Among the group of men stepping onto the pitch, the middle-aged man in front who seemed to be leading them caught Sebastian's eye. He wasn't dressed in full sportswear like the rest but instead wore a fitted navy polo tucked into black athletic trousers. A Malmö FF crest was embroidered neatly on the left side of his chest, and a sleek black G-shock watch sat on his wrist.
He clapped his hands together once, the sharp sound cutting through the low hum of conversation.
"Alright, lads, listen up." His voice was deep and steady. "Gather around."
Sebastian slung his water bottle back into his duffel bag and moved toward the center of the field with the rest of the players. The sixty boys formed a loose semi-circle around the man, some standing stiffly, others shifting on their feet.
"My name is Henrik Lindström, but you can call me coach Henrik" he began. "I'm one of the lead academy coaches here at Malmö FF. Some of you might already know me. If you don't, you will soon enough."
"First off, congratulations on being here. You should all be aware that this isn't an open trial, so your being here today is because our scouting team saw something in you." His voice remained calm, measured. "But not all of you will be accepted, so it's your job to perform each and every activity to the best of your abilities."
There was a brief silence. Some of the boys nodded. Others stayed still, absorbing his words.
"The trials will be held for two days, that is, today and tomorrow."
"For today," Henrik continued, "we'll be taking you through multiple training drills to test your physical and technical capabilities. Tomorrow, you will partake in trial matches to show off your skills in a real match scenario."
He turned slightly, motioning toward one of the assistant coaches holding a clipboard who stepped forward.
"We'll begin by dividing you into three groups of twenty. For the entirety of today, we'll be making use of these groupings to make it easier for us."
The assistant, a tall man with short-cropped blond hair and a serious expression, stepped forward. Henrik gestured toward him.
"Coach Viktor will call out your names. Listen carefully."
Viktor cleared his throat, then began reading the list.
"Group One," he started, his tone brisk. "Erik Nyström, Adam Johansson, Daniel Novak, Samuel Becker…"
As each name was called, the boys stepped out of the main group and moved to one side, forming a separate section without being told. Some exchanged quick glances with those around them, gauging their new groupmates, while others simply nodded.
"Group Two," Viktor went on. "Martin Eriksson, Felix Karlsson, Elias Sundqvist…"
He listed more names, the boys stepping aside as called. Then—
"Group Three," Viktor continued. "Leo Bergström, Lukas Persson, Hugo Lindqvist…" He rattled off a few more before finally—
"Sebastian Falk,..."
Sebastian stepped forward, joining the others in Group 3.
Viktor continued calling out the remaining names until all three groups were formed, now standing in distinct sections of the field.
When all the groups had been assigned, Henrik spoke again.
"Each group will be assigned an instructor who will guide you through the drills." He motioned toward six men standing behind him, all dressed in full Malmö FF training gear. "Group One will be led by Coach Patrik, Group Two by Coach Emil, and Group Three by Coach Andreas."
Coach Andreas, a well-built man in his late thirties with a short beard and a Malmö FF cap, gestured for Sebastian's group to follow him.
"Alright boys, those in group three, come with me," he said simply.
The group trailed behind him as he led them toward a set-out portion of the pitch where cones were arranged—one set at the starting line and another twenty meters ahead.
"We are starting with speed drills," Andreas said, turning to face them. "One by one, you'll line up, run the 20-meter dash at full speed, and we'll record your times on the stopwatch. Do your best, because no matter what happens, there will be no second attempts. So don't bother asking."
A few boys shifted on their feet, nodding.
"Leo, you're up first."
Leo Bergström, a lean boy with sharp features and dark blond hair, stepped forward. He crouched slightly, readying himself.
"Go!"
Leo shot forward, his form solid but not explosive. He reached the end, slowing his pace.
"3.14 seconds," the assistant called out.
Leo exhaled sharply and moved aside, standing near Coach Andreas.
"Next—Hugo."
Hugo Lindqvist, stockier in build, took his stance.
"Go!"
His sprint was more powerful but slightly less fluid.
"3.21 seconds."
More boys took their turns, their times ranging between 3.30 and 4.15 seconds. Then—
"Sebastian, you're up."
He stepped forward, rolling his shoulders.
Alright, let's do this
He crouched a bit, placing his right leg behind his left, his hands hanging in the air, waiting for the sound of the whistle.
"Fweet!"
He exploded forward. His steps were smooth, stride length perfect, acceleration effortless.
"2.61 seconds."
A few heads turned. That was significantly faster than the rest.
Coach Andreas barely reacted, only marking it down. "Alright, next."
The pattern repeated for the 40-meter sprint. The best times before Sebastian were around 6.25 seconds.
"Sebastian, go!"
His legs powered through the distance, body moving in sync.
"5.08 seconds."
That was the best time again.
Then came the 100-meter sprint. The fastest time before Sebastian had been 13.42 seconds.
"Sebastian, go!"
This time, he really let loose. His strides stretched longer, movements seamless.
"12.04 seconds."
Silence.
Some of the boys exchanged looks. A few muttered something under their breath.
Coach Andreas simply nodded. "Alright, that's it for the speed drills. Rest for a bit before we move on."
Sebastian grabbed his water bottle, taking a slow sip as he steadied his breathing. The sun hung high in the sky now, heat beginning to settle over the pitch.