Saturday. 7:00 PM. Gresty Road Tunnel.
The tunnel was quiet, save for the distant rumble of fans leaving the stadium and the clatter of studs on concrete. Kwame stood against the branded backdrop; the Sky Sports microphone thrust towards him.
The reporter, a seasoned journalist who had covered the lower leagues for twenty years, looked at the teenager with genuine intrigue.
"Kwame, congratulations," the reporter started. "Three assists tonight. Four Man of the Match awards in four games... you're running this league right now. Did you expect this kind of impact so quickly?"
Kwame adjusted his collar, his expression calm. "Not really. I just focus on doing my job. If the forwards finish the chances, my name ends up next to it. It's a team thing."
"But teams are starting to target you," the reporter pressed. "Sutton were pretty physical today. That red card incident... they were trying to rattle you. How tough was that second half?"
Kwame smiled slightly, touching his ribs. "Yeah… they let me know they were there. That's football though. If you play midfield in this league, you're going to get kicked. You just get up and keep asking for the ball."
"Your vision on that second assist, the outside-of-the-boot pass — we had pundits in the studio comparing it to Kevin De Bruyne. Do you practice those?"
"Every day," Kwame answered instantly. "After training. Same pass, same spot. Over and over. Nothing fancy. Just reps."
The reporter raised an eyebrow. "So it's not just natural talent?"
"Mostly boring work, honestly."
"And finally," the reporter checked his notes, "last time we spoke, you said you were coming for the assist record. You backed that up today with a hat-trick. Still confident you can catch Jodi Jones?"
Kwame paused. He looked directly into the camera lens. The shyness evaporated, replaced by the steel of the Midfield General.
"Yeah. I meant what I said. There are still games left. I'll keep creating. We'll see where it ends."
"Four straight Man of the Match performances… League Two might have a new star," the reporter said, wrapping up.
"I just want three points next week," Kwame deflected smoothly.
"Kwame Aboagye — congratulations."
"Thank you."
As the camera light faded, Kwame let out a breath. He hated the interviews more than the physical battles. But he knew it was part of the game now.
Sunday. 09:00 AM. Unit 4B.
Kwame was packing his last bag when his phone rang.
"Morning, Boss," Kwame answered.
"Morning, Son," Kenny Lunt's voice crackled down the line. "Change of plan. Don't unpack anything."
"Why?"
"Because your sister lands tonight," Kenny said. "And the Gaffer and I agree, you can't live in a studio flat with your sister. It's not proper. We've found you something else."
"Something else?"
"Meet me at the 'Alexandra Gardens' complex in twenty minutes. Lee is bringing the paperwork."
09:30 AM. Alexandra Gardens.
It was a modern brick building only ten minutes from the stadium, but it felt a world away from the Academy dorms.
Kwame stood on the pavement with Lee Bell. A car pulled up, and Kenny Lunt stepped out. But he wasn't alone.
The passenger door opened, and Maya hopped out, wearing her cream cable-knit sweater and clutching a coffee.
"Morning, Sturdy," she grinned, falling into step beside him.
"Maya?" Kwame looked confused. "You're everywhere."
"Dad needed a second opinion on the decor," she shrugged. "Men have terrible taste. You'd probably pick a cave if it had good Wi-Fi."
Lee Bell handed a set of keys to Kwame. "Top floor. Two bedrooms. Furnished. Secure parking. It's a club rental, usually for loan players from the Prem, but it's yours if you want it."
They went up in the lift.
When Kwame opened the door, his jaw dropped.
It was spacious. Wooden floors, a massive L-shaped sofa, a kitchen island with actual stools, and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the town.
"Wow," Kwame breathed.
Maya walked past him, inspecting the kitchen. "Okay, this is decent. Gas hob, big fridge. You can actually cook here." She opened a cupboard. "Empty, obviously. We'll need to fix that."
Kwame walked into the living room. It felt... grown up. It felt like a home.
"Two bedrooms?" Kwame asked.
"En-suite for you," Kenny pointed down the hall. "Second room for your sister. Separate bathroom for her too. Privacy."
Kwame looked at Lee Bell. "Boss, this is..."
"It's part of the contract, Kwame," Bell said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We look after our own. You need a stable base. If your sister is happy, you're happy. If you're happy, you play well. That's the deal."
Kwame nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude. "I'll take it."
"Good," Maya said, flopping onto the plush L-shaped sofa and stretching her legs out comfortably. "Because I already picked my spot for Mario Kart."
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.
Kenny Lunt froze. The easy-going coach demeanor vanished, replaced by a sharp, paternal radar pinging a warning. He looked at his daughter, looking very comfortable on the sofa of his 17-year-old star player's apartment. Then he looked at Kwame.
"Mario Kart?" Kenny repeated, his voice dropping a few degrees.
Maya didn't notice the tone. "Yeah. He needs downtime, right? I'll bring my Switch over."
Kenny's eyes narrowed. "I don't recall seeing 'hanging out in footballers' apartments' on your A-Level revision timetable, Maya."
He turned his gaze to Kwame. It wasn't the look of a coach assessing a player; it was the look of a father assessing a threat.
