Two years passed. Then almost three.
Time didn't just move, it shaped Malik.
He grew taller, his shoulders broader, his voice deeper. But more than his body, it was his presence that changed. He no longer walked into rooms quietly hoping not to be noticed. He walked in aware, steady, carrying himself like someone who knew he belonged.
Step by step, he climbed through the coaching levels. Each stage more demanding than the last. Each one stripping away comfort and exposing weakness. Until finally, he stood at the door of the UEFA A License pathway.
This was different.
This wasn't about learning formations or basic principles anymore. This was about leadership. About standing in front of players older than you and earning their trust. About managing pressure, egos, emotions, and expectations. About planning weeks ahead, preparing for opponents, understanding psychology as much as tactics.
They spoke about game models as if they were philosophies.
They analyzed transitions like moments of truth.
They discussed man-management like it was an art, not a skill.
Every detail mattered. One wrong word in a team talk. One unclear instruction. One misread emotion. At this level, small mistakes had big consequences.
The assessments were relentless.
Long presentations in front of panels who questioned every decision.
Detailed match analysis under time pressure.
Practical sessions with real teams, where your ideas were tested by real movement, real mistakes, real reactions.
There was no hiding.
Some struggled.
Some lost confidence.
Some realized this level was not for them.
A few quietly packed their things and left.
Malik stayed.
There were nights when his eyes burned from staring at screens, replaying the same clip again and again. Mornings when coffee replaced sleep. Evenings when his notebook was the last thing he closed before resting his head.
Doubt visited him often.
Am I really good enough for this level?
Do I deserve to be here among all these experienced minds?
Through it all, Coach Ade remained close. Not solving things for him, not softening the path, but steady, present.
"You're not here to be perfect," Ade told him one night after a tough assessment. "You're here to be clear. Clear in thought. Clear in decision. Clear in purpose."
Those words stayed with Malik.
So he focused on clarity. On understanding, not impressing. On seeing the game simply, even when it became complex.
And then the day came.
The results were announced. Names read out. One by one.
When Malik's name was called, his chest tightened. He walked forward and received his certificate.
UEFA A License.
It felt heavier than paper should feel.
His hands trembled slightly as he held it. Not just from happiness, but from everything it carried: the fear of the first day, the whispers, the late nights, the pressure, the growth, the man he had become.
Coach Ade stood at the back of the room, watching him.
Their eyes met.
And in that look was something deeper than pride.
It was recognition.