The goodbye at Lyon was harder than Ethan expected.
Coach Martineau had organized a small farewell ceremony after training. The entire U-10 squad gathered around as the coach presented Ethan with a framed Lyon jersey bearing his name and the number 10.
"Ethan came to us as a seven-year-old with extraordinary talent," Martineau said, his voice carrying across the pitch. "He leaves us at eleven as the same person—humble, hardworking, and hungry to improve. That says everything about his character." He turned to Ethan. "You're going to do great things at Monaco. Just remember where you developed your foundation."
"I will, Coach," Ethan said, his throat tight with emotion. "Thank you for believing in me."
Antoine was next, pulling Ethan into a hug. "You better dominate at Monaco, petit. Show them what Lyon players can do."
Even Thomas, who'd been skeptical at first, dapped him up. "You're going to be a star, Loki. Just don't forget us when you're famous."
"Never," Ethan promised.
As his mother's car pulled away from the facility for the last time, Ethan looked back at the training pitches where he'd first proven himself at the professional level. Lyon had been his springboard. Now Monaco would be his launching pad.
Two weeks later, on a warm August morning, Ethan Loki officially became a member of AS Monaco's youth academy.
The administrative process had been surprisingly quick. Monaco's lawyers had handled the paperwork efficiently, working with the Loki family to arrange everything—housing assistance, school enrollment, transportation logistics. The club even helped Moussa find work at one of Monaco's luxury hotels, a better-paying position than the factory job in Lyon.
The family now lived in a small but comfortable apartment in Beausoleil, a French commune directly adjacent to Monaco. From their balcony, they could see the Mediterranean and the training facility on the hillside.
"It's like a dream," Aminata said that first morning, preparing breakfast in their new kitchen. "A good dream."
Marie had enrolled in a local school and was already making friends. Moussa was adjusting to his new job. And Ethan... Ethan was ready to begin the next chapter.
His first official training session at Monaco was scheduled for 9 AM. Philippe Clement met him at the facility entrance, accompanied by a wiry man in his thirties with sun-weathered skin and kind eyes.
"Ethan, this is Coach Fontaine. He runs the U-11 squad."
Coach Fontaine extended his hand. "Welcome to Monaco, Ethan. I've heard impressive things about you."
"Thank you, Coach."
"We'll start you with the U-11s, but don't be surprised if you train with older groups periodically. Monaco believes in challenging our players appropriately." Fontaine gestured toward the changing rooms. "Get dressed. Training starts in twenty minutes."
The U-11 changing room was similar to Lyon's—lockers, benches, the smell of grass and sweat and determination. About fifteen boys were already there, chatting in French with various regional accents.
They fell silent when Ethan entered.
A tall boy with dark hair and olive skin spoke first. "You're the kid from Lyon? The one who scored the hat-trick in the derby?"
"Yeah," Ethan said simply, finding an empty locker.
"I'm Luca," the boy said. "From Italy. My family moved here last year." He pointed around the room. "That's Sébastien, Jean, Amadou, Henri, and Malik. We're the forward line."
"Six forwards?" Ethan asked, pulling on his training kit.
"Competition," Luca said with a grin. "Coach says only the best will advance. The rest get sent to other clubs or down to lower age groups." His expression became more serious. "So yeah, we're teammates. But we're also competing for the same spots."
Ethan understood immediately. This wasn't Lyon, where he'd been the clear standout. Here, everyone was talented. Everyone had been scouted. Everyone wanted to succeed.
Good.
He needed competition to grow.
The training session was intense from the first whistle.
Coach Fontaine didn't waste time with introductions or ice-breakers. "Four-corner passing drill. Groups of five. Crisp passes, one-touch when possible. Move!"
Ethan found himself in a group with Luca, Sébastien, Malik, and a quiet boy named Théo. The drill was simple but demanding—pass and move, constantly rotating positions, maintaining rhythm.
Ethan's first touch was perfect. His second was better. By the tenth pass, he'd found the group's rhythm and was executing with mechanical precision.
"Nice technique," Luca muttered between passes.
They moved to possession drills—five versus two in a tight grid. Ethan was one of the two defenders first, tasked with winning the ball back. He studied the passing patterns for exactly three sequences, identifying the weak link.
Sébastien holds the ball a fraction too long. He'll pass to his right. Always to his right.
When the ball came to Sébastien, Ethan was already moving. He intercepted the pass cleanly, pivoting away from the pressure.
"Merde," Sébastien muttered.
