Some minutes had passed, and the sun was beginning to show signs of dipping, stretching the shadows across the sandy field. The heat had eased just enough for the players to breathe more comfortably, though dust still clung to their legs from the earlier drills.
Some players bent forward with their hands on their knees; others stretched their backs or shook out tired legs.
Ayodeji wasn't exactly fresh as sweat lined his forehead and his shirt clung lightly to his back but compared to the others, he looked far less exhausted. His breathing was steady, his posture upright, and the drills hadn't seemed to slow him down at all.
Throughout the warm-ups and technical exercises, he had matched or surpassed the others in almost everything: quick feet through the cones; tight control in the dribbling weave; crisp, accurate passing in the one-touch rondo; and sharp reactions in the agility test.
Jidenna finally blew the whistle, gathering everyone near the center. "Scrimmage," he called out. "Red vs Black. Twenty minutes."
As the bibs were passed around, small groups formed almost instantly—friends pairing off and regular teammates drifting into familiar circles.
Ayodeji stood a little apart from everyone else, his hands empty as he waited. He glanced around and saw a few players were staring at him. Their gaze wasn't hostile and was not welcoming either, just curious as they measured him. They whispered between themselves while their eyes flicked back to him.
That newbie nervousness tugged at Ayodeji's chest and made him uncomfortable, causing him to look away.
Footsteps approached.
A boy stopped beside him, adjusting the sleeve of his own jersey before offering a small smile. It was the same person that recognised him earlier.
"Hey," he said casually. "Don't mind them. They're just waiting to see where you end up."
Ayodeji raised a brow. "Why?"
"You're a new face," the boy shrugged. "Everyone wants to know if you're with them or against them for the scrimmage."
Before Ayodeji could respond, one of the assistant players walked over and handed him a red bib. "Here. You're on red today."
Ayodeji accepted it, nodding as he muttered "okay".
The boy then tapped his shoulder. "Well… looks like we're teammates," he said with a grin. "I'm Chike, by the way."
"Ayodeji," he replied.
"It's really crazy" Chike lowered his voice, "I was actually talking about you five minutes before Coach Jidenna brought you. Didn't know you'd join this team."
"Well, it's not like I had options," Ayodeji replied. "Plus, preparing for a tournament is a good way to enjoy ball, I guess." He slipped his bib on. "I play left wing. What do you play?"
"Defensive midfield," Chike grinned. "You'll hardly get past me in the field. I'm like Kanté out here."
Ayodeji just nodded, his silent approval stroking Chike's ego. He glanced back to the rest of the team, still seeing eyes on him although they had reduced. He turned back to Chike "Well, they all want to see me play. I guess I have to be at my best."
"Good," Chike said with a serious tone, pulling his own bib on. "Just give them something to talk about."
***
"Ready?" Jidenna lifted the whistle to his lips, not caring for an answer. The shrill blast cut through the air.
The Black team started fast.
They kept the ball confidently, stringing passes together, shifting play side to side while the red team struggled to get proper shape. Their midfield trio was tight and composed, dictating rhythm as they forced the reds backward.
Every heavy touch from the red team was stolen cleanly, recycled with ease.
"Shift! Shift!"
"Don't dive in!"
"Hold the line!"
The shouts were loud as the black team kept pressing their opponents. The red team spent the first few minutes mostly defending, struggling to get past halfway.
Even when they won the ball, Black snatched it back instantly, dragging the scrimmage into their control with sharp touches and quick movement.
Ayodeji stayed high on the left, watching and waiting. The ball never reached him, as the black team midfield had made that impossible from the early minutes.
Then the black team overplayed their hand.
Their right winger tried to force a dribble through two red players near the touchline. The ball slipped loose, bouncing awkwardly across the sand.
Chike lunged for it. "Counter!" he shouted as he poked the ball forward while under pressure from the opposition.
Ayodeji had already started moving. He burst toward the loose ball, sand scattering beneath his steps. The ball skipped across the rough ground, bouncing unevenly but he adjusted effortlessly, cushioning it with a soft instep touch and pulling it across his body.
