The wings of kostiç

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Chapter 8: Rising Tensions

The days blurred into one another, each a mirror of the last. Chris had always known the grind of football—the early mornings, the bruises, the mental and physical fatigue—but something about this particular period felt different. He wasn’t just training anymore; he was pushing against a barrier, a weight he couldn’t see but could feel in every move. Every time he stepped onto the pitch, there was a part of him that wanted to prove that the scout wasn’t mistaken. That his talent wasn’t a fluke.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the pitch as Chris adjusted his boots. His hair was damp with sweat, the sharp smell of the turf still in his nostrils. The youth academy had been buzzing with energy all afternoon, but now, as the evening approached, it felt eerily quiet. Most of the other boys had left, but Chris stayed behind to do extra work.

He jogged to the far corner of the pitch, set up a few cones, and started his drill. Quick touches, sharp turns, explosive sprints. His focus was absolute. It had to be.

But even in his best moments, his mind wandered. What if Juventus really was watching him? What if this was his big break? What if they didn’t think he was good enough after all?

"Focus," he muttered under his breath, a mantra he repeated to himself whenever doubt crept in.

After a while, his legs started to burn, the exhaustion creeping in, but Chris didn’t stop. Not yet. He needed this. He needed to feel like he was always improving, always moving forward. His body screamed for rest, but his mind wouldn’t let him.

The sound of a whistle interrupted his thoughts. Coach Davor had appeared at the sideline, his arms crossed as he watched Chris with a scrutinizing gaze.

"You're still at it, Kostić?" Coach Davor’s voice echoed across the empty pitch.

Chris jogged over, trying to catch his breath. "I’m working on my speed, Coach. I want to improve my first touch."

Coach Davor nodded slowly. "I can see that. But you’ve got more than just speed. You’ve got that awareness—the vision. You’re not using it enough."

Chris looked at him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

The coach took a step closer, his expression serious. "You’ve got to think about the game more. Not just when you're on the ball, but when you're off it. Anticipate, read the game. You can’t just outrun everyone."

Chris nodded, absorbing the advice. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Coach Davor patted him on the back. "Get some rest. You’re not doing yourself any favors by overworking. Talent is only part of it."

Chris didn’t reply immediately. It felt like a lot to take in—he’d been so focused on being fast, on being the best physically, that he’d neglected the mental side. The cerebral aspect of the game. He watched as Coach Davor walked off, the coach's words echoing in his head.

The next day, training was more intense than ever. It wasn’t just about speed and power; now, it was about game intelligence. Coach Davor had split the squad into two groups for a small-sided game, and Chris was placed in the same team as Toni, his closest friend at the academy.

The match started at a blistering pace, the ball flying from player to player in quick, fluid passes. Chris had to think faster than he ever had before. His first few touches were erratic, his usual confidence shaken by the reminder of what Coach Davor had said. He couldn’t just rely on his instincts—he had to read the game, anticipate the moves before they even happened.

Toni noticed Chris’s hesitation and called out to him. "You’re overthinking it, man! Just play!"

Chris shot him a look. He was trying, but it wasn’t that simple.

He took a deep breath, refocused, and started to let the game come to him. His movements were still fast, but now, they were purposeful. He started positioning himself better off the ball, looking for space, for openings. He watched as his teammates moved, finding their own rhythm.

And then it clicked.

Chris saw a ball played into space on the right wing, and in an instant, he was there, anticipating the pass before it even reached him. He controlled it with ease, dribbling past a defender with a swift turn, then cutting inside as if reading the defender’s mind. He saw Toni making a run toward the near post and whipped in a perfect cross.

Toni was there. Goal.

The entire squad erupted into cheers, but Chris wasn’t focused on the applause. He was focused on the play—the way everything had come together so seamlessly. He could feel the shift inside him. He had learned to see the game differently. It wasn’t just about running fast or making flashy moves anymore; it was about understanding what was happening, being in the right place at the right time, and making those moments count.

After the game, Coach Davor pulled Chris aside once again. This time, there was a hint of approval in his eyes. "That’s the Kostić I want to see," he said, his tone softer. "Keep it up. You’re starting to see the game on a different level."

Chris nodded, his heart swelling with pride. It wasn’t just about his physical abilities—it was about his mind, too. And that was a game-changer.

But as he left the training ground, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a message from Mia.

"You looked good today. Your crosses were on point."

Chris smiled and quickly typed a reply.

"Thanks. Training’s been tough, but I think it’s starting to pay off."

"You always were good at this. Keep it up."

Chris’s smile lingered as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. Mia’s words meant more than they should have. It wasn’t just about football—it was about someone seeing him for who he really was, both on and off the pitch.

For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to hope. Maybe, just maybe, everything was falling into place. And it wasn’t just about football. There were other things in his life, too. Things he didn’t fully understand yet, but was starting to explore.

Chris didn’t know what the future hel

d, but for the first time in his life, he was ready to find out.

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