Rain tapped softly against the windows of the strategy room as Femi sat beside Liam, the two quietly observing the tactical board lighting up the projector screen. It was the calm before the storm — the final of the National U-23 Championship was just a day away.
Earlier, in the dormitory, Femi and Liam had shared a quiet moment.
"You ready for tomorrow?" Liam asked, tossing a ball between his hands.
Femi stretched, exhaling slowly. "I don't know. I keep replaying Josip's goal in my head. The way he looked at me after."
Liam chuckled. "He's a character, no doubt. But he wouldn't have scored if not for you."
Femi didn't respond immediately. "You think I'm good enough to start the final?"
Liam leaned forward, voice sincere. "You're more than good enough. But this time… you won't just have to prove it to Coach. You'll have to prove it to him."
The door to the strategy room opened and Coach Bakker entered, trailed by Lars de Groot. The room quieted immediately.
Bakker stood in front of the group, laser pointer in hand. "Tomorrow's opponent, Heerenveen U-23. Compact, aggressive press in midfield. And up front—" he clicked — a face appeared on the screen — "their only real weapon. Number 10. His name is Elias Rikken."
Femi tilted his head. The name sounded vaguely familiar.
"Rikken has scored all of Heerenveen's goals in this tournament," Bakker continued. "Left-footed, great balance, but what makes him dangerous is his movement. He drifts — false nine, sometimes left channel, then suddenly appears in the six-yard box."
Lars took over, stepping beside the coach. "He's a genius in tight spaces. Very little waste. He gets half a chance, he scores. Simple as that. Watch this." He played a clip of Rikken dropping deep to receive a pass, flicking it through a defender's legs, then darting into the box to volley home from a narrow angle.
Femi's eyes narrowed. This guy wasn't just good — he was special.
Coach Bakker cleared his throat. "We need discipline tomorrow. Our defenders — especially the full-backs — have to stay sharp. Femi, Josip… both of you are in the plans."
There was a subtle silence at the mention of both names. Femi didn't look toward Josip. He didn't have to. He could feel the eyes on him.
The meetIng went on with detailed instructions on pressing triggers, ways to overload the flanks, and Liam's expected role as an inside forward should he come on again late.
When the session wrapped, Lars caught Femi on his way out. "You've done well to get here," he said, voice low. "Tomorrow isn't just a final. It's a test of who you've become. Don't play to survive — play to own the moment."
That night, Femi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Elias Rikken… A genius, huh?
He closed his eyes. The noise of the crowd, the tension of the pitch, Josip's celebration, Rikken's flick — they all blended into the pressure of the coming final.
But somewhere in that storm, Femi smiled.
Let's see what kind of genius you really are.