Ayodeji was still watching the field when he noticed a few players from the red team walking toward him.
He blinked, confused at first, until he realized they were heading straight in his direction.
"Hey, bro," the one in front called out, sweat glistening down his forehead. "You play ball?"
Ayodeji hesitated. His gaze flicked behind them, noting that they were a player less. "Eh…more or less" he said cautiously.
The player nodded quickly, glancing back at the others as if that was all the answer he needed. "Perfect. Our guy's injured, and we need a man to fill in. Just help us finish the game. You in?"
Ayodeji's began to beat faster.
He hadn't planned on touching a ball today. He didn't even know how well he could play outside the system.
But the thought of finally playing ball in real life was too tempting to refuse.
"Yeah," he said finally, standing up and brushing the dust from his shorts. "I can fill in."
"Nice!" one of them grinned, clapping his shoulder. "Just stick to the left wing, ehn? No stress, we just need someone who can move the ball a bit and press."
"Got it but I don't have boots to wear"
"That's no problem, we got you"
As the players jogged back toward the pitch together, Ayodeji glanced down at his hands, slightly trembling. It wasn't fear. It was anticipation.
Ayodeji was just about to follow the boys back toward the pitch when a sharp voice cut through the noise.
"No."
Ayodeji turned. Raphael was standing a few meters away, hands on his hips, bib damp with sweat, expression twisted between shock and anger.
The players slowed, confused. "Uh… he said he could fill in—"
"I said no," Raphael repeated, stepping closer. "He's not playing."
Ayodeji frowned. "What's the problem?"
"The problem Deji," Raphael snapped, "is that you just got discharged not long ago! You think because you can walk now, you're suddenly fine to run around in this sun?"
The red team players exchanged awkward glances. One of them scratched the back of his head. "We just need a man, bro. He said he can play—"
"He can't," Raphael cut in, not taking his eyes off his brother. "You don't know his condition. I'm not letting him risk anything."
Ayodeji clenched his jaw, trying to keep calm. "Raphael, it's just a casual game. I'm not running a marathon or playing full ninety here."
"That's how it starts," Raphael said firmly. "A 'casual game.' Next thing, you're in the hospital again."
For a moment, silence hung between them — only broken by the faint whistle from the referee calling the players back.
Ayodeji sighed. He understood where his brother was coming from, but something inside him refused to sit back this time.
He looked Raphael in the eye. "You know that I've been healed, right? I'm fine. I'm not the same anymore."
Raphael's gaze softened for a moment, but only for a moment. "Fine or not, you're not playing."
The players began to step back awkwardly, realizing the argument was more than just about football.
Then Ayodeji did something unexpected. He smiled—calm, almost confident. "I'm playing but if I'm not fine, then you won't need to worry. I'll be back on the bench in two minutes."
Raphael stared at him, speechless, as Ayodeji started walking toward the field with the red team.
***
The red team's captain clapped his hands together, snapping everyone back. "Alright, boys," he said, voice firm. "We lost focus for a second, that's all. We can still take this. Stick tighter on their midfielders — they're finding too much space between the lines. And watch that right back; that guy is getting too confident."
They nodded, wiping sweat off their faces, their energy settling between frustration and determination.
The captain turned to Ayodeji, who was tightening the borrowed boots.
"I hope it isn't too tight," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "We had to rent it last minute."
"It's fine," Ayodeji said. "Thanks… even though I didn't have cash."
"Don't worry about that. Just play well. Especially against their right back—your brother, yeah?"
Ayodeji nodded.
"I don't know what's happening between you two," the captain continued, "but I hope you're actually fit."
"I am. He's just overreacting."
"Good. Because I need you to shut that guy down. Him and their midfielder—they're killing us."
Ayodeji glanced cross the field where Raphael's team was laughing, slapping hands preparing for the second half.
But little did they know that it won't be easy.
Players began spreading out for kickoff. Team Green had the ball.
Ayodeji exhaled softly as he stared past the field, trying not to look at his brother who was staring daggers.
He then felt a pressure, like a soft ping at the back of his mind.
[You're playing your first match now, didn't I tell you something might happen] FEI's voice softly echoed in his head.
'Yeah and it mysteriously happened.' Ayodeji replied 'Did you do that?'
[No, I did not. Like I said, I'm just a guide for you to reach your goals; not answer your every wish.]
[What do I look like to you?]
'Okay, okay, I get it.....jeez' Ayodeji couldn't help but roll his eyes.
[You're playing as a left winger for your first game]
[Want me to assign that as your position?]
'Sure' He responded 'If I don't play well today, I might play next for them in a position I don't want.'
[At request of user, assigning position....]
[Loading...]
[Position Assigned!]
The second half kicked off with a sharp whistle.
The green team didn't waste a second—they tapped the ball back to their center-back, who immediately returned it to the keeper.
Pressure was coming fast, so the keeper took two quick steps and launched the ball high into the sky.
Ayodeji's eyes snapped upward.
The ball spiraled above everyone, climbing, turning into a black dot against the evening sky before falling again with a whistle-like spin.
Both sides clashed for possession. The dry soil scattered under cleats, shouts overlapping as elbows and shoulders met.
The red team's midfielder, Tunde, jumped early and got a solid header, sending the ball wide toward Ayodeji's flank.
