Chapter 27 – Wounds, Warnings, and Warriors in the Making
The morning after the federation's temporary ruling, Kibera FC's locker room felt heavier than ever. Not because of defeat, but because of fear—fear of what the second league would mean for their futures, their families, and their dreams. The scandal had thrown a dark cloud over everything, and even though the investigation was still ongoing, the consequences were already hitting them like cold rain.
Coach Barasa stood quietly at the center of the room, watching his players dress in silence. For the first time in months, not a single joke, not a single argument, not even the sound of studs tapping on the floor. Just breathing. Heavy, tired breathing.
He cleared his throat.
"Gentlemen… look at me."
They raised their heads slowly.
"We are not dead. We are wounded, yes. But wounded lions still bite."
Lawrence shifted on his bench, his eyes still red from lack of sleep. "Coach… if we go to the second league, some of us will lose our contracts."
Coach nodded. "True."
"And our salaries will drop," added Oduor.
"Also true."
"And the media is calling us the cursed team," Mutiso said with a shaky laugh.
Coach smiled faintly. "Let them call us whatever they want. Names do not win or lose seasons. Hearts do."
The boys exchanged glances. For a moment, the room seemed lighter.
But then the door opened and Team Manager Wekesa walked in holding a thick brown envelope. Everyone froze. Whenever Wekesa entered with documents, it was never good news.
He took a long breath.
"Listen up, boys. The federation will announce the final ruling in seventy-two hours. The investigation is progressing fast, and everything points to… a major punishment."
"What kind of punishment?" Lawrence asked sharply.
Wekesa locked eyes with him.
"Relegation to the second league. Immediate."
The room erupted.
"What?!"
"For what crime?!"
"We didn't pay anyone!"
"This is unfair!"
"Those guys from Royal framed us!"
Coach slammed his hands together once. "QUIET!"
The players fell silent.
"We don't panic," he said. "We prepare. Whether we stay up or go down, we will be ready."
Wekesa placed the envelope on the bench. "Inside is the provisional second-league schedule. If we're relegated, we start from Matchday One next month. I suggest we begin training as if it's already confirmed."
Some players dropped their heads. Some clenched their fists. Some simply stared into space.
But then a surprising voice cut through the tension—Jeremiah's.
"We fight."
Every head turned.
Jeremiah stood up slowly, his chest rising with determination. "This club fed us, trained us, trusted us. We owe it everything. If we go to the second league, we dominate the second league. If the world laughs at us, we silence the world."
The normally quiet winger, Daudi, nodded firmly. "They think Kibera FC will die. Let's prove we're only evolving."
One by one, every player stood. A silent agreement passed through the room—a vow.
Coach Barasa smiled proudly. "That's the spirit. And since you are all ready, let me tell you the truth."
The room leaned forward.
"Second league or not, every big club in history faced a storm. Barcelona. Manchester United. Napoli. All had seasons where everything broke. But the ones who rose again were the ones who didn't quit."
Lawrence stepped forward. "Coach… how do we rise?"
"With development," Coach replied. "We fix everything. Fitness. Discipline. Tactical awareness. Strength. Mentality. By the time the second-league teams see us… we will be unrecognizable."
He clapped his hands loudly.
"Training begins in twenty minutes. Today we start rebuilding."
—
Twenty minutes later, the pitch came alive.
The energy was different—harder, hotter, desperate but focused. The players almost looked like soldiers preparing for war.
Coach Barasa, together with Trainer Sospeter, pushed them through an intense session:
High-intensity sprints
Strength circuits using old tires and sandbags
Pressing drills designed for faster transitions
Ball-control exercises under pressure
Quick-decision passing patterns
By the time the sun began to fade, their shirts were drenched. Sweat dripped from their hair, their elbows, even their socks. But nobody complained. Nobody quit.
During the water break, Lawrence sat beside Mutiso on the grass.
"You think we can really destroy the second league?" he asked.
Mutiso chuckled. "My brother… we won't just destroy it. We will burn it to ashes and rise like kings."
Lawrence laughed for the first time in days. "Kings of Kibera."
Then Mutiso added, more seriously, "But the biggest battle won't be on the pitch."
"What do you mean?"
"The investigation. The lies. The pressure. Some people want us gone. We must survive off the pitch too."
Lawrence nodded slowly. "Then we fight everywhere."
—
As training ended, Coach gathered them around.
"You have made me proud today," he said. "But remember—real war has not started. The federation has not given the final verdict."
"We're ready," the team replied in unison.
Coach smiled.
"Kibera FC… welcome to your rebirth."
The sun set behind them, casting long, sharp shadows—shadows of warriors preparing for the unknown. Whether the future led downward or upward, one thing was clear:
Kibera FC would not go quietly. They would rise. Bleeding, limping… but rising.