaches. And then, the moment arrived. A loose ball was cleared from the academy defence, bouncing towards the halfway line on the left. Kai reacted first, intercepting it. He saw the academy right-back high up the pitch. Space. Vast, inviting space ahead of him. *Go.*
He pushed the ball forward and ran. Pure, unadulterated speed. He ate up the ground, leaving a chasing midfielder in his wake. The covering center-back angled across, trying to cut him off. Kai didn't hesitate. As the defender approached, Kai pushed the ball slightly ahead with his right foot, then exploded past him on the outside, using a burst of acceleration that left the defender grasping at air. He was in on goal, angling towards the near post. The goalkeeper came out, narrowing the angle. Kai's mind raced. Shoot? Cross? He saw a flash of orange in the box – Wei Jiang arriving late. Instinct took over. He drew back his left foot, as if to blast it near post, causing the keeper to commit, then at the last possible millisecond, he deftly cut the ball back across the goalmouth with the outside of his boot. It was a pass of pure instinct and vision, perfectly weighted across the face of the goal. Wei Jiang, arriving unmarked at the far post, couldn't miss. He tapped it in.
The trialist sideline erupted in cheers. Wei Jiang celebrated, but his eyes flickered towards Kai with a mixture of surprise and grudging respect. Kai just turned and jogged back towards his position, chest heaving, a fierce satisfaction burning within him. He'd created that. From the left wing. He'd taken players on, shown explosive pace, and delivered a killer pass under pressure. Coach Liang was writing furiously on his clipboard.
The rest of the half was a battle. The academy team equalized through a well-worked move. Kai continued to be a threat, making dangerous runs and putting in decent crosses. When the whistle blew for half-time, the score was 1-1, but the trialists knew they'd been largely outplayed individually and collectively. Kai was drenched in sweat, lungs burning, but alive with the intensity of the challenge. He'd played well. He'd adapted. He'd shone, even out of position.
There was no second half. Coach Liang blew his whistle and waved everyone in. The fifteen trialists gathered in the center circle, breathing heavily, looking at the coach with a mixture of hope and apprehension. The academy players jogged off, their session done.
"Alright," Coach Liang said, his voice cutting through the heavy air. "That's it. Thank you for your effort today." He paused, his sharp gaze sweeping over the fifteen exhausted, hopeful faces. "You've all shown qualities. The decision now rests with the coaching staff. You will be notified of the outcome via official letter sent to the address you provided during registration. If selected, the letter will include the formal signing documents and scholarship details for the Jinjiang United U18 squad. Dismissed."
No fanfare. No hints. No names called. Just a cold, administrative end. The reality of the situation crashed over Kai. He'd made the final fifteen. He'd played well, he thought. But he hadn't played his position. Wei Jiang had scored the goal. Others had looked strong. How many spots were there? Five? Six? The walk off the immaculate pitch felt longer than the walk onto it. He collected his bag from the designated area, ignoring the murmured conversations and nervous glances of the other fourteen boys. He needed air. He needed… them.
He pushed through the academy gates, the noise of the city rushing back in, harsh and real after the insulated intensity of the pitch. He scanned the bustling sidewalk, his eyes instantly finding the small cafe table where three figures sat. Xu Bo was leaning forward, animatedly talking, Li Xia nodding vigorously, Su Yuelin sitting perfectly still, her gaze fixed on the academy entrance. She saw him first. Her eyes met his, searching, analyzing, reading the exhaustion, the lingering adrenaline, the uncertainty etched on his face even before he reached them.
Bo and Xia jumped up as he approached. "Kai! How was it?!" Bo demanded, clapping him on the shoulder. "You look like you ran a marathon backwards!"
"Tell us everything!" Xia chirped, her eyes wide. "Did you score? Did you see the big players? Did you make it?!"
Kai slumped into the empty chair at their table, the weight of the day finally settling fully. He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened, messy hair. "Made it… to the final fifteen," he said, his voice hoarse. "Out of… sixty-something, I think. Started with."
Bo whooped. "Final fifteen! Told you! Phoenix District represent!"
Yuelin remained silent, her gaze unwavering, waiting for the rest. Kai took a deep breath, the knot back in full force. "We played… a 45-minute match. Against their second U18 team." He described it briefly – the position switch to left wing, the isolation, the run and assist for Wei Jiang's goal, the relentless pace. "I think… I did okay. Adapted. Created some chances. Defended when needed." He looked down at his worn boots, still flecked with the perfect green grass of the academy pitch. "But… I don't know. They didn't say anything. Just… dismissed us. Said we'd get a letter. If… if we're accepted."
"A letter?" Xia wrinkled her nose. "That's it? After all that?"
"How many?" Yuelin asked, her voice calm but cutting straight to the heart of it. "How many will they take from the fifteen?"
Kai met her eyes, the cold reality settling in his gut like a stone. "Five," he said, the word feeling heavy and final. "They only take five into the U18 squad from open trials." The enormity of it hit him. Fifteen talented players. Five spots. His performance replayed in his mind – the good touches, the assist, but also the early struggles, the times he was bypassed, the fact he wasn't playing his natural role. Doubt, cold and insidious, began to creep in. Had it been enough? Was Wei Jiang's goal-scoring position more valuable? Were there others who impressed more consistently? The image of Coach Liang's impassive face during his assist flickered – had it registered? Had it mattered?
The silence stretched for a beat. Bo opened his mouth, likely to offer some boisterous reassurance, but Yuelin spoke first. She hadn't moved, hadn't shifted her gaze from Kai's face. Her expression was serene, utterly certain, the unwavering calm that had anchored him since childhood cutting through the fog of his doubt like a lighthouse beam.
"Well," she said, her voice clear and firm, resonating with absolute conviction, "you will be one of them."
It wasn't a hope. It wasn't a wish. It was a statement of fact, as solid and unshakeable as the ground beneath their feet. She said it with the same quiet certainty she used when explaining a complex tactical formation. In that moment, looking into her calm, believing eyes, the knot in Kai's stomach didn't vanish, but it loosened, replaced by a fragile ember of hope fanned back to life by the sheer force of her unwavering faith. The letter was just a formality. Su Yuelin had already seen the future, and Lin Kai was in it.