The 6k run was a frantic, chaotic blur, my feet pounding the pavement with a desperate, angry rhythm that matched the turmoil in my own head.
Gary's words, delivered with a calm, business-like finality that had made them all the more devastating, echoed in my mind, a relentless, mocking refrain. The senior team manager wants him. He wants him training with the first team.
Eze. Of course, it was Eze. It was always going to be Eze. He was too good, too bright, a talent so prodigious that it was impossible for him to remain a secret for long.
I had known this day was coming. I had prepared myself for it. But the reality of it, the cold, hard finality of it, was a blow I was utterly unprepared for. The system, my silent, ever-present co-pilot, was a cacophony of conflicting data streams in my mind.
On the one hand, it showed Eze's CA, a shimmering, vibrant 115 that was already far above the average for our league, a clear, objective confirmation of his readiness for a higher level.
