First Glimpse of Brilliance

Over the next few days, Maël's life gradually settled into a regular, stable routine.

He spent most of every day wandering between a few fixed areas, either training or eating. At night, he returned to the dormitory, washed up, and then fell into a deep, drowsy sleep.

The overloaded training schedule gradually began to take a toll on his body.

He had pulled muscles in several places, and before every training session, he had to spend a long time warming up before daring to make any movements.

"Good thing it's exhausting but fulfilling."

He himself felt no negativity about it. Compared to everyone else, he already had a great opportunity.

If he didn't give it his all, wouldn't that be wasting a priceless opportunity? On June 16, Thursday, the U17 Team's morning training session focused on finishing ability.

It could also be called specialized shooting training.

His chance to show off had finally arrived. Maël stood in line, refreshed and brimming with energy, waiting for it to begin.

"Goalkeepers, warm up separately. Everyone else, follow Captain Gilbert."

At Head Coach Hans's command, the players began jogging and warming up behind the team's Number 10 captain, Gilbert. Quite a few of them also began whispering among themselves.

"I heard someone's been spending all day at the training ground and in the gym lately?"

Someone spoke teasingly, seemingly laying the groundwork for someone else.

The moment he finished speaking, Ian immediately chimed in maliciously. "Yeah, he's incredibly hardworking. You can't see him in the dormitory at all. He's given up all his entertainment."

"Hard work."

Someone gave an exaggeratedly sarcastic assessment. "Hopefully, he can use that hard work to make it into the Premier League."

"What a joke."

As he ran, Ian laughed. "If hard work alone could get you into the Premier League, the world wouldn't need talent. I'd say he's about to leave the team and is getting desperate."

"Leaving the team would be great."

Someone else glanced at Maël with a laugh and shook his head. "I heard he eats at the club every day and doesn't spend a single penny of his own on living expenses. Isn't that just being a pure parasite?"

Their voices weren't quiet. Almost everyone warming up could hear them.

"Warm up properly!"

Captain Gilbert spoke up to stop them, clearly unable to listen any longer.

The few of them reluctantly shut their mouths, putting on expressions as though they were suppressing laughter. It was utterly inexplicable.

Maël simply ignored these "geniuses." Getting angry and arguing with people like them would only lower himself, and it wasn't necessary.

He could just let them remain forever immersed in their own world, fiddling with their worthless sense of superiority.

He would always keep moving forward. Before long, everyone would be on different levels.

Being able to laugh now meant nothing. Being able to keep laughing was the real skill.

The warm-up soon ended, and shooting training began immediately afterward.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The first drill was a headed finishing exercise from high crosses. Players on both wings continuously sent in crosses for the players in the middle to challenge for and shoot.

"Great ball! I've got it!"

"Ah, mine!"

"It's fine, keep them coming!"

Encouragement and cries of regret rang out together, and everyone was enthusiastic and excited.

Maël's performance in this drill wasn't particularly impressive. Heading had never been his strong suit.

If he needed it in the future, he could grind out the proficiency for heading and train himself to become good at it.

For now, he would continue focusing on strength and Long Shots.

After the headed finishing drill ended, they moved on to low crosses and tap-ins, dynamic shooting inside the penalty area, and high-speed One-on-One finishing.

Maël's performance remained average and unremarkable.

"Next drill, long-range shooting!"

Only when Hans announced the Long Shot training item did Maël finally raise his head, his gaze turning confident.

Captain Gilbert was the first to stand beside the arc of the penalty area, waiting for Hans, who was beside the pile of balls, to pass one over so he could control it and shoot.

"Bang!"

Hans sent a rolling ball forward. Gilbert quickly followed, controlled it while facing the goal, and struck a Curled Shot.

He had applied a clever touch to the shot. He hadn't put too much power into it, but the angle was vicious.

The team's starting Goalkeeper, Hopkins, instantly found himself facing a major threat. He threw himself toward the ball, but in the end, he was a step too slow, and it slipped past his fingertips.

"Swish!" The crisp sound of the ball brushing the net rang out. Gilbert, the scorer, leaped high into the air and celebrated with a motion resembling a Rising Dragon Punch.

"Beautiful!"

Hans cast him an approving look, and quite a few players also smiled and applauded.

Normally, their training atmosphere was quite good. There were just a few people who disrupted the harmony.

"Bang! Bang! Bang...!"

One player after another ran to the designated position and completed their shots.

The ratio of goals to misses was roughly one to one.

Hans's reminders rang out from time to time, carrying across the entire training ground. "Your planting foot is too far away. Do you normally shoot like that?"

"Defender's technique! Even my grandmother could hit more accurately than you!"

"Not bad, but you need to be more confident! Straighten your insteps, don't relax them! You're all seventeen years old. I don't want to remind you about the details every single day."

As he spoke, he rolled another ball toward the area near the penalty arc.

A figure wearing Number 31 suddenly burst forward. After taking one look at the goal's general position, he planted his supporting foot firmly. His right leg folded back at high speed before he whipped it forward and struck the ball!

"Bang!!"

After a dull impact, grass clippings exploded beneath his foot. The ball flew toward the goal trailing a blur, moving too fast for the naked eye to follow.

The team's starting Goalkeeper, Hopkins, had only just lowered his center of gravity when he turned around dumbfounded. He hadn't even had time to judge which direction the ball was flying.

Only instinct made him turn his head to the right.

"Clang!!" He saw the ball smash against the inside of the crossbar, making the entire frame tremble violently. It then changed direction and brushed into the net.

The scene instantly fell into dead silence. Everyone seemed so shaken by the shot that they were unable to speak.

It wasn't that no one had used an instep strike before, nor that no one had scored with that technique.

The main issue was that the ball was simply too damn fast. Over 100 miles per hour? And that angle—nearly a ten?

"Oh!"

Hopkins was the first to open his mouth wide. He abruptly turned toward the shooter. "Maël, that was...?"

Someone finished the exclamation for him. "That was outrageous!"

"Even if the First Team's goalkeeper Fabianski had been standing there just now, he might not have been able to save it."

Captain Gilbert furrowed his brow, looking somewhat unable to understand what he had seen. Then he suddenly shook his head. "No, not 'might.' Definitely!"

Ian and several of his companions exchanged stunned looks. But soon, they came up with a new excuse. "You just got lucky, right?"

"Definitely luck. I can hit the top corner sometimes too, and I'm still a defender."

"He doesn't have that level of ability. Otherwise, he would've gotten a contract extension already."

"Do it again!" Head Coach Hans gave them no chance to argue. He quickly rolled another ball toward Maël.

A strike that powerful didn't look like a fluke. He wanted to see it again.

Maël watched the incoming ball, lowered his center of gravity, and used the outside of his foot to cushion it one step to the right. His body followed immediately, and his left foot planted beside the ball.

"Bang!!"

Just as he had practiced through countless days and nights, he folded his right leg back and violently snapped it forward, blasting the ball toward the goal.