Three years later
Ethan Loki was no longer the new kid at Monaco.
At fourteen years old, he'd already made an impression that echoed through every level of the academy. His statistics spoke for themselves: one hundred forty-seven goals in ninety-six matches across all age groups over three years. U-11, U-13, U-15—he'd dominated them all.
But numbers didn't capture the full story. What truly set Ethan apart was how he made everyone around him better. Teammates found themselves in positions they didn't know existed. Defenders learned to think three moves ahead just to keep up with him. Even coaches adjusted their tactics to maximize his unique vision.
Today was special. Today, Ethan would train with the U-17 squad for the first time—the same squad where Kylian Mbappé, now fifteen, was absolutely dominating and already training occasionally with the first team.
The U-17 changing room was different from what Ethan was used to. The players were bigger, more mature, some even had facial hair. They moved with a confidence born from years of training, from understanding that they were close—so close—to professional contracts.
Ethan walked in wearing his training kit, drawing immediate attention.
"Is that the kid?" someone whispered.
"The fourteen-year-old prodigy?"
"He's still small."
Mbappé looked up from tying his boots and grinned. "Ethan! Over here."
Ethan navigated through the room to where Mbappé sat. Next to him was a lean midfielder with intelligent eyes—an academy product who'd been impressing scouts lately.
"Ethan, you remember training with the older groups," Mbappé said. "Welcome to U-17. This is where it gets serious."
The midfielder extended his hand. "I've heard about you. Kylian won't shut up about your vision."
Ethan shook his hand, feeling the weight of expectation.
A tall defender with a shaved head approached—the U-17 captain. "You're training with us today?"
"Yes," Ethan replied, meeting his gaze despite the height difference.
"Good. We need attacking talent for the upcoming tournament. If you impress today, you might get called up." The captain's expression was serious but not unfriendly. "Show us what you've got."
Coach Marcelo was a stocky Brazilian man in his late forties who had a reputation for being demanding but fair. He'd overseen the development of multiple players who went on to professional careers.
"Alright, listen up!" His voice carried across the pitch as the U-17 squad assembled. "We have someone training with us today. Ethan Loki, fourteen years old, one hundred forty-seven goals in three years at Monaco."
Impressed murmurs rippled through the group.
"I don't care if he's fourteen or twenty. If he performs, he stays. If he doesn't, he goes back to U-15. Simple as that." Marcelo's eyes swept across the squad. "Warm-up. Three laps, dynamic stretching, then we play."
The small-sided game was eight versus eight on a half-pitch. Ethan found himself on Mbappé's team, along with several of the squad's best players.
"Stay close to me," Mbappé whispered before kickoff. "I'll find you when you're open."
The pace was immediately different from anything Ethan had experienced recently. These players were faster, stronger, smarter. They didn't make the mistakes younger players made. They didn't ball-watch. They understood positioning, pressing, tactical discipline.
Ethan's first touch came in the fifth minute. A midfielder played a pass to his feet with a defender immediately closing him down. In the U-15s, Ethan would have had time to turn. Here, he had milliseconds.
But milliseconds were enough when you thought three moves ahead.
He'd already seen the defender's approach angle. Already calculated that Mbappé would make a run behind. Already positioned his body to execute a first-time flick.
He back-heeled the ball through the defender's legs—a nutmeg so casual it looked rehearsed—and spun around the other side. The ball fell perfectly into Mbappé's path. The fifteen-year-old took one touch and finished with clinical precision.
1-0.
Mbappé pointed at Ethan, grinning. "That's what I'm talking about!"
Even the defenders stopped to acknowledge the play. "Okay, that was clean," one of them admitted.
For the next forty minutes, Ethan proved he belonged.
In the fifteenth minute, he received the ball on the edge of the box, surrounded by three defenders. Using a combination of Lavinho's technique and his own supernatural vision, he performed a triple elastico—left, right, left—that sent all three defenders stumbling in different directions. His shot was saved, but the audacity of the move earned applause from the watching coaches.
