After the 400-meter race was over for each group. Cones appeared, and the murmur of hundreds tightened into a competitive hum.
"Ball work!" a coach barked into the mic. "First touch, passing lanes, off-ball movement. We build from the back, small-sided. If you no fit think quickly, you go fade."
They split the sea of boys into islands. Jeremiah found himself in a six-man rondo grid with Pelumi and a lanky center-back who kept pushing his hair out of his eyes. Osimhen had been pulled over to another group and was already creating arguments around him. Even from a distance, the way Victor demanded the ball could be a headline by itself.
"Two in, four out," their station coach said. "One touch. If you break the grid, you sprint. If you dribble, you sprint. If you complain," he paused, letting silence hang, "you go sprint double."
The ball zipped. Pelumi's first touch was silk, weight always perfect. He pinged to Jeremiah, trusting the boy he once shared the pitch with. Jeremiah absorbed the pass on his back foot and let the ball roll across his body, forcing the two pressers to overcommit. La Pausa lived in that single breath; he did just enough to make their feet argue with their brains, then a slice to the center-back's.
The rondo tightened, speed rising with each successful exchange. "Good. Calm," the coach said, pointing at Jeremiah. "You, green bib. I like that delay."
Jeremiah became more vocal as it continued. "Left shoulder! Show! Rotate!" The lanky center-back responded, opening his hip. Pelumi smirked, impressed by the youngster's confidence. Coach Benson is on the sidelines while maintaining a face devoid of emotion, smirking inside as Jeremiah continued to impress.
Throughout the entire rondo session, Jeremiah is the only one who never entered the middle, the Xavi training effect showing, and it wasn't even a 100% completed/downloaded.
They cycled through more drills: directional rondos, third-man runs, possession boxes expanding into transition.
During a water break, Osimhen drifted over, bottle pressed to his chin, grinning. "Guy, una dey enjoy o. See as una dey play like Barcelona." "I just dey see una for the corner of my eye".
"Na sense we dey use," Pelumi replied. "No be everybody get motor for leg like you." They all laughed it off.
Coaches clustered under two pop-up canopies, clipboards out, shaded eyes tracking. The morning's first cut arrived early, numbers called, boys thanked with warm indifference. Some swallowed it. Some argued. Some cried quietly into his shirt and vanished.
"Listen well," a coordinator announced. "Tomorrow we go enter eleven-v-eleven, rolling subs. Short halves. Show us your mind before your magic."
"Teams go dey announced in the morning of the match." After that, the remaining players on the pitch dispersed. Of the eleven players Coach Benson had called, seven were still considered for the match tomorrow, which made him proud.
Pelumi tapped Jeremiah on the shoulder, "Hwfa." "I dey", he replied, the pleasantries back in pidgin. You had called Pels earlier after the 400-meter race; only then did he realize he had called Pelumi by his nickname, but in the past, they hadn't developed that familiarity yet.
"Oh," he replied awkwardly. "It's fine, I don't mind," he said. They continued having some small talk when Coach Benson came over. Coach Benson then noticed the duffel bag beside Pelumi. It was A full duffel bag, not like the one with just football stuff, but clothes stuffed inside.
"What's your name?" he asked. "Pelumi." He responded. "Did you come with somebody?" A momentary pause, then an indication with his head that he didn't
Coach looked at the bag again. "Why did you have all your stuff with you?"
Pelumi forced a laugh. "I just… brought it."
Coach Benson knew he was lying. He looked at him slowly. "What happened?" Pelumi, reluctant to speak at first, said nothing.
Whether he just wanted someone to talk to, or to release the weight off his shoulders, "My parents passed away when I was 2, and my grandmother passed away 2 months ago. I've been homeless ever since. "
With no money for school and nowhere to sleep, I thought I would come and try my luck here for the football trials and see if an opportunity arises.
"You have no one you can call, friends, family." "I didn't want pity." Pelumi's voice cracked slightly.
Coach Benson leaned back, rubbing his beard. Then Coach spoke." Have you eaten today?" Pelumi shook his head once. Coach Benson stood up immediately. "Come."
Pelumi looked confused. "Where are we going?" "To get food." "I'm good—"
Coach," stop saying you're good when you're not." Pelumi looked away, embarrassed. Coach softened his tone. "Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?"
Silence. That was enough of an answer. Coach Benson grabbed the duffel bag before Pelumi could stop him. "You're staying with me for now." Pelumi froze. "What?" "You heard me." Coach relied back.
"I can't do that, sir." "Yes, you can." Pelumi's eyes started watering instantly, and he turned his head away fast. Coach noticed. "Hey," he said gently. "Look at me."Pelumi tried not to cry. Failed. "I'm sorry, Sir." "For what?" "For being a burden."
Coach Benson's expression changed immediately. "Don't ever say that again."Pelumi wiped his face with his sleeve. Coach continued: pulled him into a hug like he was his own child.
"I just need to find out who you'll stay with in the hotel". "I'll do it, he can share a bed with me," Jeremiah said. He hadn't spoken all this while cause he already knew the story, and he was fascinated by history repeating itself. Just like in his former life, coach Benson stepped and took Pelumi in, showing just the kind of man he truly was.
"Thank you," Pelumi said as he walked off with them and joined the other players to go back to the hotel.
While all this was happening, where the scouts were seated, a young girl licked her Ice cream while an old white man seated right beside her was scanning through files, when he finally looked as if he had found what he was looking for.
"Jeremiah Idahosa," he muttered