Chapter 11: The Lion's Den and the Ghost in the Tunnel
The second half of the scrimmage didn't just feel like a football match; it felt like a survival drill in a North England monsoon. The rain had intensified, turning the pitch into a treacherous slide of mud and uprooted turf. Every time Mide planted his foot, he felt the ground give way slightly, a sensation that would have terrified his old, fragile ankles.
But the Eternal Engine and the Iron Grit trait were hum-singing in his marrow. While the other boys were visibly slowing, their shoulders slumped under the weight of their sodden jerseys, Mide felt a strange, cold clarity.
[System: "Look at Sykes over there. He's breathing like a broken bellows. If he huffs any harder, he'll blow the goalposts over. And you? You're standing there looking like you just stepped out of a spa. 155 SP in the bank and you haven't even broken a sweat. Are you a footballer or a statue? Move your legs, Oga!"]
I'm waiting for the moment, Baba, Mide countered, his eyes darting across the defensive line. The more they tire, the more they chase the ball instead of the space.
[System: "Oh, so now you're a philosopher? 'The space is the truth,' eh? Listen, Aristotle, René is looking at his watch. You have five minutes to turn this 'decent' trial into a 'legendary' one. If you don't provide an assist for Welbeck, he's going to spend the whole night complaining in the dorms about how you're a 'ball hog.' Do you want a friend or a fan club?"]
Mide smirked. He saw it. Sykes had stepped two yards too far to the left, trying to anticipate a cross that hadn't even been thought of yet. Danny Welbeck was hovering on the edge of the offside trap, his hand raised tentatively.
Mide received a fizzing pass from the holding midfielder. Instead of controlling it, he let the ball roll across his body, using the momentum to spin away from his marker. It was a blind turn—smooth, greasy, and utterly unexpected.
"Danny!" Mide barked.
He didn't look. He didn't need to. The Oracle Sight had already painted the blue line on the grass. Mide struck the ball with the outside of his right boot—a Trivela pass that sliced through the mud, spinning away from the defender's reach and curling perfectly into Welbeck's path.
Danny didn't have to break his stride. He hit it first time, the ball screaming past the keeper into the roof of the net.
2-0.
The whistle blew three times. The match was over.
The Verdict
The boys collapsed where they stood, hands on knees, steam billowing off their heads like they were on fire. Mide remained upright, though his lungs were finally beginning to feel the bite of the 4-degree air.
René Meulensteen walked onto the pitch. He didn't clap. He didn't smile. He just walked straight up to Mide, who was wiping a glob of mud from his forehead.
"The pass," René said, his Dutch accent sharp. "Why the outside of the foot? You could have used your left."
Mide looked the coach in the eye. "If I use my left, the defender sees the body shape. If I use the Trivela, he thinks I'm still turning. It saves me half a second. In the Premier League, half a second is the difference between a goal and a tackle."
René stared at him for a long, uncomfortable minute. The other boys watched, holding their breath.
"Half a second," René repeated, finally a ghost of a smile touching his lips. "You talk like a man who has played a thousand games, Adeyemi. Get to the showers. And don't get too comfortable. Tomorrow, you're training with the Reserves. The Under-18s are too slow for you."
[System: "BOOM! Level Up! You've been promoted to the Reserves in less than twenty-four hours. 150 SP awarded for 'Accelerated Progression.' Current SP: 305. René thinks you're a genius. Sykes thinks you're a demon. And I think you need a shower because you smell like a wet dog."]
The Encounter in the Tunnel
Mide walked toward the brick Academy building, his boots clacking on the concrete. The rain was still coming down, but he barely felt it. He was calculating his next move. The Reserves meant playing against men—fringe first-teamers, players returning from injury, and the hungriest talents in the UK.
As he entered the narrow tunnel leading to the changing rooms, the light dimmed. The walls were lined with photos of legends: Best, Charlton, Cantona.
Mide stopped to catch his breath, leaning against the cool brick. Suddenly, the door at the far end of the tunnel swung open. A group of men walked in, their voices echoing in the tight space.
It was the First Team. They were coming in from their session on Pitch 1.
Mide instinctively stepped back against the wall to let them pass. Rio Ferdinand went by first, towering and loud. Then Wayne Rooney, looking annoyed about a missed chance. And then, the air seemed to thicken.
Cristiano Ronaldo stepped into the tunnel. He was drenched, his hair matted to his forehead, but he looked like he'd just finished a light jog rather than a world-class training session. He was holding a ball under his arm.
He stopped right in front of Mide.
The silence was deafening. Mide, at 17, was slightly shorter than the 21-year-old Portuguese star, but he didn't lower his gaze.
Ronaldo looked at Mide's mud-caked jersey, then at his face. He recognized the boy who had scored the curler earlier.
"Nice goal," Ronaldo said. His English was better than Mide remembered from the old timeline, though still accented. "But you were too slow to the ball on the second one. If the defender was faster, you lose your leg."
Mide didn't flinch. He felt the Baba vibrating in his mind, screaming for him to say something clever.
"If the defender was faster," Mide replied, his voice calm, "I would have moved sooner. I only play as fast as the game needs me to, Cristiano."
The other players who had lingered nearby—Giggs and Evra—froze. Nobody talked to Ronaldo like that. Especially not a trialist from the youth team.
Ronaldo's eyes narrowed. A slow, competitive grin spread across his face. He tossed the ball he was holding toward Mide. Mide caught it with one hand against his chest.
"We will see," Ronaldo said, his voice dropping to a low, challenging tone. "The Reserves play a practice match against us on Thursday. If you are there... show me your 'speed' then, Nigeria."
Ronaldo walked past, his shoulder brushing Mide's.
[System: "Oshey! Look at you! You just challenged the King of Madeira! 100 Bonus SP for 'God-Level Audacity.' Interaction Status: 'Rivalry Initiated.' Warning: You just put a target on your back the size of a satellite dish. Thursday is going to be a war. Are you ready to play against the best in the world?"]
Mide gripped the ball Ronaldo had thrown him. It was still warm from the superstar's hands.
"I've been ready for twenty years, Baba," Mide whispered.
He walked into the locker room, the weight of the ball in his hand feeling like a scepter. The Crown of Oyo was no longer just a system; it was a reality.
[Current Status]
Name: Mide Adeyemi (MA10)
Current SP: 405
Promotion: Manchester United Reserves (MU21)
New Quest: 'The Thursday Showdown' (Survive the match against the First Team).
Relationship: Cristiano Ronaldo (Acknowledged / Rival)