Day 11 began with the sound of chaos.
Takeshi woke to shouting outside, not the usual morning quiet of Ajax's facility but something louder, aggressive, hungry. He stumbled to the window and his stomach dropped.
Media vans. Everywhere. Cameras with telephoto lenses pointed at every window. Reporters with microphones crowding the gates. Security guards forming a human wall to keep them back.
They're not leaving.
Breakfast felt like a funeral. The six kids sat together in the cafeteria, quieter than they'd been in days. Takeshi's phone sat on the table, screen dark but still buzzing every few seconds like a dying insect.
He looked like death. Shadows under his eyes, skin pale, hands shaking slightly around his coffee cup.
"Dude," Marcus said finally, unable to take the silence anymore. "You look like you haven't slept in a week."
"Two days," Takeshi muttered. "I think. Time's weird."
Isabella reached across the table, squeezed his hand. "This is insane. How are they allowed to do this?"
From outside, a reporter's voice cut through the morning: "TAKESHI! WILL YOU SIGN WITH REAL MADRID?"
"ARE YOUR PARENTS CONSIDERING THE OFFER?"
"HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE WORTH MILLIONS AT EIGHT YEARS OLD?"
They could hear everything. Every invasive question. Every assumption that he was property to be bought and sold.
Elsa's jaw clenched. Kwame looked uncomfortable. Oliver stared at his plate.
The door slammed open. Erik strode in, looking grimmer than usual.
"No training today or tomorrow."
Everyone looked up, surprised.
"You're all trapped here anyway. Might as well make the best of it." He paused at the door, something almost sad crossing his face. "Just... be kids for once. While you still can."
Then he was gone.
Oliver was the first to move. He reached across the table and snatched Takeshi's phone before anyone could blink.
"Hey!" Takeshi lunged for it. "Give it back, I need to..."
"You need to breathe." Oliver held it out of reach, surprisingly agile. "We've got you."
He powered it completely off. Takeshi watched the screen die like watching a lifeline sever.
"Alright, enough moping." Marcus stood up, brushing crumbs off his shirt. "If we're trapped here, we're making it fun."
He cleared his throat, struck a dramatic pose, and launched into an impression, "TAKESHI! WHAT'S YOUR SKINCARE ROUTINE? THE WORLD MUST KNOW!"
Isabella burst out laughing. The sound broke something in the tension.
Marcus continued, channeling a different reporter, "TAKESHI! DO YOU BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT? INQUIRING MINDS DEMAND ANSWERS!"
Even Takeshi cracked a smile. Small, but real.
Kwame joined in, doing a pitch-perfect impression of Erik's scowl, "You are all DEMONS. Especially you, Takeshi. The most demon demon of all demons."
They dissolved into laughter. Real, genuine, desperate laughter that felt like breathing after drowning.
"We should do something fun," Isabella suggested once they'd caught their breath. "Like, actually fun. Not football. When's the last time any of us just... played?"
Silence. None of them could remember.
"Hide and seek?" Elsa offered tentatively.
"Video games?" Oliver added.
"Truth or dare?" Marcus grinned.
"All of it," Isabella decided. "Everything. Today we're just kids."
They explored empty sections of the facility like adventurers discovering ruins. Found a storage room full of old equipment and declared it their secret base. Accidentally walked in on Erik in his office, he looked up, saw six guilty faces, and just... waved them away with something that might have been amusement.
The video game tournament in the common room got competitive. Isabella destroyed everyone at FIFA, which felt like poetic irony. Marcus rage-quit three times. Kwame discovered he was terrible at gaming and didn't care. Oliver provided running commentary that made losing hilarious.
They raided the kitchen for snacks. The guardian caught them but pretended not to see, just walked past while they froze with arms full of cookies and chips.
Language lessons happened organically. Isabella taught them Brazilian Portuguese curses. Marcus shared German insults. Elsa's Norwegian phrases made everyone's pronunciation sound drunk. Oliver's British slang confused the non-native speakers. Kwame's Yoruba words were beautiful and impossible to replicate.
Someone suggested Marco Polo in the pool. They played until their fingers pruned and voices went hoarse.
