I took a breath, feeling the ball at my feet, connecting with the sense of familiarity that resonated deep within me. I took my time, not because of the pressure but simply for the pure love of it.

I passed. The ball found my foot again. I controlled, shifted my weight, and set it back in motion with a precision that belied my seven years of experience. Again, the process repeated. With each touch, I was not only displaying my skill, but also my ability to learn quickly and effectively.

My passes were sharp, my touches deliberate, and the way the ball moved at my feet felt instinctive. My body, even this small, untrained physique, moved with the weight of decades of practice and the fluidity of my instincts.

When my turn was over, I had played my game and the gazes on me weren’t those of coaches simply evaluating, but rather, of those who had witnessed something exceptional.

Coach Park’s gaze often flickered back to me, and I could almost see the gears turning in his mind.

Small-sided games were the last piece of the tryout puzzle.

Two mini-pitches with five-a-side teams. A swarm of bib-clad kids was ready, adrenaline pumping. The sheer energy in the air was palpable.

I felt calm amidst the chaos.

When they announced the teams and positions, a small spark of satisfaction lit up within me at the sight of ‘Cha Jae-il’ being assigned as a center-forward on one of the teams. This felt fitting. Symbolic.

I was joined by a few others—some I could already tell wouldn’t make the cut, while one boy named Sung Hyunwoo, bore a special attention.

‘Now that kid… has some talent.’

A quick warm-up, a stern set of instructions, and the game was on.

The starting whistle seemed to break a spell; the organized chaos that we were moments ago became a blur of motion on the tiny field.

The game started off predictably. Some of my teammates were more enthusiastic than skilled. They lunged at the ball as if it was a prize to be snatched rather than controlled. Sung Hyunwoo must’ve been trained well because he looked different from everyone else out there on the pitch.

A wayward pass came in my direction, scuffed, but it was an opportunity.

My eyes scanned the pitch. Instinctively, I could see where I needed to be, where I needed to move to exploit the space.

I trapped the scuffed pass, quickly adjusting.

In that instant, everything around seemed to slow down. The shouts, the thumping of the footfalls, even the whistle of the coaches—all receded.

I dribbled, feeling the weight of the ball against my feet like a long-lost friend. A defender approached, his posture low and defensive, but I knew, I remembered, that trick to weave past. A subtle touch on the ball, a quick switch of directions, and I was past him, watching him flounder, caught in his own misplaced momentum.

Another approached. I feinted to the left, then spun away to the right. His move was far too telegraphed.

The straight path ahead was clear. And then there it was: the opening, a narrow, tantalizing passage through the mass of legs.

A well-placed pass. Precision. Timing.

I could see Sung Hyunwoo making a move. I saw his movement patterns and anticipated his actions.

The pass was swift, sliding through the sea of legs as if on invisible rails.

And there it was.

The moment the ball met his foot was pure perfection. His movement, the shift in weight, the decisive tap that redirected the ball into the netting at the back of the tiny goal.

We’d done it, our first goal in this mock-game of the trials, was Sung Hyunwoo.

He was ecstatic, running with that intense exuberance of someone who had just scored a goal. He ran up to me and hugged me. “Thank you! Well done!” Then went to celebrate with another teammate.

I was slightly surprised by the sudden hug. A sudden burst of joy and a quick celebration would have sufficed in other circumstances. But this boy had a special appreciation for teamwork. Regardless, I didn’t know whether I should’ve chimed in on the merriment or simply got back into position.

Being too standoffish could give the wrong impression.

The game continued from there, with the kickoff by the other team.

Sung Hyunwoo, in particular, was proving to be quite the little prodigy—well, for his age. I’ve seen many talents die out before their peak, so I was reluctant to call him anything but a good prospect for a football player.

He moved instinctively to cover a gap on our right flank, managing to win the ball back and then pass to me, a hopeful smile on his face. I obliged him. It was easy for me to weave past the remaining two defenders. I was fast on my legs, faster than any seven-year-olds had any right to be.

A feint to the left, a sprint to accelerate in the vacuum left by clumsy defenders. I took two more touches, then casually poked the ball between the keeper’s legs and into the goal.

xXx

Coach Park’s POV:

From the sidelines, Coach Park observed the spectacle in motion before him with an analytical intensity, his gaze catching each subtle nuance of Cha Jae-il’s performance. That child was special—that was clear.

His movements were beyond those expected at his tender age.

The boy, as soon as the game commenced, transformed.

