Tesuka had arrived well ahead of time. A good thirty minutes early, with sweaty palms and a heart lying in wait. All day, he'd tried to think about something else, but the ticking of the clock seemed to summon him to this very moment: his first session with PvP FC.
The club wasn't officially recognized by the federation yet, but in the narrow streets of the neighborhood, it already shone like a beacon. He knew it would achieve its first national promotion in twelve years, and in fifteen, it would aim for the heights of African football. A legend in the making. And in Buyenzi, if there was one place every young player dreamed of improving, it was here.
Around him, Tesuka observed carefully. He picked out the faces: Salou, Kennedy, Salomo, Endrick, Abou, Chekinah… They all seemed to already belong to a story that was unfolding.
Coach Ndikumana watched from the sideline. Tall and lean, dressed in a black tracksuit marked with the PvP FC logo, his gaze was that of a man who wasn't there to please, but to deliver results. The silence he imposed alone was enough to bring order to the team.
Tesuka stepped forward to introduce himself, but he hadn't even opened his mouth when the coach spoke:
— You look tense, Tesuka. This isn't school. I've heard about you. But here, it's the jungle. You want a place? Earn it.
Tesuka bowed his head slightly as a sign of respect.
From a distance, the coach's voice rose again, pointing to a lone player:
— Look at him — Sabiti. Don't be like him. He thinks he's a genius and spends his time disrupting training. That kind of attitude infects the group. I don't want it here.
— Yes, coach, Tesuka replied firmly. I'll take that to heart.
Even with Sabiti's talent, he doesn't get any special treatment. I need to be extremely focused during training. If he gets treated like that, I can't even imagine what would happen to me if I fall short.
He waved a distant hello to Sabiti, then felt an unusual pressure building in his chest — the urge to prove himself, not to disappoint.
He took note of everything, offering respectful nods and greetings from a distance.
The other players began arriving in small groups, already familiar with the rhythm of the field. Some laughed and traded jokes, while others showed off their ball control with effortless juggling. And yet, their glances barely touched Tesuka. He wasn't one of them. Not yet.
At exactly 5:30 p.m., the coach's whistle cut through the air, abruptly silencing all conversations.
— Line up! Two rows. Legs apart, shoulders straight. We begin.
Without wasting a second, the team launched into a rigorous warm-up: jogging to the center of the field, butt kicks, high knees, side steps, and short ten-meter sprints. Then came the dynamic stretches — arms swinging, bent knees, twisting torsos. Tesuka did his best to keep up, closely watching the others to match their pace, even though his mind found it easy, his body begged to differ.
The intensity was far beyond what he was used to at school, and the discipline was on a whole other level.
After fifteen minutes, the coach barked out the next command.
— Balls!
Two players brought over the balls — worn, but still usable.
Ndikumana placed his hand on one of them and looked over the group.
— Here, we don't play to chase the ball. We play to understand it. To feel it.
You're going to run the possession drill.
The players split into several groups. Tesuka found himself paired with Amadou — a defensive midfielder with a sharp, piercing gaze — and Chekinah, a winger as fast as lightning.
The drill seemed simple at first glance…
Oriented control, pass into space, call, one-touch return.
It all had to happen in under six seconds.
— Faster! the coach yelled. Modern football is high-speed! If you think too long, you're already falling behind!
Tesuka focused. He missed his first two returns.
Amadou sighed. Chekinah stared at him without a word.
— Why did the coach even pick him? He's just a kid. Even Sabiti — a genius — is considered average here because of his age. I feel bad for him.
On the third attempt, Tesuka miscontrolled it. The ball flew too far.
— Stop! roared the coach.
Silence.