Sebastian stood outside the stadium, watching the players take part in their one-on-one challenges. An instructor approached from behind, keeping his distance from Sebastian to avoid drawing attention to their association.
"Your father said he expects you to play a match next week," the instructor informed him.
"I understand," Sebastian replied without turning around.
His father had people stationed throughout the academy to monitor his progress and report back to him. One of those men was the instructor standing behind him.
The call from his father begun when Winston was recruited by Ethan while playing a match. Around that time, Sebastian had received a call from his father. Rather than receiving the call through the main building's usual channels, Sebastian had been handed a phone by one of the instructors working for his father.
His father hadn't been pleased with his progress. He was particularly unhappy that Sebastian had failed to challenge other players in the academy's one-on-one matches. Through the instructor he had planted inside the academy, he had been receiving regular reports on Sebastian's activities and performance.
Even Sebastian's ankle weights served a purpose beyond training. They monitored his vital energy, much like the equipment the Federation Football Association Academy used to monitor Winston. Sebastian sighed and looked up at the dark clouds gathering overhead. Another downpour seemed imminent.
Father, I won't let you you down. One way or another, I'll make Darwin challenge me to a one-on-one. He lowered his gaze and scanned the players around the stadium. For now, I need to find someone who'll recruit me into their one-on-one challenge.
His eyes narrowed as he thought about the possibilities, If Diago weren't busy messing with Winston, I could have provoked him into challenging me. But I really want to face Dumi's protégé. He seems more promising than Darwin. After a moment, Sebastian turned and walked away, already considering his next move.
Outside the dormitory, a row of empty training fields stretched across the grounds. Winston sat on the concrete steps beside them, set down his training bag, and changed into his training cleats. The conversation he had overheard earlier continued to replay in his mind. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
He pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the football rack. After grabbing a ball, he hurried onto the field and began dribbling. For a while, he moved the ball around the pitch, focusing on his touches and keeping it close to his feet. But no matter how much he ran, he couldn't shake the anger building inside him.
Eventually, he stopped in the middle of the pitch, breathing heavily. He stared down at the ball, preparing to make another run.
"Winston, you've got a call." He turned toward the voice.
One of the academy instructors stood near the wall, a packet of cigarettes in his hand. He shuffled through it casually, leaning against the wall as though the interruption were nothing out of the ordinary.
Winston frowned, A call? Who would be calling me here?
Winston glanced at the instructor before immediately jogging toward the main building. Along the way, he grew irritated at the thought of having to talk with someone on the phone. he also wanted to know who had called him.
I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone today.
Upon arriving at the main building, Winston headed straight for the telephone. Before picking it up, he raised a hand toward the receptionist, who nodded and gave him some privacy. Winston took a few deep breaths to calm himself before lifting the phone to his ear.
"Hello, this is Winston."
"Hey, kid. It's your dad."
Winston froze. As he was about to reply when his father continued speaking, "Your sister told me you called earlier. I noticed you'd tried calling a few times, so I thought I'd call you this time. So, how's the academy?"
Winston fought back his tears, "It's hard, Dad. Everyone here plays dirty."
"Is that so? I'm sure you'll manage. I've never seen you give up so—"
"Dad, do you remember what happened at the football field when I was young, back at our old house?"
Silence fell over the other end of the line. Winston could hear his father breathing, as though the question had caught him completely off guard.
"Shit. Let me call your mother."
"No, please. Can you tell me instead?" Winston pleaded.
He really didn't want to trouble his mother. The last time he'd called her, she'd been unwell, and he didn't want to cause her any more distress.
"We really thought you wouldn't remember what happened," his father finally said. "The therapist warned us that the trauma might resurface if we continued letting you play football."
His father sighed before continuing, "Are you sure you want to revisit those memories? What exactly do you remember?"
"It's important to me."
His father paused, then spoke in a calm, low voice, "How much do you remember?"
"Not much. Only fragments. I remember some kids I was friends with. We were waiting for the rain to stop so we could go to the football field and play. Then, the next thing I remember, some older kids were bullying us. I don't remember much after that. I only remember waking up in my room."
