The living room was quiet except for the sound of the crowd.
Not the academy crowd.
Not the harsh whistles of trials.
This was different.
This was night.
This was Europe.
Lamii sat cross-legged on the carpet, eyes glued to the screen. The Champions League anthem faded, replaced by roaring stands and flashing lights. The stadium felt impossibly far away—yet close enough to touch.
Barcelona were playing.
His heart beat faster before the ball even moved.
There he was.
Lionel.
Small frame. Calm steps. The number on his back glowed like a promise.
Ten.
Lamii leaned forward as the ball reached him outside the box. Time slowed. Defenders rushed. Space vanished.
Lionel didn't hesitate.
A touch.
A shift.
A strike.
The net rippled.
The room exploded with sound.
Lamii jumped to his feet, fists clenched, chest burning.
"YES!"
For a moment, he wasn't a kid in a small apartment.
He wasn't bruised.
He wasn't doubted.
He was there.
Under the lights.
Later, when the replay looped again, Lamii stood in front of the mirror.
He pulled his hoodie over his head like a jersey.
Turned the collar into an imaginary badge.
Then he whispered it.
"Number ten."
He closed his eyes.
And imagined everything.
The Camp Nou was roaring his name.
The La Liga title lifted high.
The Champions League trophy heavy in his hands.
He imagined the shirt hugging his body.
The pressure.
The responsibility.
Not fear.
Honor.
He imagined defenders bouncing off him.
Critics silenced.
Kids wearing his name.
Lamii. 10.
His chest tightened.
"I want this," he whispered. "I want all of it."
His mother watched from the kitchen doorway.
She had seen this look before.
Not excitement.
Purpose.
"You know," she said, sitting beside him, "people don't see number ten like other numbers."
Lamii turned to her.
"They don't?" he asked.
She smiled.
"Ten is the hero," she said. "The thinker. The creator. The one everyone looks at when the game is stuck."
She paused.
"But that also means they blame him first."
Lamii nodded slowly.
"They expect miracles," she continued. "They forgive mistakes from others. But not from ten."
He thought about the academy.
The hits.
The targeting.
The whispers.
So that's why…
His mother touched his hair gently.
"If you want that number," she said, "you have to become more than talent."
"What do I need?" Lamii asked quietly.
She looked at him carefully.
"Strength," she said. "Not just here." She tapped his chest. "But here." She tapped his head.
That night, Lamii couldn't sleep.
He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the goal over and over.
But something changed.
He wasn't just watching anymore.
He was analyzing.
Why did Lionel move there?
Why didn't he rush the shot?
Why did the defenders freeze?
Lamii sat up.
"They expected speed," he murmured. "He gave them patience."
A smile crept across his face.
He grabbed a notebook.
And started writing.
What I need to become Number Ten
Control under pressure
If they hit me, I don't rush. I slow the game.
Vision before action
See two passes ahead. Make defenders chase shadows.
Left foot as a weapon
Not power. Precision. Timing.
Body adaptation
If I'm small, I move smarter. Angles. Balance. Anticipation.
Mindset
Heroes don't complain. They respond.
He stared at the list.
This wasn't a dream anymore.
It was a plan.
The next morning, Lamii woke up earlier than usual.
He tied his boots tighter.
Ran longer.
When his legs burned, he kept going.
When his body screamed, he imagined the anthem.
When he wanted to stop, he imagined the number.
Ten.
At training, defenders pushed him.
He didn't push back.
He slipped away.
Coaches watched.
Something shifted.
That evening, his mother found him sitting on the floor again, the same match replaying.
"You still watching?" she teased.
"I'm studying," Lamii replied.
She laughed softly.
"Then promise me something," she said.
He looked up.
"When they call you a hero one day," she said, "don't forget this room."
Lamii stood.
Walked to her.
And hugged her tightly.
"I won't," he said. "Because this is where number ten was born."
Outside, the city lights flickered.
Inside, a boy had chosen his future.
Not because it was easy.
But because it was impossible.
And impossible dreams…
were the only ones worth chasing.