David had barely gotten the words out—barely expressed the burning need inside him to train—before Mohamed shut him down instantly.
"What are you talking about? Don't you need your kit and boots?" Mohamed asked, giving him a deadpan look as if he couldn't believe the nonsense coming out of David's mouth.
It was like pouring cold water over David's head—his excitement fizzled out immediately.
'Oh right. That's why I was following him in the first place.'
Deflated, he let out a sigh and followed Mohamed to the kit room, his brief moment of pure enthusiasm now replaced with a quiet sense of embarrassment.
The room was surprisingly large, filled with shelves of neatly arranged boots, jerseys, socks, and training gear. The scent of new shoes mixed with the faint smell of fabric conditioner from freshly laundered kits.
Mohamed walked over to a workstation, grabbed a measuring tool, and motioned for David to sit.
"Alright, foot on here," Mohamed said, tapping the platform.
