The car's headlights cut two weak cones through the dark village lanes. Karim drove, his hands tight on the wheel, while Mohand navigated from the passenger seat.
"Here, take this turn. Left. Now slow, slow... it's the next right, just after the big olive tree."
Karim guided the 4x4 through the narrow opening between two whitewashed walls, pulling to a stop in front of a familiar house. The terrace was dark, but a warm light glowed from the main room's window.
The engine clicked and fell silent. Both men got out, the car doors thudding shut in the quiet street. As they walked toward the front door, Mohand leaned in close, his voice a low murmur.
"Let me do the talking," he said. "You just be ready with the net when I give you the signal."
Karim nodded, rolling his shoulders back in a loose, ready gesture. "Yeah. The stage is yours."
Mohand knocked firmly on the wooden door. A moment later, it was opened by a young girl who peered up at them.
"Is your grandfather home?" Mohand asked, his voice softening.
"Yeah, he's inside," she said.
"Go tell him Uncle Mohand is here."
She nodded and disappeared into the house. A few seconds later, Omar appeared in the doorway, his frame blocking the light. "Huh, Mohand. Come inside, come inside."
As they settled into the living room, Omar began to push himself up from his chair. "Let me get you some coffee."
Mohand waved his hands, stopping him. "No, no, Omar, for the love of God, I've drunk enough coffee for a week. No more, no more."
"Okay, some tea then."
"No, no! Just sit down."
With a grunt, Omar settled back into his chair. Once he was still, Mohand cleared his throat, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
"Omar... there is something I want to tell you."
Omar's eyes narrowed. "I have known you for more than fifty years. Just spill it out already."
"Yeah, yeah," Mohand said, buying a second. "Well... it's about Ryan."
Baba's face changed instantly, his posture stiffening. "Did he do something?" He looked directly at Mohand, a flash of anger in his eyes. "You should have just slapped him right there! Why even come to me?"
"No, no! Ryan is very polite. It's something good!" Mohand said, glaring back at his old friend. "Your brain always goes to the negative thing first."
Baba let out a sigh of relief, the tension draining from his shoulders. "Ok, ok. Thank God." He shook his head, a fond exasperation on his face. "That boy has such a big mouth , you can't blame me."
Mohand allowed himself a smile. "He does. But that's not our issue right now." He glanced meaningfully at Karim, then back at Baba. "You know Karim was a professional player before?"
Baba nodded. "All of Tizi Ouzou knows."
"Well," Mohand continued, leaning forward slightly. "He's been analyzing Ryan's game. And his professional opinion is that the boy isn't just talented; he's a prospect."
Baba's eyes sharpened, losing their relaxed warmth. His gaze swung from Mohand's face to Karim's, hard and assessing.
"A prospect?" he repeated, his voice low and deliberate. "A prospect for what?"
Karim's eyes flickered to Mohand, seeking confirmation. Seeing his uncle's slight, encouraging nod, he turned back to face Baba's intense gaze. He met the old man's eyes squarely, his voice calm and clear.
"For professional football."
Baba held Karim's gaze for a long, heavy moment. The initial shock in his eyes cooled into a deep, weary pragmatism.
"Karim, my son," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "You know better than me. But in Algeria... how many make it?"
Karim's body straightened, his posture becoming that of the professional he once was. "Ryan can. Trust me."
Baba let out a long, weary sigh. "I trust you, and I trust your vision." He looked straight at Karim, his eyes full of a painful honesty. "We all understand that Ryan has some talent. But we never thought anything about it."
Mohand cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence. "So," he asked gently, "are you against it completely?"
Baba's shoulders slumped, not in defeat, but in the weight of his care. "I want Ryan to have a smooth life," he said, his voice firm with conviction. "He is already top of his class. He is a very smart boy. He can thrive in different areas. It doesn't have to be football."
He leaned forward, his voice dropping as he delivered the crushing truth he saw so clearly.
