Become A Football Legend-Chapter 237: Preparation (1)

When the whistle finally blew to end the session, João bent forward, hands on knees, breathing steadily. He felt no rush of triumph. No fear either.

Just clarity.

This wasn’t a trial in the dramatic sense. No one was judging him on one mistake or one good moment. But every action stacked quietly on top of the last, building a picture he didn’t get to see.

And that, more than anything, told him exactly where he was now.

* * *

A couple hours later.

Kohfeldt didn’t speak immediately after the session ended.

He stayed where he was, arms still folded, eyes following the players as they peeled away in small groups. Some headed toward the gym. Others toward the treatment room. João lingered near the edge of the pitch for a moment, unsure whether to move or wait, before deciding not to draw attention to himself and walking toward the bench to unlace his boots.

From where Kohfeldt stood, he replayed the session in fragments rather than highlights.

He remembered the extra touch early. Noted.

The correction that followed. Also noted.

The duel with Lidberg. Clean.

The mistimed step. Minor. Recoverable.

The recovery run late in the drill. Important.

No fireworks. No panic.

That, more than anything, was what caught his attention.

He turned slightly toward Heck, who already knew what was coming.

"He doesn’t hide," Kohfeldt said quietly. "When something goes wrong."

Heck nodded. "He adjusts."

"And he doesn’t chase the game," Kohfeldt added. "That’s harder to teach than aggression."

They stood in silence again, watching João finish tying his boots, unaware he was the subject of the conversation. Kohfeldt finally exhaled and made a decision that felt small but wasn’t.

"Call him," he said.

João heard his name before he saw the coach. His back straightened instinctively, movements sharpening as he stood and jogged over. He wiped his hands on his shorts, once, then stopped a few steps away.

"Yes, coach?"

Kohfeldt didn’t smile. He didn’t frown either. He looked João up and down the way coaches do when they’re deciding how much truth to give.

"You felt the tempo today," he said.

João nodded. "Yes."

"You were late once."

"Yes."

"You didn’t repeat it."

Another nod. Smaller this time.

"You don’t try to prove yourself," Kohfeldt continued. "That’s good. But don’t mistake that for permission to disappear."

João swallowed. "I understand."

Kohfeldt held his gaze a second longer, measuring the response, then shifted his weight.

"We’re short at centre-back," he said. "You’ll train with us this week. Same standards as everyone else. No allowances."

A pause.

"You keep doing what you did today, and you’ll stay."

Not you’ll play.

Not you’re ready.

Just you’ll stay. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

It landed heavier than any praise.

"Yes, coach," João said, voice steady.

Kohfeldt nodded once and turned away, already done with the conversation in his mind.

João stood there for half a second after he left, then exhaled slowly through his nose. His heart was beating harder now than it had during any sprint. Not from nerves. From focus snapping tighter.

As he walked back toward the locker room, something inside him shifted. Not confidence. Not fear.

Structure.

He stopped thinking about what it meant to be here. Stopped imagining debuts, benches, futures. Those thoughts had weight, and weight slowed you down.

Instead, he began sorting his game into rules.

Scan earlier.

Touch cleaner.

Step only when certain.

No apologies.

No hiding.

He thought briefly of Lukas. Of how everything around him seemed loud, chaotic, accelerating. And how, somehow, Lukas moved through it all with terrifying clarity.

João understood now that this was the other side of that clarity. The quiet work. The discipline no one filmed. The part where you didn’t get to be special.

As he pushed open the locker room door, the noise swallowed him again. Teammates talking. Music playing. Boots hitting tile.

He moved through it calmly, already treating tomorrow like it mattered more than today.

Because now it did.

* * *

Lukas was stretched out across his bed, one leg hanging off the side, still in his training shorts, phone balanced loosely in his hand. The apartment was quiet in that post-training way, muscles tired but mind restless. He scrolled without thinking at first, thumb moving on instinct, liking a clip here, muting an argument there.

Then a post stopped him cold.

A verified troll account. Manchester United badge in the name. Engagement numbers exploding.

The clip was familiar. Too familiar. Him after the Mainz game, calm, composed, saying they would go to Old Trafford to win.

The caption sat above it in bold, smug text:

> "Kids these days talk too much.

We beat you 4–2 in your own home and you think you stand a chance in the Theatre of Dreams?"

Lukas raised an eyebrow slightly.

Five million views.

Forty-something thousand likes.

The replies counter still climbing.

He tapped.

The first thing he saw was the pinned comment, glowing at the top, full of scam links and fake giveaways. He flicked past it without reading, scrolling deeper.

The comments came fast, stacked on top of each other, voices colliding.

"He didn’t even play the first leg, are people stupid or what?"

"Doesn’t matter. United smoked Frankfurt anyway."

"Bro is 16 and already talking like he’s Messi 💀"

"This the same kid who said he’d be in Bilbao? 😂😂"

Another reply quoted that exact press clip from weeks ago, the words thrown back at him like evidence.

"Remember when he said ’we’ll be in Bilbao for the final’ lol"

A Bayern fan account slid into the thread, blue check and all.

"Just saying... this kid has backed up every single thing he’s said so far. He’s really that good."

The original poster replied almost instantly.

"Get off his meat. He’s not signing for you."

Lukas let out a quiet breath through his nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. He scrolled further.

The tone shifted as he went down. Less noise. More edge.

"I’ve watched this guy. He’s a problem."

"Frankfurt away is one thing. Old Trafford is different."

"You don’t talk like that unless you believe it."

Then one comment, simple, buried halfway down the page, stopped his thumb completely.

"I promise you, this will age like milk."

Lukas stared at it for a second longer than the others.

Then he smiled.

Not wide. Not cocky. Just that small, knowing curve at the corner of his mouth.

He tapped the heart.

Once.

The screen dimmed as he locked the phone and let it fall onto his chest. His eyes closed, the noise of the world fading out as something else slid into place.

"Log in to the LTC," he said as he closed his eyes.

The bright golden light appeared as the room disappeared.

[*Ohhh, see who finally remembered me.*] TT’s ever so familiar voice resounded in the now extremely advanced training center Lukas was in.

"What are you on about? I was here yesterday, and the day before, and the one before that too. I’ve literally not missed a single day of training and we talk every single day."

[*Yeah but they don’t know that, though.*]

"Who’s ’they’?"

[*Don’t worry about that. Ready for your training? You should warm-up.*]

"Yeah I think I warmed up enough from the training with the club, let’s get to it."

[*Music to my ears.*]

"You have ears?"