As Oswin observed Lucas making his way into the stands, a sneer contorted his face, while Winston, standing next to Oswin, he kept a close watch on Oswin, noticing the way his teeth were clenched. "Oswin, are you okay, did something happen between you and Lucas?" Oswin kept quiet for a while before he let out a deep breath and shifted his attention to Winston. With a small, forced smile, Oswin replied, "I will tell you later, when the test is done," After a couple of minutes, the man looked at the youths seated in the stands and swept his gaze across Groups C, D, and B. Nearly every slot in those groups was filled. He shook his head in disappointment when he looked at Group A, which had only a few youths in it.
After surveying his surroundings and then directing his attention toward Oswin, the man made a gesture that indicated Oswin should approach the enormous drum, prompting Oswin to begin walking in its direction. The man looked at Oswin and rubbed his chin, just as Oswin prepared to blast the ball to the massive drum. "Wait, are you Oswin Alexus? The player who got injured last season? You showed a lot of promise back then. I'm glad to see you here," The man said, casting a glance at Lucas. Reclining in his seat with one leg crossed over the other, Lucas sported a sinister grin that Oswin found impossible to ignore—a grin that seemed to mock him directly.
"Yes, I am, and thank you, coach," Oswin replied, calming himself,
"I'm looking forward to seeing your progress. You may proceed," the man said with a gesture.
After retreating a few steps and then advancing to take the shot, Oswin caused the massive drum to ring out, and the numbers displayed on the monitor quickly ascended into double digits. "Oswin, 59 group A, well done," the man said, pointing at another youth who scored 51. During a couple of minutes, a multitude of young athletes were called upon, and a select few of them continued to score ratings of 40 to 50.
When the man selected another youth, it turned out that this particular youth was someone whom Winston already knew. Despite his astonishment at not having recognized him previously, the young man advanced, and it turned out that the individual who had been summoned was indeed the Duke. Since D was present, W had little doubt that the twins were somewhere in the dome as well. After all, they had been a constant headache for his team in the past. Winston took in the scene of the youths milling about him, and just as he had predicted, one of the twin brothers was regarding Winston with a sharp, penetrating look. Winston wondered which of these this twin was looking at him with a viscous expression.
As Duke powerfully struck the ball, he achieved a score of 56, and subsequently, the announcer declared "Group A," prompting Duke to casually glance towards the assembled youngsters, a faint chuckle escaping him as he shook his head. Some youths looked at Duke with disdain, and some cursed at him under their breaths. Seeing the youth becoming lively, he pointed out Noah, who seemed startled until his twin brother tapped him on the shoulder. With a nod from Darwin—Noah nodded back. Now his shoulders were high—he hurried toward the field and blasted the ball. "Noah 59, group A, good job kid," for a couple of more minutes the man kept calling different youths who score low and were placed in group D, C, and B. They went to any A among the youths who were called.
Now there were five youths left, and the group column that was full was group B, and Group A had about three spaces left. And groups C and D had one spot left. Winston looked at the board and shifted his gaze to the remaining youths. What surprised him was that the youths that are left are his biggest competition on the season, and all of them play the forward position. The only one Winston was not sure about was the short kid in front of him. The surrounding atmosphere became intense—at least, that is what Winston observed. But in reality, the surrounding youth were just not bothered, instead, they seemed annoyed by being picked last. The man picked the short youth in front of Winston, the youth stepped forward, sweating bullets—he used his forearm to remove the sweat. And he blasted the ball—crossing his fingers the youth closed his eyes. "49, B," the man said, picking at the other twin who chuckled at the three youths with a disdainful expression. And walked toward the massive drum.
Prior to Darwin propelling the ball forward with a kick, he skillfully maneuvered it back and forth between his feet before powerfully striking it. "Darwin 66—A," the man said, now glancing at the two men who stood at the back. "Next person you," the man said, pointing at the youth who had dreadlocks with a white band on his forehead. "What is your name?"
The youth had a cheerful expression. He replied politely, "Oh yes, I am Benjamin Kiliko,"
"You are the kid who transferred from overseas, right?"
"Yes,"
"Okay, you can take a shot," the man said, gesturing for Benjamin to take a shot.
Before taking a shot, Benjamin looked at Darwin and chuckled with smooth dribbling techniques. He combined dribbling techniques, Darwin sneered at Benjamin. Seeing this, Benjamin dribbled the ball onto his feet like Darwin. And he blasted the ball into the massive drum. "66—A,Sebastian," said the man, glancing at the billboard.
Now there were two spaces left, one from group A and D—and the players who were left are the top scorers in the junior league. As the top scorer, Sebastian seemed indifferent to whether he was called first or last. When the man finally called on him, he remained calm, quietly observing everything around him. As Winston rose through the rankings in the junior league, Sebastian took it upon himself to study him. He watched recordings of Winston's senior-league appearances and researched his performances. The more he learned, the more amused he became.
Glancing at Winston, Sebastian let out a mocking chuckle. Deep down, he hated that Winston had been given the opportunity to play with the senior team. That opportunity should have belonged to him. In Sebastian's eyes, Winston's football was sloppy and unimpressive, making his rise to second place on the scoreboard all the more baffling.
Walking toward the massive drum, the room became quiet because of Sebastian's reputation for doing private training. Some of the youth have never seen him play, and some youths sneered at him for being a rich kid—who didn't have a rough background like them. Sebastian looked around and saw the youths who were sneering at him. With the ball at his feet and hands on his waist, he glanced at the youths and chuckled. He shifted the ball in front and blasted the ball, and the massive drum rang out. The loud noise made some youths nauseous.
"Sebastian, 87—A,"
The man looked at the man in the back, and back at Winston. Who was walking toward the massive drum, "Don't disappoint me, Winston. I want to see what the player ranked number two can do." Sebastian said, passing Winston.
The man folded his arms, and glanced at the back suit men, the old man nodded his head slightly and the man cleared his throat and said, "Winston, a score higher than 56 will place you in Group A. The player currently below that mark will be relegated to a lower group. If you're ready, you may start."
On the back of the stands, one of the men in a suit, who was younger than the old man, said, "This is that kid, sir," he said, handing over a paper of Winston's medical records. The medical record featured a lot of Winston X-rays, and some detailed when he was in the coma and him waking up from the coma. The man also showed him videos of Winston playing using superhuman speed from the match weeks ago that were recorded by Q and his partner. The old man didn't say anything, instead, he watched the videos and read the papers intently. The younger man passed him a palm size remote that had one button on it. And he watched Winston.