Both Saki and the other two—Lumi and Papu—were led into the locker room, where each player had a designated space to store their belongings and change into their training gear.
The team's kit—light blue jerseys with white shorts—was neatly arranged inside the lockers, and Saki quickly found his.
The jersey number was twelve.
He cursed under his breath when he saw it.
His favorite number had always been seven.
At least they hadn't written his full name on the back—only "Saki."
He slipped it on along with the rest of the gear.
"Look what I found," Papu said excitedly.
He was wearing a number nine jersey, and it suited him well.
Saki narrowed his eyes. "You're a center forward?"
"You bet I am," Papu replied, unusually excited.
"And what about you? What's your position?" he asked Lumi, who was struggling to put on his sports shoes.
"Aah, me?" he said while trying to put them on.
"I'm a winger—a left one. But I can play on the right too. What about you?" he asked.
"I play on the right wing," Saki replied shortly. "Now let's go see the rest of the team. I hope I won't be disappointed."
The club's building stood at the center of the city, with its offices, dorms, and training grounds all located in one place. The training pitch was separated from the civilian road by nothing more than a wire fence, allowing passersby to watch the Mavericks players as they trained.
"Where are they?"
The question came from a brown-skinned player with golden eyes and blonde hair—number fourteen.
He had just finished his drill, guiding the ball smoothly through the final set of cones before striking it forward—
Thud!
The ball rolled neatly into the mini goal.
He exhaled, brushing the sweat off his forehead as his sharp eyes scanned the pitch.
In the distance, three figures appeared—Lumi, Papu, and Saki, dressed in their training kits.
While Lumi and Papu wore theirs normally, Saki stood out. Beneath his jersey, tight compression sleeves stretched along his arms, the dark fabric hugging his skin and extending to his wrists.
He adjusted them slightly as he walked, his eyes fixed ahead.
"Here they are," exclaimed the blonde player.
"They don't look so bad, do they?" he added, glancing at the four teammates standing beside him.
Around the pitch, other players were scattered in small groups, running through their own drills.
Tsss!
A whistle cut through the air.
The one who blew it was none other than William Turner, the manager.
"Come over here, all of you!" he called.
Nearly the entire squad—more than twenty players—began gathering around him.
The three new recruits followed slowly toward the spot, arriving last. It seemed they were the spectacle, as the entire squad watched them.
Papu walked with a proud gait, as if he owned the place. Lumi looked slightly bashful.
But Saki—
He looked like he didn't care at all, his expression permanently stuck somewhere between irritated and sulky.
"Saki!" someone called as they arrived.
"Aah."
Saki lifted his gaze to see who had called him—not because he heard his name, but because the voice sounded far too familiar.
"Young Saki!"
A player wearing the number 10 jersey, with long lush hair tied back, rushed forward and pulled him into a hug.
"Don!" Saki exclaimed. "What—? I thought—"
"And I thought you were at PSG too," he interrupted in his foreign-accented English.
"But look at us—both here! This is going to be great!"
"And I thought I'd never see you again," said Saki. "You've been here long?"
"Not quite, Mr. O'Ryan," Mr. Turner interrupted. "If you'd let me finish what I have to say, I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to catch up with your old teammate afterward."
Saki didn't say a thing and looked away.
"Alright, now that our squad is finally complete," Mr. Turner said, raising his voice to address everyone. "And—"
"Wait… are those kids part of the squad too?"
It was Papu who interrupted, pointing at the two youngest boys in the group. Though the entire squad was made up of very young players, those two looked far younger than the average professional footballer.
"Yes, they are," Mr. Turner replied, slightly annoyed. "And please don't interrupt me like that again, young man."
He cleared his throat.
"As you've probably noticed, you are all quite young—and that's no coincidence. I planned it this way. I wanted a squad like this at my disposal, because the journey ahead of us will be tough. It will require players who are flexible—not only in how they play, but in their mentality and motivation."
"That being said, I'd like to outline how things will work from this moment on."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the group.
"You are no longer just individuals. You are a unit. And starting today, you will train as one."
A few players shifted slightly, listening more closely.
"Training will not be easy. It will test your speed, your control, and—most importantly—your mentality."
His eyes hardened.
"Those who cannot adapt will fall behind."
He paused again, his eyes moving across the players one by one.
"But before we get into all of that," he said, glancing at his watch before murmuring something to the instructor beside him.
"Alright. As I was saying—every coach needs his starting eleven. Mine will simply be the most functional one."
A murmur spread through the players.
"And I'd like to choose it now."
"I think I'd make a great number nine, coach," a player wearing the number nighteen jersey said, confidently recommending himself.
The entire squad turned to look at him—some with resentment, others with amused expressions.
"Mhh-mh." Mr. Turner chuckled. "Your name is Kenta Morito, right?"
The player looked slightly surprised. Saki stood behind him, and sure enough, the name Kenta was printed on the back of his jersey.
"That's right—you're not new to me," Mr. Turner continued. "Even though today is the first time you've seen me, I've been watching you all along while you trained with the instructors."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"I'm the one who personally recommended every single one of you for this squad. I know who is good… and who might be the best. So rest assured—we'll find out soon enough."
"And how exactly are we going to do that?" asked a player wearing the number six jersey.
The name Elton Cluster was printed across his back.
"I was promised a starting position before coming here," he added firmly. "And I intend to have it."
"Quite the ego, young lad," said one of the instructors standing beside Mr. Turner.
"But the contracts each of you signed were clear," he continued. "You earn your place through performance. Deliver for the team, and you'll start."
The other players remained quiet.
Then a hand rose.
It was Saki.
"Thanks, Assistant Coach Masaru," said Mr. Turner to the instructor. "Let's hear what that young man has to say," he added.
"I was just saying—it's getting a bit hot here. If we're going to have a match so you can choose your starting XI, then why don't we just get on with it?"
Saki had already suspected something like this the moment he arrived at the facility where he first met Mr. Ebenezer. Almost every day there, they were made to play matches. It didn't matter how many players were on each side—as long as the game was good enough to showcase your potential to be scouted.
And that was exactly how he ended up here.
"Clever young man," Mr. Turner remarked with a faint smile. "Very well."
He stepped forward, raising his voice so everyone could hear.
"I'll divide you into two teams, and assess you. From this match, I want to see eleven players with the potential to start."
He then turned his head slightly towards the man who spoke earlier.
"Alright, Assistant Coach Masaru… pick your team."