The academy didn't take Lamii's boots.
That would have been cruel—but simple.
Instead, they took something worse.
His position.
The announcement came in the morning, sharp and emotionless.
"For today's match simulation," Coach Salva said, "Lamii will play as a decoy."
The word echoed.
Decoy.
Not creator.
Not a leader.
Not even an option.
Lamii felt the sting immediately.
A decoy existed to be ignored.
He raised his hand. "Coach."
Salva looked at him. "Yes?"
"What did I do wrong?"
Salva smiled faintly.
"That," he said, "is the wrong question."
The match began.
Lamii drifted into space instinctively, asking for the ball with subtle movement, opening lanes—
Nothing.
The ball went through Papii.
Again.
And again.
Right foot. Power. Directness.
Goals came fast.
The team leaned toward strength.
Lamii ran.
Pulled defenders.
Created shadows.
But no one looked.
So this is what it means to take something from me, Lamii realised.
To silence him.
A defender clipped him from behind.
He stumbled.
No pass came.
Papii scored again.
Cheers erupted.
Lamii stopped running.
Just for a second.
And in that second, doubt crept in.
If they don't need me… am I really a number ten?
At halftime, Lamii sat alone.
Sweat dripped from his chin to the floor.
Coach Mateo approached quietly.
"You feel invisible," Mateo said.
Lamii didn't answer.
"That's the curse," Mateo continued. "When you chase ten, the game tries to erase you."
Lamii looked up sharply.
"Erase?" he asked.
Mateo nodded.
"Number tens don't lose because they're weak," he said. "They lose because the game stops listening to them."
Lamii clenched his jaw.
"How do I make it listen again?" he asked.
Mateo's eyes darkened.
"You don't ask," he said. "You force."
The second half was worse.
Salva moved Lamii even wider.
Far from the centre.
Far from control.
This is punishment, Lamii thought. For wanting too much.
The ball barely came.
When it did, defenders crashed into him immediately.
He lost balance.
Lost rhythm.
Lost confidence.
The final whistle blew.
Victory—but not his.
Papii was surrounded.
Praise. Smiles. Claps on the back.
Lamii walked off alone.
That night, Lamii returned to his room.
He looked at the photo on the wall.
The boy.
The idol.
The dream.
He reached up—
And stopped.
His hand hovered.
Then dropped.
He sat on the bed instead.
What if I can't become him?
What if I'm just a shadow chasing light?
A knock came.
Papii stood in the doorway.
"You okay?" Papii asked.
Lamii laughed softly.
"Does it look like it?"
Papii stepped inside.
"They're choosing me," Papii said honestly. "For now."
Lamii nodded.
"I know."
Silence stretched.
Then Papii spoke again.
"But if you break," he said, "I'll take ten."
The words weren't cruel.
They were real.
Lamii met his eyes.
"I won't," he said.
Papii studied him, then turned.
"Good," he said. "I don't want it easy."
Later that night, Lamii couldn't sleep.
He walked the empty halls until he found Mateo sitting alone, lights off.
"Tell me the truth," Lamii said. "Why do number tens fail?"
Mateo exhaled slowly.
"Because they want to be loved," he said.
Lamii froze.
"What?" he asked.
"Ten is not a hero," Mateo continued. "Ten is a decision-maker. When you choose, someone suffers."
He leaned back.
"Most kids hesitate. They try to please everyone."
Lamii thought of his passes.
His patience.
His kindness.
Mateo looked at him sharply.
"If you want ten," he said, "you must accept being hated."
The words sank deep.
The next morning, Lamii woke up different.
Not louder.
Not stronger.
Colder.
During drills, he stopped asking for the ball.
He took it.
Cut off passing lanes.
Moved teammates like chess pieces.
When someone complained, he ignored them.
When a defender stepped in, Lamii didn't dodge.
He stepped first.
The ball snapped away.
Salva watched.
Mateo smiled.
Papii noticed.
"So," Papii muttered, "you've chosen."
Lamii didn't respond.
After training, rankings were posted.
Lamii's name dropped.
Papii's rose.
The system spoke clearly.
Lamii stared at the board.
His chest didn't hurt anymore.
Only one thought remained.
If I'm going to be erased… I'll rewrite the game.
That night, Lamii stood under the lights alone.
He imagined the stadium again.
But this time—
The crowd booed.
The pressure suffocated.
And he smiled.
Because now he understood.
The number ten wasn't a gift.
It was a war.
And Lamii had finally accepted the cost