"And just so we're clear," Kenny said, pointing a finger between the two of them. "There will be no Mario Kart, or any other kind of 'hanging out', unless his sister is in the room. Or me. Preferably me."
Kwame swallowed hard, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "Understood, Boss. Absolutely."
Maya rolled her eyes, sitting up. "Oh my god, Dad. Relax. He's scared of girls anyway. Look at him, he's blushing."
"I'm not blushing," Kwame protested, feeling his ears burn.
"You definitely are," Lee Bell chuckled, enjoying the scene way too much. "Moving on..."
Kwame looked at Maya. With her cream cable-knit sweater, neat hair, and the way she held her coffee like a fashion accessory, she didn't look like the type to spend hours gaming. She looked like the type who color-coded her revision notes.
"You actually play?" Kwame asked, trying to change the subject from his impending death by Assistant Manager.
Maya smirked. "I don't just play, Sturdy. I win. Ask Dad about the time I made him cry on Rainbow Road."
Kenny coughed loudly, his face turning pink. "It was a faulty controller. We're leaving now."
Sunday. 6:00 PM. Manchester Airport.
The Arrivals Hall was chaotic. Families reuniting, taxi drivers holding signs, the constant drone of announcements.
Kwame stood near the barrier, checking his watch for the fiftieth time.
"She's landed," Kenny said, standing next to him. "Customs takes time."
Kwame nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He hadn't seen Afia in two years. Two years of FaceTime calls and WhatsApp messages. Two years of missing her cooking and her scolding.
Then, the doors slid open.
She was pushing a trolley stacked with three massive suitcases. At twenty-four, Afia was stunning. She had a nice athletic build, though it was currently wrapped in a thick winter coat. Long braids framed her beautiful, petite face, highlighting high cheekbones and dark, flawless skin. She looked tired from the flight, but even exhausted, she walked with a presence that made people step out of her way.
"Afia!"
She looked up. Her eyes locked onto him. She abandoned the trolley right in the middle of the walkway and ran.
"Kwame!"
They collided. Kwame caught her, lifting her off her feet effortlessly.
"Eii!" She gasped, gripping his shoulders as her feet dangled. "When did you get so strong? You feel like a stone!"
She buried her face in his neck, sobbing. "My baby brother," she cried. "Look at you. You are a man now."
Kwame held her tight, blinking back his own tears. "I missed you, Sis."
Kenny stepped forward, smiling. "Welcome to England, Miss Aboagye."
Afia wiped her eyes, composing herself instantly. She looked at Kenny. "Mr. Lunt? Thank you. Thank you for looking after him."
"He looks after himself mostly," Kenny laughed. "Come on. Let's get you home."
The Car Park.
They walked out into the cold Manchester evening. Afia shivered, pulling her coat tighter.
"It is freezing," she complained. "Why do people live here?"
"You get used to it," Kwame smiled.
They reached a row of cars. Kenny stopped by his Range Rover.
But Kwame stopped next to a sleek, silver Volkswagen Tiguan parked two spaces down. He pulled a key fob from his pocket and pressed the button.
Chirp-chirp. The lights flashed.
Afia stopped. She looked at the car. She looked at Kwame.
"Whose car is this?" she asked.
"Yours," Kwame said, dangling the keys.
Afia's mouth fell open. "Mine? Kwame, you don't even have a license."
"Exactly," Kwame grinned. "I can't drive. But my Manager can't be walking to meetings in the rain. And I need someone to drive me to training."
Afia dropped her handbag. She walked around the car, touching the hood like it was made of glass. "A car... Kwame, this is too much. The money..."
"It's the signing bonus," Kwame said. "And the goal bonus. And the assist bonuses. I saved it." He walked over and pressed the keys into her hand. "Pa would want you to be safe."
Afia looked at him, her eyes shining again. She grabbed him by the ears and kissed his forehead.
"You are a good boy," she whispered. "Stubborn, but good."
She unlocked the door. "Okay. Get in. But if you think this car stops me from yelling at you when you play bad, you are mistaken."
Kwame laughed, throwing her suitcases in the trunk. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
Sunday. 8:00 PM. The New Apartment.
Afia stood in the center of the living room, hands on her hips.
"Ideally," she nodded. "This is acceptable. The kitchen is good."
She opened the fridge. A single bottle of water and a packet of ham sat on the shelf.
She slammed the door shut.
"Tomorrow," she declared, turning to Kwame who was setting up the TV. "We go to the market. I need peppers. I need garden eggs. I need proper meat. This..." she gestured at the fridge, "is a crime against humanity."
Kwame smiled from the sofa. He watched her bustle around, moving cushions, opening curtains, making the space hers.
For the first time in two years, the silence was gone. The apartment felt warm.
BZZT.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION][LIFESTYLE UPGRADE DETECTED][NEW HOME BASE ESTABLISHED: ALEXANDRA GARDENS]
[UNLOCKING PASSIVE BUFF: 'HOME COMFORTS']Effect: Mental Fatigue recovers 50% faster when sleeping in this location. 'Homesickness' debuff permanently removed.
Kwame leaned back, closing his eyes.
He had the contract. He had the house. He had his sister.
"Now," he whispered to himself. "I just need the record."