For hours, they forgot. About Real Madrid. About reporters. About the world crushing down on them.
They were just six kids being kids.
Evening found them sprawled in the common room, exhausted but happy. Full of stolen cookies and pool water and laughter.
"Truth or dare," Isabella said suddenly.
"Really?" Kwame raised an eyebrow. "We're not twelve."
"Most of us aren't even ten," Oliver pointed out.
"Exactly. Perfect age for truth or dare."
It started silly. Harmless dares to do ridiculous dances. Safe truths about favorite foods. But gradually, inevitably, it deepened.
Marcus picked the truth. Took a breath. "I'm terrified of letting my dad down. He played professionally for Schalke. Made it to the Bundesliga. Every day I wake up thinking I have to be better than him. It's exhausting."
Isabella, also true, "I miss Brazil every single day. The sounds, the food, my cousins. I cry at night sometimes, and I can't tell anyone because I'm supposed to be grateful for this opportunity."
Kwame, truth, voice quieter than usual, "Everyone expects me to be perfect because I'm fast and strong. They think it's easy. But I'm just a kid who's scared he's not good enough and never will be."
Oliver, truth, staring at his hands, "I'm not as talented as any of you. I know it. I work twice as hard just to keep up and I'm still always the last one picked."
Elsa, truth, meeting each of their eyes: "Being the only girl makes me feel like I have to prove myself every single second. One mistake and it's not just me failing—it's all girls failing. It's exhausting."
Then everyone looked at Takeshi.
"Truth or dare?" Marcus asked softly.
"Truth."
"Are you scared of Real Madrid?"
The question hung in the air like a held breath.
Takeshi had lied to everyone. To reporters. To his parents. To Erik. To himself.
But here, with these five who'd just spilled their own fears...
"Terrified."
The word came out cracked, broken. "I'm eight years old and they want to own my entire life. My family. My future. Everything. And I don't know how to stop them."
Silence.
Then Elsa moved closer. "You're not stopping them alone."
Marcus: "We're a team. That doesn't end when camp does."
Isabella: "If they want you, they have to deal with all of us."
Kwame: "We'll figure it out together."
Oliver pulled out his phone. "Blood brothers. All six of us. Real contact info, real promises. No matter where we end up, we stay connected."
They exchanged numbers properly. Added each other to a group chat. Made promises that felt sacred despite being made by children who'd known each other less than two weeks.
"Family," Elsa said firmly. "That's what we are now. Real Madrid can't buy that."
Takeshi felt something he hadn't in thirty-four years of life. True belonging.
Night came too fast. Takeshi sat alone in his room, Oliver's confiscated phone finally back in his possession. He stared at the dark screen like it might explode.
147 missed calls. 500+ messages. Most from numbers he didn't recognize.
But 23 from Mom. 19 from Dad.
He had to call them.
His finger hovered over Dad's contact. Pressed.
One ring. "TAKESHI!"
The video call connected. Both parents' faces filled the screen, exhausted and aged in ways that hadn't been there two weeks ago.
"Are you okay?" His mother looked like she'd been crying for hours.
"I'm fine. I'm safe."
"Do you know what's happening here?" His father's voice was strained, almost breaking. "We've had fifty people at our door. Reporters won't leave. Your mother can't go to work. Your sister is scared to go to school."
His mother was crying now. "They won't leave us alone."
His father pulled out papers, showed them to the camera. "Real Madrid sent an official contract. €2 million signing bonus. For an eight-year-old. Plus salaries for both of us if we relocate to Madrid. House. Cars. Everything."
"Barcelona called," his mother added. "Manchester City. Bayern Munich. Everyone wants you."
His father's voice cracked. "Takeshi, this is life-changing money. We could pay off the house. Your sister could go to the best schools. Your grandmother could get the treatment she needs."
The world stopped.
"Grandmother?"
His mother's face crumpled. "We didn't tell you. Didn't want you to worry. But she's sick, baby. Really sick. The treatments she needs... we can't afford them."
"How long?" His adult mind already knew the answer. His child heart refused to believe it.
"Six months," his father whispered. "Maybe less without treatment."
The room spun.
