"Armin, just stay here for a bit! I seriously need to use the toilet!"
Ashraf was already half-running, pressing his stomach, sweat beading on his forehead.
"What?! You can't be serious— Wait, what am I supposed to do here?! I don't know a single thing about football, bro!"
Armin stood frozen in the middle of the school field, right in front of the large hall where Tunas Harapan's high school sports team selection was taking place. Around him, dozens of boys in sportswear were warming up—some juggling balls, others jogging in place.
In front of them, five stern-looking judges sat at a long table, dressed formally, their expressions as serious as courtroom judges.
Armin took a deep breath. I'll just wait a bit. If Ash takes too long, I'm out of here.
But before he could turn—
"Next!"
The head judge, a thick-mustached man who looked like a mafia boss, pointed straight at him.
"You! Step forward!"
Huh?! Me?!
Armin glanced left and right. Where the hell was Ash?! The other boys were already whispering amongst themselves.
He swallowed hard, pointing at himself. "Uh… me?"
The head judge nodded, face still stone-cold.
"Yes, you. Now."
OH SHT.*
Armin wanted to bolt. But… if he ran now, Ash would definitely get kicked out of the selection.
I can't betray my best friend like that.
With heavy steps, he walked into the hall.
---
Interview Room
Five judges sat at a long table, the bright lights making the room feel like an interrogation chamber.
Armin sat stiffly on a wooden chair, his knees trembling.
"Name?" the head judge asked.
"A-Armin Khaleeq, 15 years old !!..."
One of the judges, a bespectacled man, flipped through a file. "Huh? Your name's not on the list."
Armin stiffened. I'm dead.
The head judge cleared his throat. "What position do you specialize in?"
"Err… ah..."
Armin's mind went completely blank. Position? What the hell does that mean?!
Panic set in. Then—
A memory surfaced. Last night, while hanging out at Ash's place—
---
"Dude! Look at that! Mohamed Sal@h's dribbling is insane!"
Ash was practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes glued to his phone screen.
Armin glanced over. "Huh. Looks easy enough."
"EASY?! Do you even know how hard it is to do that?!"
"Give me the ball, I'll try."
And just like that, Armin copied Mohamed Sal's movements with 100% accuracy, effortlessly mirroring his dribbling, feints, and speed bursts.
Ash's jaw dropped. "OH SIT. ARE YOU SERIOUS, ARMIN?! IS THERE ANYTHING YOU CAN'T COPY?!"*
---
Back in the interview room—
Armin swallowed.
"Errr… I'm a midfielder!" he blurted out.
The head judge nodded. "Alright. Show us what you've got."
"AH?! Right here?!"
"Of course. Where else?"
Armin panicked. I'M SCREWED… I'VE NEVER PLAYED FOOTBALL IN MY LIFE!
But—
The memory from last night resurfaced. Mohamed Sal's footwork. The way he ran, dribbled, feinted.
Armin's brain activated its hidden power—MEMORY MIMIC.
Watch once, remember forever.
"Huuuh..." Armin took a deep breath. "Okay."
He stood up.
One of the judges rolled a ball towards him. Armin caught it. I'm really doing this, huh…
He dropped the ball to the floor. And the moment it touched the ground—
DUF!
His body moved on instinct. Dribbling. Feinting. Flicks. Speed bursts.
It was exactly like Mohamed Sal@h
Every step was sharp and precise. His movements were smooth, effortless—professional.
The judges' eyes widened in shock.
"W-What?!"
"This… this is exactly like Mohamed Sal!"
"Impossible! He's just 15! Where did he learn this?!"
Armin stopped after ten seconds, breathing slightly heavier. But his mind was racing.
Wait… what the hell did I just do?
The head judge stood up. "Incredible… I've never seen a 15-year-old replicate professional-level movements this perfectly!"
Armin scratched his head, looking awkward. "Uh… thanks?"
The bespectacled judge immediately scribbled something in his file. "You're accepted into the team!"
Armin: "EH?! WAIT, NO, NO, NO!!"
Judges: "WHAT?!"
Armin raised both hands in protest. "I don't wanna join! I was just here to keep my friend company! I was just messing around! I don't even play football!"
Silence.
The mustached and bespectacled judges exchanged looks.
Then, the head judge smirked. "We're not letting a talent like this go."
Armin's eyes widened. "Huh?"
The mustached judge stood up. "Find this boy. Make sure he joins our team. By any means necessary."
---
Outside the Interview Room
Ash had just finished his own tryouts. He was about to look for Armin when—
"ASHHHH!!!"
Armin came sprinting towards him, face pale as a ghost.
"EHH?! Where have you been, Min? Why are you running like that?"
Armin skidded to a stop, gasping for breath.
"ASH… I… I got into the football team…"
Ash blinked. "FOOTBALL TEAM??"
Armin swallowed hard. "FOOTBALL… FOOTBALL… FOOTBALLLL!!!!"
"WHAT?!?!!?!"
Ash staggered back as if he'd been struck by lightning. "YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!! YOU HATE FOOTBALL!!"
Armin shook his head violently. "I KNOW!! I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED!!"
Ash stared at Armin, then buried his face in his hands. "Oh my God… the world is really ending..."
Meanwhile, from a distance, the judges were still watching.
One of them, a man in a blue dress shirt, smirked. "Noah, we've found someone interesting."
The man named Noah grinned. "Yeah. And we're not letting him go."
TO BE CONTINUED...