Beep.
Beep.
The annoying sound of the alarm sliced through dawn.
Robin groaned, turned over, turned the alarm off. He blinked groggily. The time read 6:30 AM. Not early by football standards. But still early enough to sting.
He kicked off the blanket, still sleepy, and sat up. The small apartment around him was dimly lit, barely furnished, modest, but enough. It was his.
This was the result of his first paycheck—$3,200, modest by professional football standards, but monumental for someone who had spent the last year praying for a contract. He had moved into the apartment just days ago. The club had provided the basics—a television, some kitchenware, and a tiny couch. It wasn't glamorous, but he liked it.
Robin walked over to the stove, in his shorts. He picked up the electric kettle, turned it on, poured some water, and boiled it.
He reached for his phone to check the latest transfer news and match updates. The football world was spinning fast—big names moving to Saudi clubs, wild bids from Premier League giants, and Northport United trending for yet another controversial squad overhaul under Oliver Smith. The world moved. Robin observed. Quietly.
Once the water was boiled, he sipped it slowly, leaned against the counter, and glanced around. The walls were bare. He made a mental note to hang something—maybe a poster of a childhood idol, maybe just a mirror.
Shower. Brush. Dress. Kit bag packed.
He started outside by 7 AM with his new bicycle that he bought just yesterday. The cycle is black and white tinted.
The roads to North Wall FC's training ground were mostly empty at this hour. The city hadn't quite woken up yet, and that was fine by Robin. He liked being early.
By 7:30 AM, he flashed his ID card at the gate. The security nodded, letting him inside.
Only two other players were on the pitch. Two names he already knew well—two players he had studied obsessively.
Aaron Doyle, the magician of North Wall FC. A flair player with wicked control and mesmerizing dribbles. He was everywhere—centre-mid, CAM, even striker when needed. Robin had watched all his highlight clips and could recall his best assists like a fanboy.
And then there was Louis Mendez, the captain. Calm and composed. A once-promising La Liga centre-back, until an ACL injury wrecked his trajectory. Now, he plays with little to no interest in making himself better, anchoring the North Wall defence with quiet fury. A failed wonderkid to the world, but to this team, he was still the backbone.
Robin placed his bag down beside the bench and took a moment to feel it all in. His breath visible in the cold morning air. The soft thump of ball against boot. The occasional bark of a command. And whistles.
Then he noticed something.
A piece of paper. Taped to the noticeboard beside the entrance to the dressing rooms. Simple. Bold letters.
SQUAD LIST – FRIENDLY VS CASTILLA (3PM)
His eyes darted down the list. First XI. Then substitutes.
No "Robin Silver."
Not on the bench.
The opponent? Castilla. A second-division La Liga side, the kind of match that, at the very least, should have allowed for experimentation. Especially in a friendly.
But his name wasn't there.
He felt a strange mix of cold and heat in his chest. Disappointment? Yes. But something else too—confusion, maybe. Frustration. Anger?
Robin had hoped Martin would throw him in just to see what he could do. But maybe it made sense. In training, he had been reckless. Too many rushed challenges. Too many misplaced passes. He trained with fire, but fire was messy. And Martin Langford? He didn't do messy.
Still. It stung.
He thought about going into Martin's office. Pleading. Demanding. But that would be foolish. Martin wasn't the type to understand sentiment. And what he had seen of Robin so far wasn't enough.
A familiar grey car rolled into the lot. Martin Langford had arrived.
He stepped out, dressed in all black. No greetings. No nods. Just walked straight into his cabin like he owned the club.
Robin sighed and turned toward the training ground. Better to focus on drills, he told himself. Let the work speak.
But then—surprise.
Martin stepped out of his cabin just ten minutes later and looked around. His gaze locked on Robin.
With a small, sharp gesture, he beckoned him inside.
Robin followed. No hope. No expectations. Just curiosity.
Martin sat in his chair, legs crossed. One hand scribbling something into a notebook. Robin stood at attention.
"Morning, boss."
Martin didn't look up. "Morning, Robin. You're awfully early today."
"I'm excited to train."
"Good. Keep it up."
Silence.
Robin waited. So did Martin. The air had an invisible tension.
Then Martin finally put the papers aside and looked at Robin.
"Ah. The reason I called you here is because I wanted to give you something."
He stood up, walked towards the cupboard, opened it, and pulled out a package. Robin watched as his boss unwrapped it slowly.
The wrapping peeled away to reveal a jersey—pink and black. Bold colors. The number 11 glimmered and above the number, in white font, a name:
ROBIN
Robin's heart paused. For a second, he forgot where he was.
It was his first senior jersey. His first real jersey. The moment footballers dream about.
His name. His number. His colors.
Even if it was from a small club in a second division. Even if it wasn't a starting lineup. It was real. It was his.
He smiled, taking it in his hands.
"Thanks, boss," he said, voice steady but soft.
Martin nodded with the smallest of smiles. "Now, go train."
Robin didn't waste a second. He turned, walked out of the cabin—and only then did he slip the jersey on. The fabric hugged his shoulders perfectly. It smelled like new cotton, like opportunity.
He walked onto the pitch.
The others barely noticed. But Robin didn't care.
He was wearing number 11.
And today, he was going to train like a madman.
MEANWHILE ON X:
@RabrizioFomano
"Paula Lopez scores a hattrick in his U-19 debut. The 16 year old has been tearing it apart at Baraval FC. His U-17 records look even crazier. 44 goals and 33 assists in 24 games. "
@LAMALAMA – North Wall just 7-0 lmao. I'm dying.
@NUFCfforlife – Thank god, we loaned out Robin or else we couldn't have signed this monster named Cara"
@NUFCfforlife – We should take Doyle from them fr!