Winston changed into his training cleats and began stretching while waiting for the short, bald instructor to arrive and begin the day's training inside the dome.
The stares from the other players hadn't stopped. Ever since he had entered the dome, their attention had remained fixed on him. However, unlike his usual neutral expression, Winston's face carried a noticeable heaviness.
The short, bald instructor eventually walked in and stopped in front of the assembled youth players. His gaze landed on Winston, and he shook his head slightly before addressing the group.
"Good morning, players."
"Good morning, coach!" the players responded in unison.
This time, none of them seemed surprised by his arrival. They had grown accustomed to his presence and greeted him without hesitation.
"We'll continue with finishing drills today, using the mannequins again. Yesterday's session was disappointing. Many of you were terrible inside the box." The instructor paused, scanning their faces. "But before we begin, we'll go through a series of warm-ups. Some of you clearly haven't been taking these sessions seriously, so today we'll make sure you do."
Several players lowered their heads.
What they didn't realize was that the instructor's assistants had been monitoring them throughout their time in the dome and academy. Although most players had noticed the assistants watching from the sidelines, they had dismissed them as people who were simply enjoying the view rather than observing their daily training habits.
The instructor raised his whistle and blew sharply, "Two lines! Form up outside the pitch!" The players quickly arranged themselves into two lines.
Their first warm-up drill involved sprinting between four mannequins arranged in a straight line. On the instructor's whistle, two players—one from each line—would sprint forward, touch the first mannequin, return to the starting point, and then repeat the movement toward the second, third, and fourth mannequins in sequence.
It was a simple drill, but one designed to test acceleration, changes of direction, and the players' ability to maintain their speed through repeated bursts of movement. Winston stood fourth in the line on his side. Diago stood beside him—the moment Diago turned to look at Winston, a broad smirk spread across his face.
Their original plan had been to isolate Oswin from Winston, allowing Lucas to deal with Oswin without Winston interfering. But now, with Winston looking so troubled, Diago saw another opportunity. He had been observing Winston ever since he entered the attacking training dome, and he believed he had found a weakness he could exploit.
To Diago, Winston looked like a man who had lost something important. His expression was heavy, his usual composure diminished. And Diago intended to take full advantage of it. He wanted to provoke Winston until he lost his temper, then challenge him to a one-on-one match.
Ever since their encounter during Ethan's one-on-one challenge, Diago had been forced to reconsider his opinion of Winston. That match had helped Winston attract attention, while Diago himself had become a recognizable name in Group B.
He had once been popular alongside Noah and Duke. and his friendship with Sebastian, whom many players in Group B treated almost like a king. But after losing his match and hearing the praise Winston received, Diago had grown bitter. He couldn't stand the thought that Winston, a player who had defeated him, was now attracting so much attention.
When he checked the rankings, he discovered that he was near the top of Group C. One more victory would be enough to earn him promotion to Group B. The realization had irritated him even before Lucas's match against Oswin.
Now, however, his priorities had changed.
During his match against Winston, the latter's explosive speed had been a major obstacle. Diago hadn't been able to find a reliable way to deal with it, no matter how carefully he studied his opponent. Afterward, he had watched Winston from a distance while training in Building D football field. He paid close attention to his movements, hoping to discover the secret behind that sudden acceleration.
What delighted him most was that Winston hadn't displayed that same explosive speed again. Diago didn't know why Winston had stopped using it, but he had drawn his own conclusions. And now Winston looked emotionally vulnerable on top of that.
To Diago, the opportunity was too good to waste. He could torment Winston, undermine his confidence, and perhaps push him into accepting a one-on-one challenge before Diago even reached Group A.
He leaned closer with a mocking smile, "How's your friend doing? I heard he was crying like a little girl." Diago chuckled. "I was surprised to hear that you fainted too. What happened? Couldn't handle seeing your friend get injured?"
Winston ignored him—Several players standing in front of and behind them glanced over, sensing the hostility between the two. Diago clicked his tongue when he realized his words had failed to provoke a response.
He leaned even closer, bringing his mouth near Winston's ear. His warm breath brushed against Winston's skin as he whispered, "I wonder who Lucas will injure next. Maybe that player you always train with…"
He pretended to think for a moment, "What was his name again? Bo… Bongani?"
Winston's fist clenched—slowly, he turned his head and glared at Diago. For a brief moment, he imagined punching that mocking smile straight off his face.
But then Haruto's warning echoed in his mind, Don't do anything stupid that could jeopardize your football career. Winston drew a slow breath through his nose and forced himself to look away. He wouldn't give Diago what he wanted. Instead, he focused his attention on the mannequins ahead of him, keeping his clenched fist at his side.
However, the exchange hadn't gone unnoticed. Whispers began spreading among the players standing nearby. Those at the front turned to speak to those behind them, and the murmurs gradually traveled down the line until they reached Diago's three friends.
Diago noticed the growing attention and smiled to himself. Even if he couldn't provoke Winston directly, he had already managed to stir up the atmosphere around him.
After enduring Diago's taunts for what felt like an eternity, it was finally their turn to perform the sprint warm-up. Both players lowered themselves into their starting positions. The short, bald instructor raised his whistle.
Pheee!
Winston exploded forward, leaving Diago behind almost immediately. He reached the first mannequin in a flash, touched it, and changed direction toward the second. Without slowing much, he repeated the movement at the third before accelerating toward the fourth. By the time Winston reached the final mannequin, Diago was only touching the second.