Winston's father remained quiet for a while before answering, "I don't know all the details myself. Your mother heard the story from someone who witnessed what happened. Apparently, some older kids saw you and your friends playing at the old football field. The witness didn't know what was said between you, but the older kids suddenly became aggressive. They started bullying you by kicking the ball at you and your friends."
His father paused, his voice growing heavier "All of you eventually lost consciousness. Two of your friends suffered brain injuries, and some of them fell into comas they never woke up from."
As his father spoke, Winston felt his chest tighten. Tears welled in his eyes, and his grip on the receiver grew tighter. It was the same incident the Core system had forced him to relive through its penalty.
"Dad, why did you let me play football again?"
Hearing the tremble in his son's voice, Winston's father sighed, "I don't know, son. We tried everything to get you interested in other hobbies, but you were adamant about football. After the incident, you became a shut-in. Your mother and I tried everything to get you to go outside again, but nothing worked."
He paused briefly before continuing, "Then you saw Dumi Crowe on television during the Supreme League highlights, and something began to change. I even took you to some of my matches. Little by little, you came out of your shell. Eventually, you started going outside again and playing football."
Winston sniffled and wiped away his tears with the back of his hand. "Thank you, Dad. Thank you to you and Mom for always being there for me."
"Of course, champ. I'd do anything for you. If you want to come home, just say the word. I'll call the academy and arrange it."
"No." Winston shook his head, even though his father couldn't see him. "I'm close to going professional. Besides, I've made some friends here who need me."
"Alright. I won't force you to come home. But if you ever feel like something isn't right, don't hesitate to call us. I'll come there and bring you back myself if I have to." His father's voice softened, "And, son, I love you."
"Thank you, Dad. I love you too."
"If you have time, don't hesitate to call home again. Everyone was happy to hear that you're doing alright." His father chuckled softly. "And there's something else I forgot to tell you. Congratulations on making it this far, son. I'm proud of you and everything you've achieved."
Winston smiled faintly as he wiped away the last of his tears, "Thank you, Dad. The next time you see me, I'll be on television. And you and Mom will be retired from work."
"Can't wait, son. Can't wait." His father chuckled again. "Listen, someone's at the door. I have to go."
"Oh, okay. Bye, Dad."
"Bye, champ."
Winston slowly returned the receiver to its place. For the first time that day, his mind felt clearer. He took a deep breath, thanked the receptionist with a nod, and walked back toward the stadium.
When he arrived, the instructor who had been smoking earlier was nowhere to be seen. Winston went to his training bag, sat beside it, and tried to piece together what his father had told him with the memories he'd experienced during the Core system's penalty.
Gradually, the fragments began to connect—he remembered more now.
He and his friends had been at the old football field when some older kids appeared out of nowhere. The older kids had challenged them to a match, but Winston and his friends had been too frightened to accept. Their refusal had only made the older kids aggressive. They tried to take the ball, but Winston and his friends had fought back, refusing to surrender it.
Then the older kids had started using the ball as a weapon. They kicked it at them, deliberately striking them hard enough to cause injuries. One by one, Winston and his friends had fallen.
The more Winston remembered, the angrier he became. He rose to his feet, his fists tightening at his sides. The memory of his friends lying injured on the ground blended with the image of Oswin lying in the infirmary, his leg encased in plaster.
No matter how dirty they play, my friends and I will climb to Group A. I won't let what happened back then happen again. I won't let my friends get injured and be left behind.
As the thought settled in his mind, a sharp electronic chime echoed throughout the academy. A calm female voice followed, its announcement carried across the entire facility.
>Attention, all academy players. A player from Group A has sustained an injury and will be unable to participate for the next three weeks. However, he will retain his position in Group A. A player from Group C will be selected to take his place. Thank you.<
Winston's expression grew serious—he slowly straightened, his gaze fixed ahead as the announcement sank in. Then he turned and walked onto the football field.
It's time to train harder.