"That dream is so cruel. Talent almost doesn't matter here. Without connection in the right place... football is just a castle in the air. Nice to look at, but it could never be reached."
"True, Ryan is very smart, but—" Mohand began.
Karim continued, his voice gaining a new intensity. "Uncle, if Ryan was in France or in Europe, he would be one of the crown jewels of their football academies. I have seen it with my own eyes. And Ryan is no less than any of them."
"You see how highly Karim views him?" Mohand interjected, seizing the momentum. "Plus, we aren't saying just throw him at a football academy and let fate decide."
Baba's eyes narrowed, intrigued despite himself. "So what are you saying?"
Mohand laughed, a rich, knowing sound. "You were just talking about connections! Doesn't the solution happen to be sitting right here?" He patted Karim's shoulder firmly. "Come on, this is as good as it gets!"
Karim's mouth twitched into a slight, confident smile. "Well... I'm going to be the new coach of the Paradou youth team."
Baba's eyes began to twinkle, the first spark of real hope. "So what you are saying is..."
Karim's smile widened. "Yeah. I want Ryan to play for my team."
"You called it a castle in the air, ucle ." Karim said, his voice low and earnest. "You're right. But I'm not asking him to jump at it. I'm offering to build him the staircase."
"You see, you old man?" Mohand said, beaming. "A connection to the coach personally!"
Omar scratched his chin, a slow, calculating grin spreading across his face. "Yeah... this changes everything." He looked directly at Karim, his expression turning deadly serious. "Are you sure about this?"
"I am," Karim said, his voice unwavering. "If everything goes to plan, Ryan could be an international player for Algeria. He is that good."
Baba leaned back, mumbling to himself in awe, "Ziri... playing for Algeria..." He looked up, a wide, triumphant smile breaking through. "Okay. Done. He is yours."
Karim blinked, slightly taken aback by the suddenness. "Don't... don't we need to talk to Ryan? And his parents?"
Baba waved a dismissive hand. "No. He will go to Paradou, legs over his head if he has to. He will not say no."
"Don't get too excited," Mohand cautioned, though he was clearly pleased.
Baba just grunted. "Hmph. My word is final." He turned his commanding gaze back to Karim. "So. When does he need to be there?"
Karim, still processing the whirlwind, managed to reply, "Well, there are still some papers and stuff. It should be about a month before my position is official."
"Okay, okay," Baba said, nodding decisively. "Just give me a call. I will bring him personally."
Karim nodded, a final note of caution in his voice. "Okay. But please, do talk to Ryan. We don't want to force him."
Omar waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah, don't worry. No force is gonna happen."
Mohand just shook his head in amusement, standing up. "Well, since everything is decided, let's go."
"Why don't you stay for dinner?" Omar offered.
"No, no, thank you," Mohand said, guiding Karim toward the door. "We have... stuff."
Omar walked them to the door. As they stepped out into the cool night air, he placed a hand on Karim's arm, his expression turning solemn. "I will leave Ryan in your care."
Karim met his gaze steadily. "Don't worry."
Mohand chuckled, climbing into the passenger seat. "With that kid's character, we should be worried about the other kids."
Omar's eye twitched in agreement. He gave Karim a firm, meaningful pat on the back. "And don't you hesitate to discipline him if needed."
––———————————————————
A pillar of smoke rose from the big, black grill set up in the middle of the garden. The air was thick with the smell of burning charcoal and sizzling fat. Next to it stood one of those flimsy white plastic tables, its surface buckling under the weight of large trays filled with marinated lamb, chicken, and coils of red merguez sausage.
Leila was hovering near the grill where her father, Ahmed, was master of the flames, his face glistening with sweat and concentration.
"Dad, flip that one! It's going to burn!" Leila instructed, pointing urgently.
Ahmed sighed and dutifully flipped the piece of chicken.
"And this one!" she said, pointing to a sausage.
He flipped that one too, the fire hissing.
