The noise of the match still lived in the air long after the final whistle.
Echoes of boots on grass.Shouts fading into laughter.The sharp breath of players who had given everything.
Lamii stood near the edge of the pitch, hands on his hips, chest rising and falling as the last light of the evening stretched across the field. The scoreboard still showed it.
3 – 2.
Victory.
But it didn't feel like an ending.
It felt like a beginning.
Around him, teammates were celebrating, some replaying moments, others arguing about passes, shots, and decisions—football conversations that never really ended. Coach Salva had already disappeared toward the tunnel, leaving behind only one sentence still echoing in Lamii's mind:
"It's starting."
Lamii looked up at the emptying stands.
The scouts were gone.
But their presence remained.
And that changed everything.
The locker room was loud at first.
Water bottles opening.Boots hitting the floor.Voices overlapping.
"Did you see that pass?""You should've crossed earlier!""We actually won!"
But slowly, the noise faded.
One by one, players left.
Some with smiles.
Some deep in thought.
Because everyone knew—
This wasn't just another match.
It was a step.
And not everyone would climb.
Lamii sat on the bench, unlacing his boots slowly. His legs were heavy, but his mind was still running, replaying the final moments again and again.
The fake.
The pause.
The pass.
Then assist Papii.
Control.
That word stayed with him.
He reached into his bag and pulled out his phone without thinking, scrolling absentmindedly.
The screen lit up.
And there it was.
His wallpaper.
A familiar image.
A number.
A legend.
"Still looking at that?"
Lamii looked up.
Papii leaned against the locker a few steps away, arms crossed, watching him with a half-smile.
Lamii glanced down at his phone again.
Then back up.
"What?"
Papii walked closer, tilting his head slightly.
"That," he said, pointing at the screen. "Your wallpaper."
Lamii hesitated for a second.
Then he turned the phone slightly.
A photo.
Lionel.
Wearing number 10.
In full motion, the ball is at his feet, and defenders are around him like shadows he had already escaped.
Papii raised an eyebrow.
"Number 10, huh?"
Lamii shrugged.
"Yeah."
Papii smirked.
"Is that your idol?"
Lamii looked at the screen again.
Not just an idol.
Not just a player.
A direction.
He locked the phone and slipped it back into his bag.
"Yeah," he said simply.
Then he looked at Papii.
"What about you?"
Papii didn't even hesitate.
He pushed himself off the locker, a confident grin spreading across his face.
"The one and only."
He tapped his chest lightly.
"Number 7."
Lamii already knew.
But he asked anyway.
"Cristiano?"
Papii's smile widened.
"Of course."
They stepped outside together.
The sky had turned darker now, painted in deep orange and fading blue. The training ground was almost empty. Only a few players remained, casually passing a ball under the dimming light.
Lamii and Papii walked side by side without speaking at first.
Then Papii broke the silence.
"You play like him, you know."
Lamii frowned slightly.
"Who?"
Papii laughed.
"You're number 10."
Lamii shook his head.
"I don't."
"Not exactly," Papii admitted. But that's the way you slow the game down. The way you see things before they happen."
He glanced sideways.
"That's not normal."
Lamii didn't respond immediately.
Because he wasn't sure if it was a compliment.
Or a warning.
Then he spoke.
"And you play like yours."
Papii grinned.
"Good."
Lamii looked at him.
"No fear. Direct. Always looking for a goal."
Papii shrugged.
"That's what matters."
They walked a few more steps.
Then Lamii said quietly:
"But football isn't only goals."
Papii stopped.
Turned.
"And it's not only passing."
They stared at each other for a moment.
Different styles.
Different visions.
Same dream.
Then Papii laughed.
"Good," he said again. "Because when we get there…"
Lamii raised an eyebrow.
"When do we get there?"
Papii pointed toward the sky.
"Big clubs."
Lamii followed his gaze.
Bright stadium lights.
Crowds.
Champions League nights.
He didn't need more explanation.
They moved toward the empty pitch again.
