CHAPTER 8 — The Price of Promise
Morning headlines hit like thunder.
"THE KIBERA KID LIGHTS UP THE LEAGUE!"
"SAMUEL OTIENO: FROM SLUM STREETS TO STARDOM."
"DAVID MURIUKI'S MIRACLE BOYS DRAW AGAIN — BUT WIN HEARTS."
The photos were everywhere — Samuel smiling shyly after the match, kids chasing him down the street, fans crowding around the team bus.
For the first time, Kibera United was the talk of Nairobi.
But not everyone smiled at the attention.
In the locker room that morning, Kevin Oduor sat on the bench scrolling through his phone.
Each post, each clip, each tag — all of them featured Samuel.
No one was talking about Kevin's passes, his vision, his leadership.
Just the kid.
He locked his phone, tossed it aside, and muttered,
"Stars rise fast… and burn faster."
Moses overheard. "Relax, Kevin. The boy deserves his shine."
Kevin shot back, "Shine's fine. As long as it doesn't blind the rest of us."
Before Moses could answer, David walked in.
"Phones down," David said, dropping a file on his desk.
"Media can wait. Training can't."
He scanned the room — tension was thick, almost visible.
He knew that look in Kevin's eyes. Pride mixed with pain.
"Alright," he said, clapping once. "Same drill as yesterday. Samuel, you're on the left wing today. Kevin, control tempo."
Kevin nodded, voice flat. "Yes, Coach."
Training Field
The sun was merciless. Dust kicked up with every tackle.
At first, the rhythm was good — sharp passes, strong runs — until Kevin started freezing Samuel out.
He'd look right at him… and pass the other way.
Samuel noticed. Everyone did.
After the third time, David blew his whistle hard.
"Stop!"
The players froze.
He walked straight to Kevin.
"Is there a problem?"
Kevin didn't meet his eyes. "No, Coach."
"Then why are you ignoring your best runner?"
Kevin's jaw tightened. "Maybe I'm tired of babysitting."
The words hung heavy.
Samuel's face fell.
David's voice stayed calm, but the quiet carried power.
"Babysitting? That 'kid' is the reason this club has a pulse again."
Kevin shot back, "And who passed him the ball, Coach? Who makes this whole system work? Me."
David stepped closer, eyes cold.
"You're right, Kevin. You do make it work. But right now, your ego's running faster than your feet."
The players looked away. The silence was raw.
Finally, Kevin sighed, muttered, "Fine," and walked off toward the water cooler.
David let him go. Some lessons take time — and bruised pride.
Later That Day — Office Meeting
Mr. Kilonzo, the club owner, strolled in with two reporters in tow.
His cologne entered before he did.
"Coach Muriuki," he said brightly. "The team's hot property now! The press wants interviews, sponsor shoots, maybe even a TV segment."
David crossed his arms. "We're not ready for distractions."
Kilonzo laughed. "Distractions? This is opportunity. Do you know how many jerseys Samuel could sell? How many clicks Kevin gets online?"
David's patience thinned. "You pay me to build a team, not chase likes."
Kilonzo smiled, shark-like. "You build, I sell. Don't forget which part pays the bills."
Then he patted David's shoulder and left.
David stared after him, jaw tight. He could already feel the storm coming — fame, money, pride — the poisons that kill small teams faster than defeat.
Evening — The Rooftop
As the city lights blinked below, David found Samuel sitting on the roof of the hostel the club rented for players.
The boy was juggling a ball in silence, lost in thought.
"You didn't go out with the others?" David asked.
Samuel shook his head. "They said the press wanted pictures. I don't know how to talk to them."
David smiled faintly. "You don't need to. Let your football do the talking."
Samuel looked up. "Coach… Kevin doesn't like me now, does he?"
David exhaled. "Kevin's proud. You remind him of the version of himself that still believed football could save people."
Samuel frowned. "But isn't that what it's supposed to do?"
David looked at the city — lights flickering, horns echoing, life beating loud.
"Sometimes it saves you," he said quietly. "Other times, it tests how much you're willing to lose."
Samuel nodded slowly, eyes on the ball.
"Don't lose your smile, Samuel," David said. "It's worth more than fame."
The night breeze carried distant cheers — kids playing in the streets, shouting names that once meant nothing.
"Samuel! Kevin! Babu! Moses!"
David listened, heart full.
They were still far from glory, but something real was growing — something fragile and fierce.
Hope, reborn in dust and sweat.
And as he walked back inside, he whispered to himself,
"This is where the real fight begins."
End of Chapter 7