Ayodeji didn't hesitate. He sprinted into position, his boots cutting through the dust. The ball came down; he chest controlled it perfectly, letting it drop just enough to meet his next touch.
He tapped it forward with his instep, shifting past the first approaching midfielder as if his feet already knew the path.
Raphael, sprinting across the wing, braced himself but Ayodeji already angled the ball slightly, then rolled it outside his foot and slipped it into the path of a supporting teammate.
"Wait—what?" Raphael's voice almost escaped him. His eyes widened.
Ayodeji's teammate received the ball and, without hesitation, played it back into Ayodeji's path.
The green defenders closed in quickly, but he dodged, weaved, and accelerated, his first touch flowing naturally into a sharp, inside cut.
One defender lunged to intercept and stumbled as Ayodeji's boot flicked the ball through a narrow gap, leaving him flat footed.
The ball came again, and he lifted it slightly over another closing defender, catching it mid-step, then spun inside the box.
A low pass to the striker, timed perfectly. The striker's touch was off, the ball rolling harmlessly past the post.
A near miss. The crowd groaned as well as the Red players, lots of "That was a real good chance to waste" and "That was probably their best chance all game"
'Argh....' Ayodeji rolled his eyes 'should have scored that'
He jogged back into position, not even caring to look at his brother as the green team took the goal kick.
Green reorganised and came at them again. A quick green one-two on the edge of red's box opened a lane; a low cross was drilled across the six-yard area and only a desperate block stopped a sure goal.
The crowd roared at the close call, even Ayodeji felt his pulse spike.
Red tried to build patiently after that as time went on. Their defensive midfielder sprayed a pass to the flank; Ayodeji received, turned, and nudged a pass into the feet of the advancing central midfielder.
The ball moved with crisp, controlled rhythm—right to centre, back to left and Ayodeji kept showing for it, always available, always balancing width and the option to cut inside.
At one stage he dropped deeper, receiving the ball near halfway. A green winger burst forward and Green looked to quickly overload their right.
Ayodeji saw the space and executed a neat one-two with the midfielder—first touch out, return ball into his stride—and he surged into the pocket.
Raphael reacted immediately, sprinting across to cover his flank. He expected a clumsy touch or heavy first touch that would give him the advantage.
Instead Ayodeji's control was clean; his feet were compact, his decision quick. Raphael closed the angle, but Ayodeji's movement wasn't just a show—it carved the defence open.
In quick succession, Ayodeji dragged the ball inside with a delicate sole-roll, leaving one man reaching for air.
He played a slick reverse pass that split two midfielders and found the right midfielder in space. That midfielder tried a driven cross into the box but it was smothered by Green's keeper.
Green regrouped defensively, tightening, stepping up, pressing the ball carrier. Yet Ayodeji kept slipping away from pressure, always finding the free lane for the next pass as the red team was unconsciously building the play around him.
The match continued at a furious pace.
Team Green tried to press higher, forcing mistakes from the reds. A few long balls went astray, a few tackles too rough, but both sides were alive, sharp, fighting for rhythm.
Then came the scare.
Suddenly, Green broke again. A midfielder stole the ball, surged upfield, and threaded a dangerous ball to their winger—a clean opening.
The winger cut inside and unleashed a shot that might've curled in, but it lacked enough bend, drifting just outside the post.
Another sigh from both sides and the crowd.
Minutes later, Red team regained possession, moving the ball calmly again. Tunde spread play wide, receiving the ball back before flicking it through the lines.
Ayodeji drifted into space near the touchline, looking over his shoulder once before stepping into the path of the incoming pass…
The real opening was coming.
He controlled it with a smooth touch, letting the ball settle in front of him like it was an extension of his body. Raphael was already sprinting to cover him, eyes sharp, body leaning forward in anticipation.
Ayodeji didn't panic. He jogged for a moment, sizing up the defender. Then, with a sudden burst, he dribbled forward.
Raphael lunged, trying to cut the angle but Ayodeji shifted the ball outside, brushed past him with a subtle shoulder drop, and accelerated. Raphael stumbled, barely regaining balance, a look of pure shock on his face.
A midfielder closed in, thinking he could slow Ayodeji. He tapped the ball lightly to the inside, letting it roll between his feet.
A defender lunged to intercept, but Ayodeji's next touch was already perfect—quick, precise, dragging the ball just far enough to slip through the approaching pressure.
Now he had space. His stride was fluid, controlled, as though he'd been running down this wing for years.
A striker cut into the channel ahead, calling for the ball. Ayodeji's head lifted briefly. He measured the timing, the distance and didn't hesitate.
As the keeper charged out, Ayodeji opened his body and swept a low, driven pass across the face of goal.
The striker ran onto it, connected cleanly, sending the ball rolling into the open goal.
Inside the field, everyone froze for a second before it caught up to them.
"GOALLL!"
The red team exploded in excitement as the crowd cheered them on—shouts, laughter, slaps on Ayodeji's back.
Someone grabbed his shoulders, shaking him with excitement. The striker who scored pointed at him, grinning like he couldn't believe his luck.
Raphael just stood there, hands on knees, chest heaving.
His eyes never left Ayodeji.
——
{Thank you for the power stone, 4HO_TEA}
• if you like the story, please leave a review.
• kindly push the story forward with your power stones.