Winston completed the drill and returned to the line before Diago had even finished. As he walked past his opponent, Winston shook his head. "All that talk, just to come second. And here I thought you'd back it up with some skills. Turns out you're mediocre."
His words struck a nerve.
Diago's smirk vanished, replaced by a dark expression. He completed the drill without saying anything, then walked back toward the line behind Winston.
Winston took his place at the back of his line, with another player standing beside him. Diago suddenly shoved the player aside and took his place. The player stumbled, turning around in surprise, but Diago glared at him until he lowered his head and moved back without protesting.
Winston didn't even glance at the commotion. His attention remained on the instructor, who was waiting for everyone to finish before introducing the next warm-up drill.
Diago, however, wasn't finished.
Throughout the remaining warm-ups, he continued throwing insults and mocking remarks at Winston. Sometimes he whispered them close to Winston's ear; other times, he spoke loudly enough for the surrounding players to hear. Winston endured it all without responding, that changed when Diago began talking about Busisiwe.
"How about that girl of yours?" Diago said with a mocking grin. "Busisiwe, right? I heard she's a slut. Is that why you like her?"
Winston's expression hardened, but he remained silent. Encouraged by the lack of an immediate response, Diago continued, throwing out more insults about her character. That was when Winston's patience began to crack. He turned toward Diago, his eyes cold and his fist slowly closing.
The short, bald instructor's assistant had been keeping a close eye on them. Following the incident during the previous day's match, the instructor had specifically ordered his assistants to watch Winston and prevent any confrontation from escalating.
He didn't want yesterday's trouble spilling into today's training. Seeing Winston approach Diago, the assistant immediately stepped between them and extended his arms to keep them apart, "Let's calm down. We've still got plenty of training ahead of us today. Focus on that instead."
Winston stared at Diago for another moment. His fist remained clenched, but he eventually forced his fingers open. He took a slow breath, turned away, and walked to the other side of the pitch to wait for the next drill. From the corner of his eye, the instructor observed the exchange. He shook his head but said nothing, allowing the assistant to handle the situation.
After a short pause, he blew his whistle to gather everyone's attention. "As I said earlier, we'll continue with finishing drills." He turned and pointed toward the mannequins arranged around Zone 14 and inside the penalty area.
Unlike the earlier warm-up, these mannequins had been positioned to simulate a defensive line. Five of them were spread across the area, creating narrow gaps that the players would have to navigate before getting a shot away. On the opposite side, one of the instructor's assistants stood with a ball at his feet.
"This drill is designed to test your close control, movement off the ball, decision-making, and finishing under pressure," the instructor explained. "You'll receive a pass from my assistant, work your way through the mannequins, and finish on goal. Don't just rush toward the net. Find the gaps, keep the ball close, and make your shot count."
He paused, looking over the group, "I want to see how you perform in tight spaces. In a real match, defenders won't stand still and give you an easy path to goal. You'll need to make decisions quickly and execute them properly."
He blew his whistle again, "Now, form two lines! Two players at a time!" The youth players quickly arranged themselves into two lines. Winston ended up around the middle of his line. Diago, still determined to get under his skin, skipped ahead and moved to stand beside him. When the player whose place he'd taken tried to protest, Diago shot him a threatening glare. The player lowered his head and stepped back, allowing Diago to remain beside Winston.
Diago leaned closer, "You know, I should visit that pastry shop sometime. Maybe I'll get to see that slut again." He chuckled. "I heard the pastries she made at the university were pretty good, if you know what I mean."
The remark was a complete lie—Diago had never met Busisiwe. Everything he was saying about her came from Lucas, and even then, he had no idea how much of what Lucas had told him was true. He didn't care—the only thing that mattered was the reaction he could get from Winston. From the way Winston responded whenever he mentioned Busisiwe, Diago had concluded that the two were romantically involved.
He knew he was stooping low by dragging a girl into a dispute that had nothing to do with her. After all, Winston hadn't started this confrontation. Diago was the one who had spent the entire morning provoking him.
But by now, Diago was too irritated by Winston's composure to care about the line he was crossing. The queue gradually moved forward until Winston and Diago were finally called. Both players stepped onto the starting line, their attention fixed on the mannequins ahead.
The assistant positioned the ball and prepared to pass—the instructor raised his whistle.
Pheee!
Winston and Diago burst forward together, sprinting toward Zone 14. They reached the area almost simultaneously. The assistant delivered a short pass, sending the ball rolling into their path. Both players moved between the first set of mannequins, weaving through the narrow spaces.
Winston's movements were fluid. Although the gaps were tight, he adjusted his steps and kept the ball close, squeezing through the available spaces without losing control. Diago stayed close, determined not to let Winston pull ahead again.
As they approached the final gap, Winston prepared to strike. Diago nudged the ball toward Winston's side, trying to disrupt his balance and throw off his shot—but Winston reacted quickly. He brought the ball under control, pressed it close to his feet, and rolled it backward a few steps. Then he allowed it to roll past him, creating just enough space to adjust his body before striking.
His shot flew past the remaining mannequins and into the net, "Maybe you should focus on your ball control instead of talking about things you know nothing about," Winston remarked.
He knew exactly what Diago was trying to do. Rather than let the insults get to him, Winston had decided to answer with short, cutting remarks of his own whenever the opportunity presented itself. And judging by Diago's expression, it was working. Winston shook his head and jogged back to the end of the line. Diago clicked his tongue, his irritation growing. For all his efforts to provoke Winston, he was the one losing his composure.