"And now that—"
"Okay!" Ahmed cut her off, waving his tongs gently to shoo her away. "I think these are okay now. Why don't you go check on your mother? The salads need to be finished."
As Leila huffed off, their grandmother moved in with the quiet efficiency of a special ops agent. She appeared at Ahmed's elbow with a plate, her eyes scanning the grill.
"Give those pieces," she said, pointing to a few perfectly browned cuts of lamb that were just coming off the fire.
"Why don't you wait until it's all done?" Ahmed protested, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Just put them here," she insisted, holding the plate steady.
With a resigned sigh, he piled the sizzling meat onto her plate. She gave a satisfied nod and carried her prize back to her place at the long table. She sat down, arranged the plate before her, then called out, "Ryan, come."
When he ambled over, she didn't hand him the plate. Instead, she tore a piece of the tender meat with her fingers, and with a gentle, "Open up," she fed him the first bite herself.
Ahmed watched the whole exchange, his shoulders slumping in mock betrayal. "Of course it was for that brat! Mom, don't pay any attention to him, you eat!"
Ryan, completely ignoring his father, leaned conspiratorially toward his grandmother. "Dip it in some harissa first," he mumbled to her.
Once she had prepared the next perfect, spicy bite, he finally turned his attention to his father.
"You never fail to disappoint," Ryan declared, shaking his head in mock sorrow as he accepted the morsel. "Ruining such a perfect piece of meat... honestly, only you could achieve that."
He paused, a memory clicking into place. That one NPC... the one who always turns legendary ingredients into useless garbage. His eyes flicked back to his father.
"So fucking similar."
Ryan sighed dramatically, pushed himself up, and walked over to the grill. "Move."
His dad scoffed. "Stop messing around."
"Just go take a seat, old man. Your services are no longer required."
With a roll of his eyes and a hidden smile, Ahmed finally surrendered the tongs. Ryan took over, his movements suddenly precise and confident. He arranged the coals, adjusted the heat, and began flipping the meat with a chef's focus.
Soon, the family was gathered around the long table, the center piled high with perfectly grilled meat, vibrant salads, and bowls of dips. The mood was lively and warm.
"Such tender meat!"
"Even the edges are crispy... just the right amount of fire."
"Here, taste the chicken, it's perfect!"
Ahmed puffed out his chest, unable to hide his grin. "I'm glad you enjoyed it!"
Grandma looked at him over her plate, her eyes twinkling. "Don't be shameful, Ahmed. Ryan did most of the work."
"Come on, Mom! I did some... I lit the fire!" Ahmed protested.
From his seat, Ryan didn't even look up from his plate. "True," he said, his voice flat. "You provided the perfect 'before' picture. My work was just the dramatic rescue."
The whole table burst into laughter. In the warm, comfortable silence that followed, Baba cleared his throat.
"I have some good news," he announced, his chest puffed out with pride. He looked at Ahmed. "You know Karim, from Mohand's family?"
Ahmed nodded, curious.
Baba's smile widened. "He took a liking to Ryan. He said he will get him into the Paradou Academy."
Ahmed's eyes went wide. "Really?"
"Yeah," Baba said, beaming. "He's the new coach."
All eyes turned to Ryan. He had frozen, a piece of meat halfway to his mouth. He slowly lowered his fork, his face a mask of pure horror.
Fuck off. Having no peace in my dreams is one thing, but now they're chasing me into my waking hours too?
"Hell no," he said, his voice dead serious. "I'm not going." He looked desperately at his mother. "Mom, I have school. We can't have this affecting my grades now."
Baba's expression hardened, his eyes locking on Ryan and then Ahmed. "This is about his future! This can change everything!"
My future is already set, don't worry about it,Ryan thought, From Bitcoin to stocks and everything in between, I've already drawn the map.
He noticed his mother and father exchange a long, silent stare. A bad feeling, cold and sharp, twisted in his gut.
"...I'm injured," he blurted out, grabbing his knee as a sharp wince twisted his features. "It's my meniscus, I can feel it!"