Belt went to the old Krow City Menagerie. It was a dilapidated place, rarely visited, where the smell of damp straw replaced that of asphalt. For many, it was a sad and too silent place, but for Belt, it was the perfect sanctuary.
He sat on a green bench, chipped by time, facing the main enclosure.
There, behind the bars, a Siberian Tiger paced back and forth.
Belt watched him for a long time. He analyzed every muscle rolling under the fur, every heavy look full of threat. What fascinated him was not the beast's strength, but its lifestyle. The tiger did not seek the group's approval like a lion. He did not roar to get noticed uselessly. He waited. He observed. And when he moved, it was to kill.
Suddenly, the click happened in Belt's mind, like a line of code finally executing correctly.
"A solitary predator... capable of breaking the system's neck without saying a word."
He stood up abruptly, his eyes shining with a new light:
"That's it! I shouldn't try to be a social player. I must be a tiger. Ferocious, clever, and above all... unpredictable."
Uncle Jisk's raspy voice echoed in his memory:
"The field is a jungle where you can be the only King."
For the first time, Belt no longer saw football as a chore or an illogical puzzle, but as a hunting ground.
He went home, his mind racing. In front of his powerful computer, he didn't just watch football videos. He launched deep research on feline behavior, their attack angles, and the psychology of fear they inspire. He was determined to code this new personality that would offer a terrifying vision to all the "blind" people of football.
The next day at school, the atmosphere was electric. Belt spotted Quiena and approached her without preamble:
"I have a question. What is your vision of football?"
Quiena, surprised that he came to her on his own, smiled and replied with her usual theatrical voice:
"Oh? Mister is interested in art? For me, it is a stylish battlefield where several warriors fight to defend their kingdom and conquer the other's!"
Belt nodded.
"Perfect. That is one more reason to become the only King."
"Why this question?" she asked, eyes sparkling. "Don't tell me my dream is coming true..."
"What dream?"
"The one where you join the high school team! I could be your manager, your image consultant! Imagine the duo!"
"Don't get carried away," cut Belt coldly. "But... all things considered, I have decided to dominate this game. And I will need your knowledge of the opponents to better tame them."
Quiena took out a small notebook and a pen, writing something quickly before handing him the paper.
"Great! Here, this is my number."
"What for?" asked Belt.
"To stay in contact, idiot! A King needs his advisor, even outside the castle."
Belt took the paper, hesitant, then slid it into his pocket.
"OK. But I warn you: no useless calls. I hate noise."
"Who do you take me for?" she exclaimed, fake-offended. "You are the one who needs me, Sniper!"
The next day was a day off. Belt decided it was time to equip himself, not like a Sunday jogger, but like a soldier preparing for war. However, he quickly realized a critical flaw in his plan: he didn't know any sports shops.
Confused, he wondered who could know the city like the back of their hand. The answer appeared as obvious: Quiena.
He made the call:
"I need you to accompany me to buy equipment."
On the other end, Quiena laughed:
"It was about time! Meet me at 'Street Number 8' in an hour."
Street Number 8 was not a simple street; it was an anthill. A huge urban market dedicated to sports, buzzing with activity. It was the capital of sports gear in Krow City. Belt, unused to crowds, felt oppressed at first.
Quiena was waiting there. She wore a pale pink summer dress, very elegant and neat, which contrasted totally with the raw atmosphere of the market.
Belt approached:
"Hi. Are you dressed for a date or for shopping?"
She smiled, not fazed at all:
"It's my way of being professional. Come on, let's go, we have to dress His Majesty."
They entered a huge shop, a temple of modern equipment. Belt chose shoes as light as claws and a dark training outfit, suitable for blending into the night.
"I think that will be enough. Let's go back," he said.
They headed towards the exit. But just as Belt was crossing the door, it opened abruptly from the outside.
BOOM.
Belt hit something hard as stone and lost his balance, falling backward onto the ground.
Looking up, he saw a mountain. A young man of about 1m90 (6'3"), dressed in an impeccable tracksuit, looked down at him.
The man stopped, a relaxed smile on his lips:
"Oops, sorry little guy. I hope I didn't hurt you. Sometimes, I don't control my size."
Belt remained silent, shocked by the solidity of the impact. He felt like he had run into a concrete wall.
Quiena intervened immediately:
"Oh, hi Morgking!"
The giant smiled:
"Quiena? Sorry, I didn't see you. How are you?"
"Good thanks, but you should be careful with your strength," she replied.
She turned to Belt who was getting up painfully:
"Sorry Belt, I forgot the introductions. This is Morgking. He is my cousin, but above all, he is the Vice-Captain and starting defender of the high school team."
She paused before adding with a wink:
"Morgking, I present Belt. My solitary friend, and a future great hope for your team."
Morgking looked Belt up and down with amusement, analyzing his average build:
"Oh yeah? If my cousin says so... Well kid, we'll see if you survive. But first, you'll have to pass the Selections."
"Selections?" repeated Belt.
"In two weeks," clarified Quiena. "Trials open to everyone to join the team. It's your only chance."
"Come on, good luck little guy!" said Morgking, entering the shop, his overwhelming presence disappearing with him.
On the way back, Belt was pensive.
"Perfect," he whispered. "I have two weeks to sharpen my claws and track my future prey."
They walked in silence. Belt suddenly noticed that Quiena was not taking her usual direction.
"Weren't you supposed to go home?"
"Yes, but I decided to see where my player lives."
"How does that help you?"
"I have my reasons. And I am your manager, remember!"
"Okay... but don't bother me too much."
"Sir, yes sir!"
They arrived in front of Belt's house, a modest building with white and red walls. They knocked.
The door opened on a woman, still young, with flaming red hair identical to Belt's. She wore simple work clothes.
"Oh, Belt! You brought a friend?" she asked, visibly surprised and delighted.
She invited them in with a warmth that contrasted with her son's usual coldness. Belt, true to himself, headed straight for his room without a word, fleeing social conversation.
Quiena sighed watching him leave:
"I try hard, but I think I will never understand why he is always like that."
Belt's mother poured a glass of water for Quiena and looked her straight in the eyes, her smile fading slightly:
"Tell me one thing, my dear... Are you his girlfriend?"
Quiena, caught off guard and very embarrassed, blushed:
"No! No, ma'am! Your son and I are... friends. Well, I think."
"You 'think'? Why do you say that?"
"Because it's so hard to know what's in his head. To be honest, sometimes, his solitude really worries me."
Belt's mother smiled sadly. She sat opposite Quiena, resting her hands on the table.
"I see that you care about him, even if you refuse to admit it. That's good."
She took a deep breath, her gaze lost in memories.
"Let me make some tea. Then... I will tell you Belt's true story."