The grass was darker now, shadows stretching longer.
Papii picked up a ball and dropped it to the ground.
Tapped it once.
Twice.
Then stopped it under his foot.
"You really think you'll make it?" he asked suddenly.
Lamii didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Papii smiled.
"Good answer."
Then his tone shifted slightly.
More serious.
"I will too."
Lamii nodded.
"I know."
Papii looked at him carefully.
Not as a teammate.
Not just as a rival.
As something else.
A mirror.
"Then let's say it now," Papii said.
Lamii frowned slightly.
"Say what?"
Papii stepped closer, his voice firm.
"No matter what happens here… no matter who gets picked first… who gets offers…"
He extended his hand.
"We don't stop."
Lamii looked at the hand.
Then at Papii's eyes.
There was no joke there.
No arrogance.
Just fire.
Real.
He reached out.
Gripped it.
"We don't stop," Lamii repeated.
Papii tightened his grip.
"Until we make it."
Lamii nodded.
"To a big club."
Papii's grin returned.
"And beyond that."
They let go.
But the moment stayed.
Something had been set.
Not a contract.
Not a rule.
Something stronger.
A shared goal.
But also—
A coming collision.
Papii picked up the ball again.
"Just don't get in my way."
Lamii smirked slightly.
"Same."
Papii laughed.
"That's what I like."
He juggled the ball once, then flicked it toward Lamii.
Lamii controlled it effortlessly.
One touch.
Perfect.
Papii pointed at him.
"You're good."
Lamii tossed the ball back.
"So are you."
A pause.
Then Papii's expression sharpened.
"But only one of us becomes the best."
Lamii didn't look away.
"Then we'll see."
They sat on the grass after that, both looking toward the empty goal.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Papii broke the silence again.
"You ever think about it?"
Lamii glanced at him.
"About what?"
"The future."
Lamii leaned back on his hands.
"Every day."
Papii nodded slowly.
"Same."
He looked straight ahead.
"I see it sometimes."
Lamii waited.
Papii's voice lowered slightly.
"A big stadium. Lights everywhere. Fans screaming."
His eyes narrowed.
"I get the ball… and everything feels simple."
Lamii smiled faintly.
"Simple?"
Papii smirked.
"I score."
Lamii laughed softly.
"Of course."
Papii turned toward him.
"What about you?"
Lamii thought for a moment.
Then spoke.
"I see the same thing."
Papii raised an eyebrow.
"But different."
"How?"
Lamii's eyes stayed on the goal.
"I don't see the shot first."
He paused.
"I see the space before it."
Papii studied him.
Then nodded slowly.
"Yeah…"
"That sounds like you."
The night has fully settled.
Only the training lights remained.
Papii stood up suddenly.
Stretched his shoulders.
Then looked down at Lamii with a confident grin.
"You know what's funny?"
Lamii looked up.
"What?"
Papii pointed at himself.
"One day…"
He tapped his chest again.
"I'm winning it."
Lamii tilted his head.
"Winning what?"
Papii's smile widened.
"The Ballon d'Or."
The words hung in the air.
Big.
Heavy.
Crazy.
Perfect.
Lamii didn't laugh.
Didn't doubt.
He just looked at him.
"Then I'll be there too."
Papii blinked.
Then laughed.
"Competing with me?"
Lamii stood up.
"Beating you."
Silence.
Then—
Papii grinned wider than ever.
"Good."
He turned away, walking toward the exit.
"Just make sure you're ready."
Lamii watched him go.
Then looked back at the empty goal one last time.
The dream was no longer quiet.
It had a voice now.
Two voices.
Two paths.
Same sky.
As Lamii picked up his bag and started walking home, one thought stayed clear in his mind.
They were friends.
They were rivals.
They were chasing the same dream.
But in the end—
Only one could stand at the top.
And somewhere in the future…
Under the brightest lights in football…
Number 10 and Number 7 would meet again.
Not as academy players.
Not as dreamers.
But as stars.
And that day—
The world would be watching.