Ayodeji blinked, then gasped. The familiar ceiling of his room stared back at him. The air felt cool, sterile, and still.
The faint hum of the AC filled the silence.
He lay there for a few seconds, trying to process it. The beautiful pitch, the mannequin, the rush of adrenaline—it all vanished as if it had never existed. He looked down at himself. The hospital shirt he wore was dry, not a single drop of sweat on it. His breathing was calm and steady. Even his heartbeat felt smooth and strong.
"...So it's true," he murmured. "No fatigue, no exhaustion."
He swung his legs off the bed and stood. His feet met the cool tiles—no wobble, no imbalance. His body responded effortlessly, surprising him at how fast he stood.
He took a cautious step forward, then another. Each one was natural and controlled—something that would've been impossible just last night.
There were no muscle pains or soreness from the workout session. He rotated his arms around his shoulder joint and bounced on his feet to check for any discomfort.
Ayodeji was shocked with how much better his body felt to him. A faint grin spread across his lips. "Unbelievable."
He grabbed the remote, switching the television on. Like a silent mockery, the football channel was already replaying the highlights of the match. Nearly muttering a curse, he sat back on the bed but watched along.
Troost-Ekong was about to take a penalty after a foul was committed on Lookman. Ayodeji exhaled with Troost-Ekong, like he was the one taking the penalty.
"Troost-Ekong from the spot, can he make something out of this? YES, HE CAN!! TROOST-EKONG FROM THE SPOT, CONFIDENTLY DISPATCHED INTO THE NET!! WOLLACOT WENT THE OTHER WAY, AND THE SKIPPER MAKES IT 1-1, AND NIGERIA ARE RIGHT BACK IN THIS!!"
The next part was Etebo making a swift turn into the right wing, stunning the Ghanaian defenders marking as he whipped a low cross that bounced off the leg of a Ghanaian centre back.
"Etebo making a lowball into the middle, AND THERE'S THE OVERHEAD KICK FROM VICTOR OSIMHEN!!!" The groans and sighs from the crowd was loud "Well, that would have been a sensational goal but no 'woulds' and 'ifs' in football."
The next highlight was Bassey crossing the ball from the Nigerian half, travelling far and high into the edge of the box. The aerial ball was won by Musa, who headed it straight to Osimhen, attempting a volley that was off target.
"The spectacular effort of Victor Osimhen!! it wasn't far away; that would have been a sensational goal."
The camera stayed on Osimhen, who was on his knees, frustration visible on his face as he knew they were running out of time.
The next highlight was the end of the match, as the Ghanaian staff and bench players ran to the pitch to celebrate, showing a sharp contrast with the defeated Nigerian players.
"AND GHANA HAS DONE IT!! GHANA HAVE QUALIFIED FOR THE WORLD CUP!! THEY HAVE BEATEN THEIR WEST AFRICAN RIVALS NIGERIA ON AWAY GOALS AFTER A TENSE SECOND LEG HERE IN ABUJA. YOU JUST HAD TO BE HERE TO WITNESS THIS!! THOMAS PARTEY WITH AN EARLY STRIKE TO GIVE THE BLACK STARS THE LEAD, TROOST-EKONG FROM THE SPOT TO RESTORE PARITY FOR THE SUPER EAGLES, BUT IT WAS NOT ENOUGH TO OVERTURN THE AGGREGATE LEAD. AND THE FINAL SCORE READS NIGERIA ONE, GHANA ONE. GOODBYE AND GOODNIGHT TO YOU ALL."
An advertisement came up immediately the commentary ended; Ayodeji switched the television off with a sigh. "Ah fuck, no World Cup tournament for us," he muttered. "Besides, if we had qualified, is this the same way we would play there?"
He sighed once more as he decided to let it go; they had failed to qualify, and that was that. Nothing was ever going to change that fact; they just had to learn from their losses and prepare ahead for the next international tournament. It's not like anything could magically alter the results.
Speaking of magic, he was someone being lucky enough to experience one. Who knows, by the time the next international competition comes, he might be on the pitch sporting the Nigerian jersey.
"Open Player Profile" Ayodeji said in his mind, to view the progress of his exhausting and rigorous training.
....
[Profile]
[Name: Ayodeji Olaleke]
[Age: 16]
[Height: 5'9]
[Position: None {Unassigned}]
[Foot: Right]
[Overall Rating: 39 (↑7)]
[Attacking Prowess: 28]
[Ball Control: 30]
[Dribbling: 36 (↑10)]
[Low Pass: 31]
[Lofted Pass: 29]
[Finishing: 44 (↑20)]
[Place Kicking: 45 (↑10)]
[Swerve: 27]
[Header: 22]
[Defensive Prowess: 26]
[Ball Winning: 25]
[Kicking Power: 30]
[Speed: 43 (↑10)]
[Explosive Power: 38 (↑10)]
[Body Balance: 42 (↑10)]
[Jump: 29]
[Weak Foot Usage: 1]
[Weak Foot Accuracy: 1]
[Stamina: 46 (↑20)]
[Skill Cards￬]
....
