Fixing his boots, he scanned the training; every youth was separated into groups. Defenders were with their coaches, so as midfielders, the strikers group didn't have a lot of strikers. They were only four, and both Winston and Maximilian were the most skilled ones amongst them. Heading toward the striker group, he noticed the striker coach was only focusing on Maximilian not the other two strikers. He joined them in the same training; they were just doing the same basic drill strike training. Pass the ball and shoot, and penalty shooting.
The striker coach glanced at them with his hands folded and shook his head; he gave them a sinister smirk. Of course, other coaches saw what was happening, but none of them dared to voice their opinions; the striker's coach was well connected within this football club, and the rumor has it is that the only reason he got this job was because he had something on the club director. "No, boy, lean on your sides when you kick the ball, like this," he said, crouching down, holding Maximilian's boot. "Hit it with this side, and grace the ball with your inner foot when kicking the ball."
As Winston watched and imitated the striker coach's words to Maximilian, the other strikers also began to copy them. After attempting it for a few minutes.
Will this be effective when combined with the skill, I acquired from the skills shop?
[Acquired Skills]
[Activated skill: Dead ball]
[No skills]
[No skills]
[No skills]
[No skills]
He prepared to incorporate the dead-shot while remembering to lean back, standing back ready to kick the ball, running toward it. He hit the ball, and it hit the upper goalpost. The striker coach chuckled at Winston's form, although the striker coach was nervous seeing Winston's rapid growth with terrible form. With a heavy sigh, the striker coach now knows. Winston hasn't found a mentor, and he does basic training. With a smirk on his face, he went and patted Maximilian on his back. "You are coming along fine; you will be the best one in this club."
"Stay back after training; we will do more drills and shooting."
Maximillian said, with a sinister smirk, glancing at Winston and the other youth strikers, "Thank you, Coach."
A whistle blew, startling Winston and his teammates. They then observed their head coach gesturing for the team to gather around him. As Winston dashed around the training field, the assistant coaches put away the training equipment. Huddling up in front of the head coach. "Okay, great session today; hit the showers and prepare for departure. Our upcoming match is anticipated to be our most difficult to date, as you're aware. We will be playing with the team that is fighting for our third spot in the league table. Make sure you rest in these couple of days when we reach our destination."
"We will do more training when we get there. So rest up and prepare yourselves. The tour bus will arrive in a couple of hours."
"Okay, that will be all now; go hit the showers," the head coach said, clapping his hands
"Winston, you're also free to head home and collect your belongings; the club personnel will keep them with the other items."
With that said, he made a swift dash toward the building exit; he didn't look back, afraid that the head coach would change his mind. In the very moment he was about to run to his house, a voice that was unmistakably familiar startled him; "Winston, where are you going?" Nearly slipping on his training boots, he held onto the iron pole. "Mom, why are you here?" with the beaming smile on his face. He strode toward his mother for a hug.
"I wanted to drop off your suitcase," she said, with the suitcase in front of her. "Please promise me you will keep yourself safe, promise me, promise me."
Cough… cough… cough…
He rushed toward his mother, and she held up her hands. "I'm fine; I think I am coming down with the flu, just promise me you'll keep yourself safe."
With a slight nod. "I promise." with a picky out. You must also give me your word that you will look after yourself if you happen to get the flu.
"Oh my god, when was the last time we made a picky swear." His mother said, reminiscing about the olden days. Witnessing his son, who has now developed into such a resolute young gentleman, brought a sense of profound satisfaction. Winston's mother fondly remembered the moment she observed her young son engaging in his initial attempts at kicking a ball within the confines of their former residence's yard. He used to call his mother to watch him—kick the ball around the yard. Tears swell up in her eyes. "Mom, you're okay?" With a comforting embrace, Winston held his mother close, his hand moving rhythmically as he rubbed her back in a gesture of support and affection.
"I'm okay, it just me reminiscing of old days. Make sure you behave there. And please get some rest."
"Will do, madam," with both laughing at each other.
"Your sister tells me you met a young lady, and it is serious."
"She is noisy."
"I would like to meet her."
"Mom, given that it is still early, we have plenty of time before I introduce her."
Both strode toward his mother's car. "Alright, but when you get back, I'd really like to meet her or, at the very least, see some photos of her."
"Make sure you call, when you have arrived"
Winston, with a quick wave, managed to maneuver his suitcase into the group of staff members who were responsible for storing their belongings. Heading toward the showers, one of the club staff members stopped him. He conveyed to him the message that a lady had been observed outside, specifically asking after him. Assuming it was his mother, he started to jog; A black SUV parked in front of him, black tinted window slowly rolled down, and a stunning woman who is in her mid thirties, wearing black shades; Winston couldn't make out her full appearance since she rolled her window halfway. Rather than that, a delightful and potent aroma assailed his sense of smell. A voice, which was both gentle and authoritative, abruptly broke his concentration and pulled him away from the reverie he was experiencing.
"I was looking for you—call me Diana," she said, handing Winston a black envelope. The envelope bore a crest—maybe this was one of the senior clubs putting in its bid. Even though he hadn't seen this woman before.
Why is she so ominous, shouldn't she make a proper introduction, and should she say what club she represents?
While still muttering to himself. Diana snapped him back again. "Will call you."
"Wait, which team do you represent. If you're going to give me an envelope, it would be better if you tell me what type of scout you are."
"Everything that needs to be said is on the envelope. When you open it—it means you accept the invitation."
"Invitation to what exactly, please explain." The stare Diana gave Winston through her black shades gave Winston the chills—he tried to scan the inside of the vehicle and was startled by Diana, who let an annoyed sigh.
Diana with weary tone said "Your father is running out of time. With your family history, if I were you, I'd accept the invitation," the woman stated before the black SUV rapidly departed, leaving Winston in a state of bewilderment regarding the cryptic words of the woman identified as Diana.
"Father running out of time; family history". He murmured to himself this opened more questions than answers. The question arises whether his parents have been concealing something from him that he remains unaware of, and for what duration they have maintained this secrecy.
He raised the envelope toward the sun, attempting to examine it for writing or other details. At this moment, he didn't know what he was looking for. With a disappointed sigh, he shoved the black envelope onto his hip. The shorts he was wearing didn't have pockets, and it was being held by his underwear. He made his way toward the club building.