Victor arrived at the Crystal Palace training grounds well before the sun had fully climbed over the London skyline. The early morning air was still cool, carrying that faint freshness only spring mornings held. But it was England meaning that the good weather was definitely not going to last very long.
He locked his bike at the rack, swinging his helmet under his arm as he looked over the grounds. Most of the lads were already gathered near the far end of the field, their voices carrying on the gentle breeze. The usual clatter of cleats on turf, mixed with the light thud of balls bouncing, warmed Victor's chest in a familiar way.
'I don't really get what's going on but it's nice to see the guys again. Friday FIFA nights were fire … at least when I won.'
Thirty minutes before warm-up was a good time, he'd decided.
Early enough to collect his thoughts. He felt like he was forgetting something important?
"Oi, Victor! Over here!" a voice called out.
Michael Fletcher, the team's goalkeeper and the loudest of their bunch, waved him over with a grin that tugged at the corners of Victor's mouth. Near him, Aaron Wan-Bissaka was midway through one of his usual unfunny jokes, already drawing laughter from James Cartright and Luke Bennett. Christian Scales, leaned casually against the fence, talking with Dani Rojas, the team's pacy left winger.
Victor jogged over, the weight of his bag light against his shoulder. His mind raced, but the easy camaraderie helped smooth some of the edges.
"Thought you weren't coming today, Didn't think you'd want to show your face after how badly I cooked you at Fifa last night." Dani joked, looking up from his phone with a sarcastic grin.
"Had to be early," Victor replied, shrugging. "By the way, have we got a game today?"
Luke grinned, nudging him. "Final game of the season, mate. No way you forgot, right?"
Victor blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Of course. Today was the last match. Somehow the fact had slipped under the radar, tucked beneath the strange feeling he couldn't shake.
"... No? I'm not that forgetful. Just making sure Omrore didn't forget. Not his fault though, some people are born gifted. Manny just isn't one of them." he said in a mocking sympathetic voice.
Jokingly offended, Manny Omrore jogged in from the opposite side of the pitch, sweat already beading on his brow despite the chill.
"Hey! Go suck yourself. Don't be mad at me cuz Dani made you ragequit with PSG. Zlatan vs Victor. Or as I like to call it, the battle of the lanky twats."
Victor offered a sarcastic smile at the joke, but the rest of the team started dying.
Everything felt good. It was nice being back in the academy though he aimed to make it back onto the senior team as quickly as possible.
Then he realised what was unsettling him.
The system screen had disappeared. It was clearly there in the morning.
So why was it missing now.
Had he been imagining i -
No. He hadn't.
'Whatever that screen was it was 100% real'
Coach Ken Gillard's sharp whistle soon cut through the light chatter and through his though, gathering everyone in.
"All right, lads, warm-ups! Let's move! Last game of the season but if anyone slacks your sorry arses will be running laps for the whole summer" His voice was firm but encouraging, the kind that made you want to push yourself even on the days when your legs felt heavy.
The team fell into the usual practiced motions. Stretching, jogging laps, light passing drills.
Christian caught Victor's eye during a passing drill and smirked. "Think you can keep up with me today?"
Victor grinned back. "You're slower on your left. I'm coming for you."
The group laughed, their nerves fading.
Drills became more intense. Sharp passing, quick turns, sprinting down the wings, practicing crosses and finishing. Victor's feet moved almost automatically, his mind drifting between each touch of the ball and the strange mystery still buzzing quietly in the back of his head.
The team's 4-3-3 formation was second nature by now.
Fletcher stood alert between the posts, barking commands and encouragement.
Wan-Bissaka patrolled the right back position like a man possessed, eyes sharp and calculating. Victor trusted his skills as a fullback, plus he had prem experience playing with Aaron so there was that too.
Cartright and Bennett held the center of defense, commanding the backline with absolute confidence.
Was the confidence backed up by a lot of skill?
Not really especially not if they aimed to reach the Premier League but they would thrive in the lower leagues with their raw athleticism.
Christian Scales balanced out the left side and Victor could have sworn he was humming Trap Queen under his breath.
Midfield held a solid core with Manny Omrore anchoring the defensive role, while Andrei Ter-Berg and Hendrik Bumbercatch linked play with precision passes. Tiki taka for days.
Up front, Victor spearheaded the attack, flanked by Jason and Mason.
"Victor, did you get your hands on super soldier serum or just been holding out on us? When di–"
Suddenly, the roar of engines and footsteps echoed from the main entrance cutting Ter-Berg's words off.
Victor glanced up, watching as the visiting Swansea U18 squad filed onto the grounds, their bright white kits with the swan crest stark against the green pitch.
Their goalkeeper, Lewis Thomas was the first to step out, his gloves already on and scanning the field.
Their defense marched out as a unit. Victor thought to himself that they looked too serious for the last match of the season especially with the holiday round the corner. But their coach probably gave them the usual speech all coaches give: "Take this seriously blah blah laps or something".
Right back Joe Lewis, center backs Joe Rodon and Brandon Cooper, and left back Matthew Blake.
Their midfield was anchored by Dylan Thomas and Jacob Cook.
Ahead of them, their attacking trio was made up of Daniel James as their right winger, Kyle Copp as their attacking midfielder, and Liam Cullen as their left winger.
And upfront stood Owain Jones, the Swansea striker known for his quick feet and clinical finishing. Their substitutes walked out behind them.
Victor recognised some of their names. Some of them had been in the prem in 2018.
Ken Gillard strode toward the opposing coach, nodding politely before turning back to his team.
"Keep your heads," he reminded them. "This is what we've worked for. And once again don't be lazy because it's the last match. Black, Akiotu, Dubois, when you don't have the ball upfront, track back and press them. Let's start the summer with a win."
Victor paced alongside his teammates as the Swansea lads began their warm-ups.
The usual banter between them faded, replaced by focused silence. The final game of the season was no place for distractions, especially if they didn't want the gaffer shouting at them after the match..
Minutes slipped by as both teams moved through last minute drills.
Victor's legs were still a bit tired from the match against Fulham the night before. But this was a U18 match. Now that he had gotten a taste of prem football. He felt no fear.
'Sorry to the rest of the guys but this match is mine. If I was able to get past prem defenders, I can commit war crimes on these lot' Victor thought silently to himself whilst he mentally smirked.
The mysterious glowing system screen that had haunted his morning remained absent, and he welcomed the silence that came with it.
….
The final moments before kickoff arrived.
Both teams lined up in their usual formations behind the halfway line.
The Eagles lined up in a 4-3-3.
The Swans lined up in a 4-2-3-1.
The referee stepped forward, raising a coin in the morning light.
A hush fell over the players as they mentally readied themselves for the match .
Victor's teammates exchanged confident glances.
The match was about to start.
The referee flipped the coin high into the air.
Time seemed to slow as the coin spun and made its way back to the ref's hand.
Heads or tails.
"Right lads, its the final match of the season. Play fair and play well. Don't make me start pulling out cards because instead of a red, your parents will be getting phone calls.
Now, captains call it"
The Swansea captain Kyle Copp chose heads. Victor chose tails.
The ref gave him a small smile "Bad luck kiddo. The start goes to Palace."
…
John Carver pulled up to the training ground just as the referee's whistle pierced the air, signaling the start of the final match of the season. He killed the engine, the soft hum fading into the background as he glanced out of the car window, looking at the pitch. The teams were already lined up, looking composed.
Carver adjusted his jacket and stepped out, feeling the cool morning air against his skin. No clipboard. No official badge. Today, he was just another face in the crowd.
That was exactly what Pardew wanted.
Time to see who was ready and who was not.