"Thirty-two to thirty-nine within a day is crazy." Ayodeji couldn't hide the joy on his face as he stared at the screen. "If this could happen just today, what would it be looking like at the end of the week?"
Ayodeji's heart pounded with excitement as his mind raced with possibilities, his imagination running wild as he realised his life was changing.
If he could make a drastic change at the end of the week, how it looks like in the next three months, six or a year?
He could see himself playing in the top leagues ― either the Premier League, La Liga, Serie A, Bundesliga or even Ligue 1.
He could see himself scoring the winner of a final, be it Champions League, AFCON or even dare to dream – the World Cup, and this time, it wouldn't be a dream or an imagination. It would be reality.
[It's really nice to dream, you just have to put the effort in order to get there.] FEI responded in his head.
"And that's by?" Ayodeji asked, half expecting the answer.
[Training. You would have to train every single day to better yourself and be patient, in no time you would be soaring.]
[But, simply because you're gifted a blessing doesn't mean you should take it for granted.]
"What do you mean?"
[What I mean is, do not get relaxed with skipping training. If you do that, your stats would begin to drop in the same manner at which you rise.]
[You're going to be the most talented player in the world but I'd advise you never to be comfortable or lack the discipline you would need.]
[Several talented players failed to instill their names as the greatest or one of the greatest because they lacked discipline to keep working hard.]
Ayodeji slowly nodded as he absorbed the words, his resolve steeling. His body was no longer going to be a prison but his weapon.
His visit to cloud nine was cut short as a nurse and a food service worker both stepped into the room. Silence stretched for some seconds as they both stared at him.
"Uh..." The nurse finally regained composure, although her eyes darted all over where he was as she tried to process it all. "You're not supposed to remove those wires; they're to help you with your condition."
Ayodeji ignored her and stared at the tray in the hands of the food service worker. Adding to their shock, he got off the bed and walked to them, taking the tray before bouncing back on the bed and digging into the food.
The meal didn't feel like a five-star gourmet, but it felt like one because, to him, it felt like a whole day since he had eaten, but it had been at most a minute or two.
'I'm not even that starved and there's no fatigue so why do i feel so hungry?' Ayodeji questioned as he munched each bite.
[Because your body is growing and you need to eat more and well. You're no longer the weak, frail boy you used tobe; now you need every ounce of nutrient you can get.]
He nodded, muttering under his breath, "Yeah, I see that. Makes sense." The nurse turned to face the food service worker. "I'm going to get the doctor; don't allow him to step out of the room."
As the door closed behind her, Ayodeji held up the empty tray to the worker. "Could I get seconds?"
****
The doctor lowered his stethoscope for what felt like the tenth time, his brows knitted tightly. "Alright… one more time," he muttered. He turned to the nurse. "Run the ECG again. And this time, check the calibration before you start."
"Yes, sir."
The machine whirred softly as it came to life. The small screen displayed the familiar green waves, tracing Ayodeji's heartbeat — smooth, steady, unbroken.
The doctor leaned forward, eyes narrowing, waiting for a single anomaly, a skipped beat, anything.
But the lines stayed perfect.
He exhaled, then frowned. "No… run it again."
The nurse glanced at him. "Sir, this is the third time."
"Then make it the fourth," he snapped, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Ayodeji watched quietly as the process repeated — the electrodes placed, the hum of the machine, the soft beep that followed every pulse. Again, the same result: flawless readings.
The doctor stood straight, pressing his fingers against his temple. "This… doesn't make sense. None of it does."
The nurse looked at the printed results in her hand, flipping through them as if expecting the numbers to magically change. "Sir, all tests are identical. Heart rate — normal. Oxygen saturation — perfect. Blood pressure — optimal. Even his muscle response came back clean."
The doctor turned toward her slowly. "That can't be right. This boy was admitted for severe cardiomyopathy — his heart function was less than thirty percent just last week."
He stared at Ayodeji, searching for a sign of strain or deception, but the boy only sat there calmly, legs crossed, watching them both with mild curiosity.
"Tell me, Ayodeji," the doctor asked finally, his tone lower now, almost cautious. "how do you feel right now?"
Ayodeji hesitated for a second, then shrugged lightly. "Honestly? Better than ever. No pain, no weakness, nothing."
The doctor blinked, half-expecting him to be joking. "You're certain? No fatigue? No tightness in the chest?"
"Not at all. I even walked around a little earlier," Ayodeji said. "Didn't feel weird or anything."
The doctor took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, muttering under his breath. "I don't understand. I've run the tests four times — I even used two different machines. There's nothing wrong with him."
The nurse and doctor exchanged a look — that silent, confused kind only professionals make when something breaks logic.
"I don't understand," the doctor murmured, flipping through Ayodeji's file. "You were admitted with advanced cardiomyopathy. The tests from last week clearly showed a severely weakened heart muscle, yet now…" He tapped the current result sheet. "This isn't recovery… this is complete regeneration."