"We're leaning toward yes," his father continued. "The money... we can't say no to this. Your grandmother has maybe half a year without proper care. Real Madrid will pay for everything. They'll take care of all of us."
Takeshi's past life knowledge screamed at him. They buy families. They trap kids. They destroy futures.
But his grandmother... his parents' exhaustion... his sister's fear...
"What do you want?" his mother asked. "Really want?"
"I want grandmother to get treatment. I want you to stop worrying. I want to play football." His voice broke. "But I don't want to be owned. I don't know if I can have all of those things."
"We won't force you," his father said. "But we need to decide together. As a family. Think about it. Five days left there. When you come home, we'll decide. Together."
"We love you," his mother whispered. "No matter what. Money or no money. Real Madrid or not. You're our son first."
The call ended. The room felt emptier than before.
His system window flickered to life:
[CRITICAL DECISION APPROACHING]
Time Remaining: 5 Days
Choose: Family vs Freedom
Warning: Both paths have consequences
Real Madrid = Family saved, Soul owned
Rejection = Freedom kept, Family struggles
Hidden Option: ???
[Requirement: Discover alternative]
A soft knock. "Come in."
Elsa slipped inside quietly. "Saw your light still on."
She sat on the floor near his bed. "Heard you on the phone. Walls are thin. I'm sorry about your grandmother."
They talked in whispers. About impossible choices. Elsa shared her own pressures—her father wanted her to quit football. "Too dangerous for girls." But she loved it. Sometimes love wasn't enough.
"Whatever you choose," she said finally, "I'll support you."
"Even Real Madrid?"
"Even then. But I'll visit and make sure they're treating you right."
A small smile from both.
Then—shouting outside.
They ran to the window. Oliver burst in, then Marcus, Kwame, Isabella. All six crowded the glass.
Multiple black cars. Not media. Official vehicles. Men in expensive suits emerging even at midnight.
Erik ran out to meet them. The argument was immediate, aggressive.
"Who are they?" Isabella whispered.
One man turned. Looked directly up at their window. Even in darkness, his presence was felt. He pointed at the building. At them. At Takeshi.
Erik stepped between the cars and the facility. Arms crossed. Refusing something. The man showed papers. Erik shook his head violently. Even from this distance, they could read his lips: "NO."
The standoff lasted ten minutes. Finally, the men returned to their cars. Slowly. Reluctantly. But that one man looked up again. Direct eye contact with Takeshi. A smile that promised consequences.
Then they were gone.
Erik stormed back inside.
The kids scrambled, but Takeshi stayed. Elsa and Oliver with him. Footsteps approaching. Erik entered without knocking.
His face was darker than they'd ever seen.
"That was Real Madrid's legal team."
The temperature dropped.
"They tried to serve me with papers. Demanding I release you to their custody. Claiming I'm holding you against your will."
"They can do that?" Elsa's voice was small, scared.
"They're escalating. Fast." Erik looked directly at Takeshi. "Your parents have five days to decide. But Real Madrid isn't waiting. They're going to force this."
He moved to the door, paused. "Next three days, don't leave this building. Don't talk to anyone you don't know. Don't accept anything from strangers. Real Madrid plays dirty when they want something."
"And they want you."
After Erik left, three kids sat in stunned silence.
"Holy shit," Oliver breathed.
"They can do that?" Elsa repeated. "Just... take you?"
Takeshi's system blazed across his vision:
[DANGER LEVEL: MAXIMUM]
Real Madrid has initiated aggressive acquisition
TIME RELAY Responding: 5% Unlocked
Your body knows you're in danger even if you don't
Recommendation: PREPARE FOR CONFLICT
He looked out the window at the empty driveway where those cars had been.
"They're not going to stop."
Elsa's voice was steel. "Then neither will we."
"What do we do?" Oliver asked.
Takeshi turned to them. Something hardened in his eyes—adult determination settling into a child's face.
"We prepare. If Real Madrid wants war..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
Outside, Amsterdam slept. But in the shadows of the Ajax facility, six children were learning what it meant to fight giants.
And in Madrid, in an office overlooking the Bernabéu, a man smiled at his phone.
Three days until the Yamamoto family's answer.
But Real Madrid had never been good at waiting.
TO BE CONTINUED...