*Monday morning.*
A loud creak came from the wobbly table — the alarm had just rung. Tesuka opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling for a moment, then rolled to the side. After a few seconds of stillness, he got up.
He headed to the shower — just a bucket of cold water on a cement slab. He washed quickly despite the shivers, then returned to his room.
Meanwhile, his mother was preparing bread in the kitchen.
— Tesuka! Your meal is ready!
— Hurry up, or you'll be late again!
He grabbed his uniform, which his mother had carefully ironed the night before: grey pants and a grey T-shirt. In a few swift moves, he got dressed, then quickly had breakfast. Once he finished, he slipped his notebooks into his worn-out backpack and, while running, bit into his bread, eyes already fixed on the street, his sneakers slapping against the pavement.
Today was a school day. But in his mind, it was always football.
After classes, Tesuka went back home and ate. He rested, eagerly waiting for his first training session with his team. He also thought back to the conversation he'd had earlier that day with Mr. Bayo, the third-year PE teacher, during recess.
— Tesuka, how are things going in class?
— Guess what? I was really worried when Professor Gabi showed me some of your past results in class. But he assured me over the phone that you were smart. Don't disappoint me. Now's the time to prove that intelligence. But that's not why I came to talk to you. I wanted to tell you to take training much more seriously, because I won't be your coach.
— Why not? Aren't you the coach of the U9s at PvP FC?
— Of course, but I don't handle the U13s.
— Well, well, what!!!
— Don't tell me I got selected for the U-13s?
— You did. Don't be surprised. You more than deserve it. Judging by your potential, I'd say you're on the same level as Sabiti.
— And over there, with the U-13s?
— You'll face real challenges. Be ready. The coach there doesn't mess around. He's very demanding and doesn't tolerate repeated mistakes. You'll need to be strong.
— I'm a bit scared...
— Don't worry. I won't let you down.
— By the way… how old are you?
— Six.
— What?!
"It's nothing, it's just... you seem more mature."
You think so too?
Honestly, yes.
I think I've heard those words — you seem more mature than you look — a few times this week.
Back to reality!
He couldn't wait for his first training session.
He was practically bouncing with excitement at the thought of experiencing it for the first time.
At 4:43 p.m., as the sun clung to the last golden threads of the horizon, an orange light bathed the dusty field of Buyenzi.
The goalposts, made of rusted, wobbly metal, seemed to defy time by sheer will. The ground, scattered with stones and old scars, told stories of past battles.
And yet, for those who came here, this place was far more than an empty field. It was their temple. A sacred arena. A place of raw truth.
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