"Regenerated?" the nurse repeated, disbelief in her tone. "You mean—"
"Yes," he said, eyes narrowing. "It's as if the tissue repaired itself overnight."
Silence filled the room for a few seconds — the faint hum of the air conditioner was the only sound.
Ayodeji, suppressing a grin, looked at the doctor and asked innocently, "So that means I'm fine, right?"
The doctor hesitated, studying him closely before finally nodding. "Physiologically? Yes. But medically…" He trailed off, still searching for words. "Medically, this shouldn't be possible."
He removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I'll need to run more tests, but… for now, I'd say you're in perfect health."
Ayodeji smiled faintly. "That's good enough for me."
The doctor sighed, clearly still in disbelief, before motioning to the nurse. "Alright, wrap things up. Let's schedule a follow-up for tomorrow. I need time to review all of this."
"Doctor," Ayodeji called out as the man almost stepped out. "Yes?" The middle aged man replied, the shock still evident on his face.
"Can I at least walk around? Get some fresh air and sunlight, it has been a long time since I stepped out."
Silence stretched for seconds as the man weighed his answer, a bit unsure of what to say. "Yes, you can do that" he finally replied "however, I'll advise you to take it easy."
Ayodeji responded with a smile as the door closed, leaving him all alone.
***
Ayodeji was finally ready to stretch his legs. The nurse told him not to go too far — "just walk around the compound a bit" so that's exactly what he planned to do.
Stepping out through the hospital's main doors, he squinted almost immediately. The Lagos sun hit him like a flashbang.
"Ah–ah, what is this?" He muttered, shielding his eyes. "Why's the sun fighting for its life?"
Even within the hospital compound, he could still hear Lagos doing what Lagos did best.
The faint blare of car horns leaked in from beyond the walls, mixing with the shout of a hawker trying to sell bottled water to drivers outside the gate.
Somewhere near the parking lot, a generator coughed to life with the familiar "vroom–vroom–pop" rhythm that could only belong to one thing — Nepa had struck again.
Ayodeji chuckled to himself. "Yup… definitely still Lagos."
The hospital grounds were quiet otherwise — clean paths, trimmed hedges, a few parked cars gleaming under the sun. He walked slowly along the walkway, his hospital slippers slapping softly against the concrete.
Every step still amazed him. No wobbling, no pain. Just movement — smooth, light, real.
As he walked, he passed by a small group ahead — a man in his thirties laughing with two friends as they strolled side by side.
The man still wore a faded hospital gown, but his friends carried his bag and discharge papers like they'd just won something.
"Guy, you have finally escaped o!" one of them said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't do anything that will bring you back here again, please."
The patient laughed, still a bit frail but glowing with relief. "Ah! Me? Never again! I have seen enough needles for one lifetime."
His other friend shook his head dramatically. "You said that now. Just wait till you see pepper soup and cold malt waiting at home."
They all burst into laughter, the kind that came easy — loud, carefree, familiar. The sound bounced softly against the hospital walls.
Ayodeji slowed his steps, watching them from a few meters behind. For a second, he thought about how natural their laughter sounded.
Just like him, how the man didn't even look like he'd been sick just days ago.
He smiled faintly to himself; he'd never had moments like that. No one to tease him about discharge papers or argue over who'd pay for food.
Most of his hospital stays were silent, just him and the steady hum of machines.
His parents visited whenever they could, and his older brother always dropped by after work, pretending not to worry too much.
Sometimes, after they left, the silence in his room felt heavier than his illness ever did.
But friends? He'd never really had the chance to make any. For as long as he could remember, sickness had been a part of his life.
He looked away before the group noticed him, their laughter fading into the hum of the city beyond the gate.
A few steps later, he spotted it — an empty plastic bottle rolling lazily near the curb. He tilted his head, a grin tugging at his lips. "Well, well. Guess I found my first training cone."
He gave it a light nudge with his foot. The bottle rolled smoothly, straight and clean. "Alright," he whispered, glancing around like someone about to commit a crime. "Let's test this out."
He took two careful steps, adjusted his stance without thinking ― body angled slightly, weight balanced. He let the bottle settle…then swung his foot.
The bottle shot forward with a surprising curve, bouncing twice before rolling across the walkway and hitting a concrete flowerpot dead center.
Ayodeji froze. "…Did I just—?"
The bottle wobbled to a stop. He looked at his foot, then at the pot, then at his foot again. Slowly, a grin spread across his face.
"Okay," he said under his breath, fighting a laugh. "That was clean."
His eyes drifted to the hospital gate, now empty after the man had passed through. The thought struck him: soon… very soon, he would be like that too. Free from hospital walls and wires, stepping fully into the world, testing himself, challenging himself.
The idea alone made his stomach tighten with excitement. He wasn't just healed, he was ready.
Ayodeji kicked the bottle one more time, watching it roll straight and true. A laugh escaped him. "Soon," he whispered under his breath, "pretty soon"
——
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