A Black midfielder immediately closed in.
Ayodeji didn't break stride. He dipped his shoulder, rolled the ball with the outside of his foot, and sliced past the challenge so smoothly the midfielder twisted the wrong way and stumbled.
The right back stepped up immediately, trying to challenge him but Ayodeji didn't slow. He dragged the ball with the outside of his boot, then snapped it inward with a feint so sharp the defender bit hard, shifting the wrong way.
The space opened for a heartbeat—a small window, but perfect. He burst through it, doubling his speed as sand sprayed behind him as he ran. The field stretched wide before him, the black team backline scrambling while red bibs suddenly flooded forward.
He glanced up and saw a flash of red sprinting up the middle; the team striker was drifting between defenders. "Pass it! Middle!" the striker yelled, trying to break free from his marker.
Ayodeji didn't look rushed. His strides were calm, a huge contrast compared to the frantic chasing footsteps behind him.
He let the ball roll slightly ahead, angling his body as if preparing to cut inside. The defender bought it as he shifted his weight, shaping himself to block the expected inward drive.
That was all Ayodeji needed. Instead of cutting in, he wrapped his foot around the ball with a smooth motion and struck a trivela without any hesitation.
The ball bent outward, curling across the box as it rolled into the space just ahead of the striker. It whipped around the centre-back and stopped perfectly into the striker's stride, who didn't break rhythm as he struck it low.
The rippling of the net was the only sound heard as everyone froze for a moment.
Then the striker who scored finally snapped out of it. He turned around, eyes wide, breathing hard, and stomped toward Ayodeji. "Bro… BRO…" he muttered, half amazed and shocked.
He raised a hand.
Ayodeji blinked.
The striker slapped a high-five against his palm and then grabbed his shoulder, still staring at him like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "Tell me you meant to do that," he said. "No, seriously. You meant that pass?"
Behind him, two Red teammates let out delayed cheers, more reactive than celebratory.
"Mad! That was mad!" One shouted, pointing at him with both hands, still refusing to believe what he'd just seen. Another ran up and lightly bumped shoulders with him. "Guy, that pass was crazy!"
The reaction followed as the midfielder Ayodeji dribbled past stopped with his hands in his head, as he couldn't believe what he just saw.
Another smacked his forehead, muttering curses under his breath.
A few players near Ayodeji stared openly, unsure whether to cheer or question reality. The whole pitch was stunned at his creativity.
"What the fuck?"
"Was that a trivela?"
"He just did a trivela.....and on sand for that matter!"
"Who gave him that rubbish red bib, instead of him to be on our side."
Ayodeji simply exhaled, resting his hands on his hips as Chike jogged with a grin stretching across his face. "Told you," Chike said, half-laughing, half-in disbelief. "Now they're definitely going to talk about that."
At the sidelines, Jidenna didn't move. He just stood there with the whistle loosely in his hand.
Beside him stood their assistant coach, a shorter man with a cap tilted backward and two older volunteers from the club who usually helped with cones, jerseys, and equipment.
All four of them stared.
The assistant coach was the first to react, blinking like he wasn't sure he'd actually seen the ball curve.
"Coach…" he whispered, leaning forward. "You saw the bend on that thing?"
Coach Jidenna didn't answer, his eyes were fixed on Ayodeji like he needed a second look to confirm what he had just seen.
One of the volunteers, Baba Kunle, folded his arms slowly. "This boy no–" he caught himself and switched to proper English. "This boy is not… ordinary."
"Who taught him that?" The equipment guy beside him pushed his glasses up as he turned to Jidenna's direction. "Believe me when I say this Jidenna, I think you have found a diamond in the rough."
Jidenna still didn't reply, his gaze was still steady on Ayodeji, watching him jog back to position, still maintaing a calm expression.
It was only the first goal of the scrimmage but one thing was already clear to everyone on the pitch.
This wasn't going to be a normal scrimmage.
——
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