The week stretched long and heavy as the academy prepared for their first qualification match for the youth tournament. Every boy in the squad could feel the tension, the extra sharpness in each drill, the urgency in every whistle Coach Darius blew.
Arthur arrived early, eager to prove that his progress in extra training wasn't wasted. His first touches were still imperfect, but not disastrous. His passing was sharper, his vision clearer.
In one drill, he spotted Marcus making a diagonal run and threaded a ball through the tightest of gaps. The ball skipped perfectly into Marcus's stride.
"Nice one!" Marcus grinned, clapping him on the shoulder.
Cloris, watching, scoffed. "One decent pass doesn't erase the dozen poor ones."
Arthur bit his tongue. His heart screamed for a retort, but his mind urged patience. He remembered his first match, the exhaustion, the crowding voices in his head. He wouldn't waste energy arguing.
Coach Darius barked: "Focus! The match will be upon us soon. Save your words for the pitch."
That evening, Arthur returned to the Hayes estate. The halls were quieter than usual, the mood heavier. His mother greeted him with a faint smile but worry laced her eyes.
At dinner, Lord Hayes leaned forward. "News has reached me. The board has… altered the fixtures."
Arthur frowned. "Altered?"
"Yes," his father said, voice grim. "Our academy was meant to face Ravenworth Academy in the first qualification match. Cedric Ravenworth himself was prepared. But the board—no doubt under pressure from their allies—has switched it. We now face Silvervale Academy."
Arthur's mind reeled. Cedric had been his rival in his previous life's memories. Facing him so soon would have been a storm. Now the board had pulled the rug from under them.
"Why change it?" Arthur asked.
His father's eyes darkened. "They said some fixtures will collide so they're making adjustments.
They wish to preserve their prestige. Politics has infected the beautiful game in this world far more than you realize."
Arthur clenched his fists under the table. The fire of injustice burned in his chest. The world was already against the Hayes family, yet they had to keep fighting uphill.
His mother reached across, laying a hand gently over his. "Don't let their pettiness consume you, Arthur. Do what you can on the pitch. That is where you'll speak loudest."
Arthur nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
The next day at training, whispers spread quickly among the squad.
"Silvervale? Not Ravenworth?""That doesn't make sense.""They're protecting Cedric, obviously."
Cloris smirked. "So what? Ravenworth would've crushed us anyway. Silvervale isn't easy either."
Marcus shot him a glare. "Doesn't matter who it is. We'll fight. Right, Arthur?"
Arthur met his gaze, and for once, instead of faltering, he said firmly: "Right."
Coach Darius gathered them, his expression calm as always. "Fixtures change. Opponents change. But the pitch doesn't. Prepare as if every opponent is the strongest. We adapt. We fight. No excuses."
The words sank into Arthur's bones. Neutral, but steady. Darius never played politics. Only football.
The Hayes Academy boys traveled on the weekend to Silvervale's ground, a modest stadium nestled against rolling hills. The stands were half-full, nobles mingling with commoners, the atmosphere buzzing.
Arthur's heart pounded as they filed into the changing room. The smell of leather, sweat, and liniment filled the air. Jerseys hung waiting, the Hayes crest still gleaming despite the family's fall from grace.
He pulled his over his head, fingers trembling slightly.
Marcus leaned close. "Nervous?"
Arthur nodded faintly. "A little."
Marcus grinned. "Good. It means you care. Just don't freeze like last time."
Cloris, sitting nearby, snorted. "Freeze, trip, lose possession—same story."
Arthur ignored him. He had bigger things to worry about.
Coach Darius entered, clipboard in hand. His voice was steady, deliberate.
"Silvervale is disciplined. Strong midfield, aggressive pressing. Arthur, you'll start on the bench again. We'll ease you in. When the time comes, be ready. Until then—watch, learn, and adapt."
Arthur nodded, his nerves giving way to determination.
As they lined up in the tunnel, Arthur stole a glance up into the stands. Among the nobles gathered, he spotted a familiar face—Lady Selene Valebridge.
She was seated elegantly, her gaze calm but alert, following the preparations below. For just a moment, her eyes swept across the players and landed on him.
Arthur's heart lurched. The world seemed to blur for that brief instant.
Then the whistle blew, and the match began.