The small clubhouse of VV Drongen was simple and worn, painted a fading blue and white. The scent of wet jerseys and mud lingered in the air. For eight-year-old Kevin, it was a sacred place where the outside world did not intrude. Training became his daily ritual after school. While other boys arrived shouting, bumping into each other, and chasing the ball recklessly, Kevin walked quietly onto the pitch, ball tucked under his arm, eyes scanning, body ready. Even at this age, his movements were precise and deliberate, as if he could see the play before it happened.
Coach Verhaegen noticed this almost immediately. Kevin did not run without purpose, nor did he strike blindly. He waited, calculated, and passed with precision. One cold autumn day during a small-sided match, the team fell behind early. Older boys began teasing him, shouting at him to move faster, mocking his small size. Kevin ignored them. He intercepted the ball near midfield, observed a teammate making a run, and delivered a perfectly curved pass through defenders that allowed the striker to score. Kevin did not raise his arms or celebrate. He returned to position calmly, already thinking about the next move. His focus was unshakable.
After training, Herwig drove him home, noting that his son rarely smiled even after impressive performances. When asked about the match, Kevin replied simply, "I am thinking about the next one." At home, football dominated conversations. Anna patched his worn shorts and cleaned his socks, smiling at his concentration. She never pressured him, but she encouraged his obsession. Herwig spent hours on the road driving him to away matches, sometimes several hours from Drongen. They were not wealthy, but they were committed.
Weekends were the highlight of Kevin's life at Drongen. Scouts began attending local matches, standing near the corner flags with clipboards. One weekend, a man approached Herwig after a game and said that Gent's academy had taken notice of Kevin. The thought of leaving Drongen both excited and terrified him. That night, he lay awake, listening to his parents whisper in the kitchen. Anna worried he was too young, and Herwig quietly said they could not hold him back. Kevin stared at the ceiling, feeling a mix of fear and determination, and whispered, "I will make them proud."
Outside football, Kevin was quiet and observant. He had a few friends, but most of the time he preferred solitude. He loved reading about professional players and studying their movements, imagining himself on the pitch with them. At night, he wrote in a small notebook his mother had given him. Simple sentences filled the pages: control the ball before it controls you, look before running, stay calm when others panic. These were not just notes; they were lessons in life, exercises in patience and focus.
Even in small Drongen, Kevin's talent was becoming known. He was the boy who could see angles no one else did, who could predict play before it unfolded. Coaches often described him as playing the game in his head before it even reached his feet. His quiet personality sometimes made him a target for teasing, but on the field, he commanded respect. He was building the foundation of his future, block by block, pass by pass, dream by dream.