The six months following that surreal afternoon in Liam Brady's office had been an absolute whirlwind.
Walking out of Hale End with a signed Arsenal schoolboy contract had changed Akin's life overnight. He was no longer just a talented kid kicking a ball in Lloyd Park; he was officially part of the Arsenal academy machine. His new reality consisted of intense, twice-a-week evening training sessions under the floodlights, balancing elite tactical education with his standard Year 7 schoolwork.
The academy coaches didn't waste any time. The Under-12s tactical training was overseen by Coach O'Sullivan, a stern tactician who drilled them relentlessly on playing out from the back, spatial awareness, and group defence. Meanwhile, Brian handled their technical development, refining their close-control, passing in tight pockets, and 1v1 situations.
But even with the elite coaching, Akin still relied heavily on his "Simple Baseline." Which was why, on a crisp Saturday morning, he wasn't resting.
He was at the local park, weaving through a tight line of bright orange training cones at a breakneck pace.
"Stop!" a voice shouted.
Akin dragged his cleats over the ball, killing it dead, and looked up, chest heaving. Standing a few yards away was a boy with messy, dirty-blonde hair and grass-stained knees, frantically clicking a digital stopwatch.
William "Billy" Halstead stared at the glowing numbers on the screen, his eyes wide with disbelief. Akin was already unusually tall for his eleven years, standing at a solid five foot four—on track for a commanding final height of six foot two by adulthood—and he absolutely dwarfed his friend. Billy, destined for a modest five foot six, was a notoriously short kid who barely reached Akin's shoulder, but he carried an energy that was twice as loud.
"Cor, mate! You're getting even faster," Billy gasped, shaking his head. "That's unreal. You shaved another half-second off your turn."
Akin let out a bright, boisterous laugh. He jogged over, checking the timer for himself before playfully slinging an arm around the much shorter boy's shoulders. "Course I am. Haven't you figured it out by now, Billy? I'm a genius."
Billy rolled his eyes, shoving Akin off with a cheeky grin. "Yeah, yeah. A genius who still asked to copy my maths homework on Tuesday."
"Tactical delegation," Akin countered, flashing a wide, bright smile. "It's an elite skill."
Billy was, unexpectedly, Akin's best friend.
When Akin had first transitioned into this alternate reality, he had been entirely uninterested in making friends his own age. Having the mature, weathered mind of an adult made the prospect of hanging out with pre-teens feel exhausting. But Billy was different. Billy didn't care about the latest video games or schoolyard drama; Billy was purely, hopelessly obsessed with football. That shared, borderline-fanatical love for the game had broken down Akin's walls, allowing the adult inside to relax and simply enjoy having a mate to kick about with.
But as Akin grabbed his water bottle, his playful grin slowly faded. He stared down at his knees, the familiar, dark cloud creeping back into his mind.
Billy noticed the shift. "You alright? You've been spacing out a lot lately."
"I'm fine," Akin lied quickly, forcing a smile to his face. "Just catching my breath."
The truth was, Akin was struggling. It wasn't the technical drills or the tactical demands of Hale End—his mind processed those with effortless clarity.
It was the physical contact.
Over the last few academy matches, a terrifying mental block had begun to form. Whenever a 50/50 challenge presented itself, or whenever an opposing defender rushed in for a hard, crunching tackle, Akin's body would freeze.
In those split seconds, he didn't see the damp, pristine turf of the Arsenal training ground. He saw the cold, rainy pitch of his past life. He heard the sickening, bone-snapping crunch of his knee giving way—the exact injury that had destroyed his career, ended his dreams, and sent him spiraling into the life of a violent, bitter hooligan.
That phantom pain haunted him. The adult trauma was overriding his tactical brilliance, causing his eleven-year-old body to pull out of tackles, shy away from physical duels, and play with a frustrating, cautious hesitation.
I want to be the best, Akin thought bitterly, kicking a stray cone across the grass. But how can I do that if I'm too terrified to take a hit?
Later that evening, the flat in Walthamstow was quiet. The rich, spicy aroma of jollof rice wafted from the kitchen, where Alicia was humming softly to the radio, wiping down the counters.
Akin stood in the doorway, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. He had an adult's pride, which made admitting weakness incredibly difficult. But he also had the sharp, painful awareness that if he didn't fix this now, his second chance at football would end exactly like his first.
"Mum?"
Alicia turned, drying her hands on a towel. One look at his face, and her maternal instincts immediately flared. The soft humming stopped. "What is it, Akin? What's wrong?"
He walked to the kitchen island, pulling out a stool and sinking into it. He kept his eyes fixed on the laminated wood, suddenly feeling very small.
"I... I think I have a problem," he started, his voice barely above a whisper. "At the academy. During the matches."
Alicia walked around the counter, pulling up a stool beside him. "Is someone bullying you? Are the older boys giving you trouble?"
"No, nothing like that," Akin sighed, dragging a small hand down his face. "It's me. I'm... I'm scared, Mum. Whenever there's a hard tackle coming, or the game gets too physical, I just freeze up. I'm terrified of getting injured. I want to be the best player I can be, but how can I do that if I'm too scared to play a physical game?"
Alicia looked at him thoughtfully. Her brow furrowed, a mix of deep empathy and mild frustration crossing her features. She reached out, gently placing her hand over his.
"Akin," she said gently, but with a firm edge. "How long has this been happening?"
Akin swallowed hard, refusing to meet her eyes. "A few months."
Alicia sighed, her shoulders dropping. "If you were having such a serious problem, why did you not come to me earlier? You have five games left this season, and your next match is in a week. You can't carry a burden like this by yourself."
"I know," Akin mumbled, bowing his head in regret. "I just thought I could think my way out of it. Fix it on my own."
"You are incredibly smart, Akin, but you are eleven years old. You are not meant to fix everything on your own," Alicia admonished softly. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, her eyes lighting up as the gears in her head turned.
"Look at me," she instructed. Akin raised his head. "I work at the hospital. I know people. I have a friend in the sports medicine department who specializes in psychology. I will call her tomorrow and book an appointment for you. She works with athletes who have mental blocks all the time. She can help you."
Akin's eyes widened. A wave of immense, crushing relief washed over him. He hadn't even considered a sports psychologist. It was the perfect, logical solution to an emotional problem.
Unable to contain himself, he hopped off the stool and threw his arms around her waist, burying his face in her shoulder. "I knew it! You're the absolute best, Mum."
Alicia laughed, a warm, rich sound, as she fondly tapped the back of his head. "You still know I'm the best, yet you still dared to hide things from me?"
Akin flushed, completely unable to deny her sharp observation.
Alicia gently pushed him back just enough to frame his face in her hands. She tilted his chin up, her bright eyes shining with a fierce, unwavering protectiveness.
"Baby, don't ever think that you cannot come to me if you are struggling," she said, her voice fiercely earnest. "I may not understand why you are so obsessed with this game. But I have watched you kick a ball since you were four years old. You have put in more work than anybody else your age. I will not let that be in vain just because you were too proud to ask for help."
Akin nodded slowly, his throat tightening as a sudden, unexpected prickle of tears touched his eyes.
The adult inside him knew the harsh, brutal realities of the world, but the boy standing in the kitchen just felt incredibly safe. No matter which life he was living, he was incredibly lucky she was his mum.