They rotated positions. Ethan joined the possession group, and immediately the dynamic changed. His vision allowed him to find angles others didn't see. His first touch bought him time. His passing was crisp and purposeful.
After thirty minutes, Coach Fontaine blew his whistle. "Water break. Five minutes."
As the boys grabbed their bottles, Fontaine pulled Ethan aside. "You're technically excellent. Better than I expected, honestly. But I need to see something else."
"What, Coach?"
"How you handle adversity. How you respond when things don't go your way." Fontaine's expression was neutral. "Right now, you're comfortable. You're in control. But football isn't always comfortable. Sometimes you get kicked. Sometimes referees make bad calls. Sometimes teammates let you down. I need to know you can handle that."
"I can," Ethan said confidently.
"We'll see."
The second half of training was small-sided games—four versus four on a reduced pitch. Ethan's team: Luca, Théo, Malik, and himself. Opposing team: Sébastien, Jean, Henri, and Amadou.
From the kickoff, it was clear Sébastien had something to prove. The French boy immediately pressed Ethan aggressively, not giving him space to breathe.
Ethan received the ball and tried to turn. Sébastien's shoulder crashed into him, sending him stumbling.
"Ball!" Sébastien shouted, playing on.
No foul called.
Ethan got up, brushing grass off his shorts. Physical. They're testing me.
Next possession, Ethan dropped deep to receive. This time Jean closed him down, and the tackle was hard—studs catching Ethan's shin even though he pulled the ball away.
"Sorry," Jean said, though his expression suggested otherwise.
Still no foul.
Ethan took a breath. Three moves ahead. They were trying to intimidate him, get him frustrated, force him into mistakes. Classic strategy against a new player.
He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Third possession, Ethan received with his back to goal. Both Sébastien and Jean converged on him—a coordinated press designed to trap him. But Ethan had already seen it coming.
He executed a perfect Lavinho move—a quick step-over followed by a roulette spin that sent the ball between Jean's legs while Ethan spun around Sébastien's left side. Both defenders collided with each other as Ethan emerged with the ball, now facing an open goal fifteen yards out.
He didn't rush. Didn't panic. Just struck it cleanly with his left foot, placing it exactly where the goalkeeper couldn't reach.
Top corner.
Goal.
The watching coaches—Fontaine and two assistants—exchanged glances.
"Again!" Fontaine shouted. "Keep playing!"
The game continued for another twenty minutes. Sébastien and his team tried everything—aggressive tackles, verbal pressure, even some borderline dirty play. But Ethan remained calm, composed, always thinking three moves ahead.
He scored two more goals. Created another for Malik with a perfectly weighted through ball. And when Sébastien finally got past him once, Ethan tracked back and made a clean tackle to win the ball back.
When Fontaine's whistle finally blew, the score was 5-2. Ethan had been directly involved in four of his team's five goals.
After training, as Ethan headed toward the showers, Sébastien caught up with him.
"Hey," the French boy said, slightly out of breath. "That was... really good."
Ethan turned, surprised by the genuine tone. "Thanks."
"I was testing you. Coach told me to. He wanted to see how you'd react to pressure." Sébastien extended his hand. "You passed. Welcome to Monaco."
Ethan shook it, understanding now. It hadn't been personal. It was an assessment.
"We're going to make each other better," Sébastien continued. "Competition makes us sharp. You good with that?"
"I'm good with that," Ethan said.
As he showered and changed, Ethan reflected on the morning. Monaco was different from Lyon. Harder. More demanding. More competitive.
Perfect.
This was exactly what he needed.
Outside, Philippe was waiting with a smile. "Coach Fontaine says you did well. Really well. Starting next week, you'll train with U-11s in the morning and join U-13 sessions twice a week in the afternoon."
"Already?" Ethan asked, surprised.
"We don't waste time here. If you're good enough, you move up. That's the Monaco way." Philippe clapped him on the shoulder. "By the way, Kylian asked about you. He wants to meet for extra training Saturday morning. Interested?"
Ethan's heart raced. Training with Mbappé. Learning from him. One-on-one.
"Yes," he said immediately. "Definitely yes."
"Good. I'll arrange it." Philippe checked his watch. "Go home. Rest. You've earned it."
As Ethan walked down the hill toward Beausoleil, Monaco spreading out below him in the afternoon sun, he felt something he hadn't felt before.
Not just excitement. Not just confidence.
Certainty.
This was where he belonged. This was where he would become great.
Three moves ahead, he could already see it.
End of Chapter 7