‘This is absurd.’ Coach Park mused internally. He’d seen exceptional talent before; kids with remarkable abilities, often products of intensive, expensive training regimes.

But this? This was different.

It wasn’t that the kid was just skillful; it was the way he played.

Each movement exuded an unerring calm and an otherworldly foresight. He read the flow of the game like a veteran, anticipating movements and spaces that were, frankly, unthinkable at this level. And yet, there he was, executing maneuvers with a casual, almost playful mastery.

It wasn’t just his ability, though, that was arresting. It was the effect he had on his team.

Cha Jae-il orchestrated plays with the confidence and clarity of a conductor leading a symphony.

His presence seemed to galvanize them.

Sung Hyunwoo was an example. A budding talent, no doubt. Yet under Cha’s influence, the boy flourished. He played more instinctively, with more flair, almost feeding off the confidence radiated by his younger teammate.

Together, the duo formed a striking force. The synergy between their movements was something beyond their years, and their team’s structure morphed, adapted, and thrived.

‘It’s almost as if…‘ He shook his head in disbelief, watching as Cha slipped through two defenders with an ease that defied logic.

The assistants next to Coach Park buzzed, their pens scribbling frantically. One, especially taken with Cha’s display, couldn’t resist voicing the thought. “He’s not real, right?” The tone wasn’t quite joking. “He’s just… on a whole other level.”

Another nodded vigorously. “That kid’s going to make some waves. Maybe we should start calling him the Little Genius, or the Prodigy.”

Park suppressed a smile. These kinds of talents were rare gems, found only once or twice in a coach’s lifetime. The last time he had felt a thrill like this, had been nearly twenty years ago with none other than Park Joo-Ho.

A ripple in the otherwise placid pond of predictable mediocrity. A name to be etched into the annals. After all, South Korea didn’t usually produce strikers of the highest tier, and that meant an exceptional talent in that area could change the landscape. 

He looked on. ‘Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe it’s just a phase. But if this is real…‘

“They scored again.” One of the assistants pointed, the tone hushed.

“Unbelievable. They have 7 points already. They scored six times in less than ten minutes and the other team has yet to score at all!”

The young center-forward was being hugged by Sung Hyunwoo, the protagonist of a recent goal. The entirety of the team converged around those two, forming a jumbled mass of excitement. There was an unmistakable glow of pride on their little faces.

But Cha Jae-il himself seemed to take a step back, a flicker of unease crossing his features as if he didn’t particularly relish all that contact or the excessive celebration of their recent achievement.

He looked more akin to a man surrounded by a crowd of adoring but overly enthusiastic children. One assistant couldn’t help but crack up at the scene.

The rest of the game continued in a similar vein, with goals being one-sidedly scored by the same team, over and over and over—to the point that the game had to be called off before it reached the 20 minutes limit because there was nothing left for anyone to do.

An awkward silence fell over the viewers on the stands. 

Some of the kids from the defeated team began to burst in tears or were clearly heartbroken.

The final result was too demoralizing for anyone to look at.

11 – 0

Then complaints began to pour from the parents at the sidelines.

“It was clearly not fair to put all the good kids in the same team. This doesn’t represent their talent. Please reconsider!”

“That team is too strong!”

“Why is there one kid in the wrong age bracket? That boy can’t be an U-8! Are you trying to cheat the tryouts, Mister?!”

“This is outrageous! What kind of trial is this?”

A cacophony of grievances. Parents venting, other children on the brink of tears or perhaps mid-eruption. Some were just standing there, stunned.

“I’m afraid the teams are randomly organized to simulate an even match.” Coach Park explained calmly.

“You think that was even? How could you tell?” A particularly vehement father exclaimed.

“The point of these matches is not about victory. This is an evaluation for their skills.” Coach Park continued, his voice gruff.

“How is this measuring up their skills when you can’t see their skills in the first place?! My son couldn’t play at all! They couldn’t show their skills like this!” Said another father.

“If they couldn’t, then doesn’t that already speak up for itself? We’ve seen what we needed to.” His tone was definitive and didn’t leave room for further argument. 

With that, he turned around and walked off. As if he had any intention of wasting his time on angry, delusional parents.

The assistants stepped in to placate the remaining parents.

Coach Park took one last look at Number 23, then lowered his cap, shading his eyes. ‘Kid’s gonna go all the way if he stays healthy and hungry for success…‘

Yes. Coach Park was certain.

He wanted this Cha Jae-il in his program.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep