As morning dawned, Winston continued to sleep soundly in his bed, and the only thing that managed to awaken him was the incessant ringing of his phone, which remained in his pocket. Jolted by it, Winston sat up, confused. He took it out of his pocket and looked at the caller ID. He quickly stood up when he noticed it was the head coach calling. Following his conversation with the head coach, who had specifically requested his presence downstairs. To his astonishment, Winston discovered that his body was no longer experiencing any discomfort, and he proceeded to touch his shoulder, testing its movement by oscillating it back and forth. Winston spent a few minutes examining his body; when he touched his abdomen, he felt some slivers of energy calmly swirling inside him. In honest, he didn't know how he should feel about this: the feeling he felt was like thin lines. He clenched his fists so he could feel the causing energy through his veins. Even though his veins were not protruding, he only felt slivers of it before the energy faded away.
Not wanting to make the head coach wait, Winston quickly took a shower and ran toward the ground floor. Upon his arrival at the ground floor, he thoroughly scanned the immediate vicinity, but unfortunately, he could not locate the head coach. Walking toward the receptionist's desk, an unfamiliar hand tapped his shoulder. Taken aback, Winston whipped his head and his expression immediately changed. The person who was tapping Winston's shoulder was one of those men in black suits who were interviewing Winston in the hospital and observing him on his two matches. When he used his full speed and nearly collapsed, although they didn't attend the last two matches because they got what they wanted.
"Morning, Mr. Dalely. I hope you slept well. I can't say the same—I didn't get a wink of sleep. Still, this hotel is pleasant, and I enjoyed the scenery." The way this man said this made Winston suspicious—he wondered whether the man saw his awakening last night. Winston experienced a sensation of unease, not from the feeling of being observed, but rather from a wariness that arose specifically concerning this particular man. The man was so jolly that he continued talking about his day, and his expression didn't really change. "Can I call you Winston—yeah, I will call you Winston. And by the way, the head coach is this way," the man didn't wait for Winston to reply, he walked on a wide hallway—Winston followed him behind.
"What can I call you?" Winston asked, following behind the man.
"Oh, yeah, I never introduced myself," glancing over his shoulders, he continued, "Man, the chicken sandwich here is incredible. You should definitely try one when you have time. And please, call me Q." Q spoke with casual indifference, taking the last bite of his sandwich.
Without responding, Winston kept pace with Q as they continued their progression down the hallway, ultimately arriving at a commodious outdoor lounge. As they proceeded towards the expansive lounge area, Q adopted the demeanor of a tourist, actively engaging with the hotel personnel and making a specific request for a tray laden with chicken sandwiches. Conversely, he was providing assistance to a hotel employee who was having difficulty managing the luggage. The large lounge was divided into two sections: the upper floor had a couch area, while the middle section featured dining chairs and tables. The front area, with an ocean view on the wooden floor, featured a long couch alongside lounge chairs and tables. The head coach and the other men occupied the front left area of the spacious lounge.
"Winston, take a seat, did you sleep well?" head coach said, gesturing at Winston to sit down.
After done taking his sit, Winston replied, "Yes, I did coach,"
"Good, listen, there is something I want to tell you," the head coach said, looking at both the men in black who were seated on their sides.
Winston settled back into his chair, his knees rising and falling in a restless rhythm. His heel rose up and now up and down like a typing machine. His gaze didn't shift; he looked straight at the head coach.
"Remember that four-week break the league took? During that time, the Football Federation established an academy for Under-21 players. And congratulations, Winston—you've been selected." the head coach tone sounded happy, he continued when he noticed Winston's unchanged expression, "Don't worry the league has already talked to your parents, and they already approved so you won't take the club bus back home. Hence these two gentlemen are here to take you there, don't worry, some of your teammates also qualified too,"
Winston closed his eyes and pondered for a while, and then replied, "Thank you, coach, what is the reason for this academy? I thought the junior league was already an academy. I don't get it, what would be the difference between this junior academy and the federation academy?"
"Good question. Well, when the league first started, a player was promoted to the senior level, but he performed terribly. His poor performance left a poor impression on the league, so the federation decided to take action. That's why they created the Federation Academy—to properly train the next generation and develop elite youth players for the senior league." Q said, blowing his tea and taking a sip.
Across from Winston, the man in black observed him clench the fist hanging at his side. Noticing Winston's muscles tensing on his forehead, the man chuckled. Winston understood Q was speaking about him, but the most astonishing aspect was that. His debut game served as a springboard for founding a new academy. Q resumed speaking once he had finished his tea. "Senior clubs will be there looking for new talent. I really hope you reconsider this offer. It's the opportunity of a lifetime, and I know you still dream of playing for Westminster's senior team."
Winston tapped his fingers on the table three times, and then he replied, "Okay, I get it. When is this academy starting?"
"Right now, most players are already there—I think there are some tests being held, some of your teammates who qualified are already there, you are the only one left,"
Winston still felt that there was something these two men were hiding; why were these two men here for him? Why didn't he go with his teammate—he wanted to ask—but Winston knew Q had already prepared some answer as to why they came for him last. With a heavy sigh, Winston stopped tapping his nails and replied, "I need to take my stuff from the club bus first,"
"That's already taken care of,"
"When?"
"While you were asleep in your room. And don't worry, we didn't miss anything."
Taken aback, Winston stood up and handshake the head coach, and thanked the head coach for the opportunity to let him play. Even though he brought him a headache. The head coach chuckled and remarked that Winston was the first player he had ever seen improve so much and push himself to such heights. The head coach wished him luck and departed, observing the head coach ascend five steps before vanishing.
The men remained motionless until the chicken sandwich tray that Q requested was delivered. The other man then stood, leaned against the balcony, retrieved his cigarette pack from his pocket, lit a cigarette, and began to smoke. While his back was turned to both Winston and Q, Q was engaged in wrapping the sandwich tray with plastic wrap. After a while, the man threw the cigarette butt and turned, in a hoarse voice, "Let's go, I don't want the higher ups, to be angry,"
"Give me a minute. I'm finishing up these wraps, and I can't wait to see everyone's reaction when they try these chicken sandwiches. Come on, Winston—I'm sure the other kids want to see the league's second-leading scorer."
They exited the Celestial Bridge Hotel and got into a black SUV waiting for them.