In the twenty-eighth minute, he created a goal out of nothing. A throw-in near halfway, everyone expecting a simple pass back. But Ethan saw a midfielder making a diagonal run that no one else had spotted. He launched a perfectly weighted lob over the defense. The midfielder controlled it on his chest and volleyed home.
2-0.
"How did you see that?" the midfielder asked, amazed.
"You started the run before anyone else," Ethan explained. "I saw the space you'd hit in three seconds."
In the thirty-fifth minute, Ethan scored himself. A corner kick, chaos in the box, the ball bouncing loose at the edge of the six-yard box. While everyone else was still reacting, Ethan had already calculated the ball's trajectory, already positioned himself, already decided on a side-foot finish to the near post.
Gerd Müller instinct. Always knowing where the goal was.
3-0.
When Coach Marcelo finally blew the whistle, the score was 5-1. Ethan had scored one, assisted two, and been directly involved in a fourth through a key pass that led to a sequence ending in a goal.
The squad gathered around Marcelo for the post-training talk.
"Ethan," the coach called out.
The fourteen-year-old stepped forward.
"That was a professional-level performance. Your vision is extraordinary. Your technique is clean. Your decision-making is mature beyond your years." Marcelo paused, letting the words sink in. "You're training with us permanently now. Four sessions per week. The other days you'll continue with U-15s for physical development."
Ethan's heart soared. "Thank you, Coach."
"Don't thank me. Earn it every single day." Marcelo's expression softened slightly. "But between us? I've been coaching for twenty-six years. You're one of the most naturally gifted players I've ever seen at this age. Don't waste it."
After showering and changing, Ethan found Mbappé waiting outside the facility.
"Want to grab lunch?" Mbappé asked. "There's a good place down the hill."
They walked to a small café in Monaco, ordering sandwiches and discussing the training session. Other customers occasionally glanced at Mbappé—he was becoming increasingly recognizable, his performances for Monaco's youth teams earning local and even national media attention.
"You were incredible today," Mbappé said between bites. "That triple elastico? Chef's kiss. Where did you even learn that?"
"I saw Ronaldinho do it in a video. Tried it in training. It worked." Ethan shrugged. "It just felt natural."
"That's the thing with you. Everything looks natural. Like you're not even trying." Mbappé leaned back. "You know what the coaches are saying about us?"
"What?"
"That we're going to revolutionize Monaco. That in a few years, we'll be the most dangerous striking partnership in France." Mbappé's eyes gleamed with ambition. "The Princes, remember?"
"I remember."
"Good. Because I got some news today." Mbappé lowered his voice, even though no one nearby would understand the significance. "Leonardo Jardim—he's officially the first-team manager now—he told me I might get called up to a first-team training session next month. Just to observe, maybe participate in light drills."
Ethan felt a flash of envy—not malicious, just the natural competitiveness of someone who always wanted to be the best. But he pushed it down. Mbappé was a year older. It made sense he'd reach the first team first.
"That's amazing," Ethan said genuinely. "You deserve it."
"We both will get there. You're just on a different timeline." Mbappé finished his sandwich. "But you know what? When you do make the first team, I'll make sure I'm still here. We made a promise. The Princes of Monaco. Together."
"Together," Ethan echoed.
That night, Ethan updated his goals notebook:
Goals:1. Train with first team by age 15 → Train with U-17 permanently at age 14 ✓2. Train with first team by age 15-163. Professional debut by age 174. Win Ligue 1 with Kylian5. Play for France6. Win Ballon d'Or
He'd exceeded his first goal by a year. The timeline was accelerating faster than even he'd anticipated.
Three moves ahead.
The first move was complete: prove himself at academy level across all age groups.
The second move was clear: train with the first team while still a teenager.
The third move was already forming in his mind: become one of the youngest players to ever debut for Monaco's senior squad.
Ambitious? Maybe.
But nothing felt impossible anymore.
Not when you could see the future before it happened.
Not when you were one of the Princes of Monaco.
End of Chapter 9