The gates did not slam shut.
They never did.
They closed with a soft, almost polite click—quiet enough that Alejandro Adeyemi Castillo wondered if he had imagined it. He turned once, just once, to look back at the academy grounds, half-expecting someone to call his name. A coach. An assistant. Anyone.
No one did.
The badge mounted on the stone wall gleamed faintly in the gray afternoon, untouched by the drizzle that had begun to fall. Inside, boys his age were already peeling off damp shirts, arguing about missed chances and good touches. Tomorrow they would train again. Next week, another match. Another opportunity.
For them.
Álex adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. His boots dangled against his back, laces loose, studs knocking together with each step. They were clean. Too clean. He had scrubbed them the night before, convinced today would matter enough to deserve it.
Thirteen years old.
Rejected.
The word did not arrive all at once. It seeped in gradually, like cold through thin fabric. He walked away from the gates slowly, unsure where to put his hands, his eyes, his thoughts. The streets outside the academy were quiet at this hour, damp pavement reflecting a dull sky that couldn't decide whether to rain properly or give up.
"You're talented," the coach had said, not unkindly. "But we're looking for something more."
More.
The assistant had avoided his eyes.
"Not special enough," he had added, like it was a fact of nature.
Talented but not special.
Álex crossed the street automatically, stepping around shallow puddles without looking. His body knew space even when his mind didn't. Angles. Gaps. Timing. He had learned all of it chasing a ball across concrete courts and uneven grass, playing against boys older and stronger than him because he had no choice.
He pulled his phone from his pocket. One unread message glowed on the screen.
Papá.
Sent before the trial.
He didn't open it.
His father had stood outside the gates this morning, arms crossed, pretending not to be nervous. A former semi-professional whose career had ended before it began, his dream folded away by injury and responsibility. He had ironed Álex's shirt himself, his hands rough but careful.
Whatever happens, his father had said, you walk home proud.
Álex wondered if pride was something you lost all at once or piece by piece.
The academy disappeared behind him. Traffic noise grew louder. The city reclaimed him.
Rain began to fall properly now, light but persistent, slicking the road until headlights smeared across the asphalt. Álex lowered his head, boots tapping softly behind him.
He stepped off the curb.
The horn came too late.
A sharp blast of sound tore through the air, followed by the screech of tires fighting water and momentum. Álex looked up instinctively—and saw white.
Headlights.
Wide.
Close.
There was no time to run.
The impact was violent but strangely distant, as if it happened to someone else. His body lifted, weightless for a fraction of a second. His bag tore free. Boots flew. Rain and light and noise collapsed into a single overwhelming instant.
As he fell, something else stirred.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Awareness.
[Searching…]
The word appeared not in the world, but somewhere deeper—faint, unstable, like a signal fighting interference.
Álex's body struck the ground.
His vision fractured.
[Compatibility Scan: In Progress]
The rain blurred into streaks of light. Sound faded in and out. He was dimly aware of voices shouting, of someone running toward him.
His thoughts slowed.
So this is it, he thought distantly. I didn't even get another chance.
[Host Criteria: Football-Centric Cognitive Development — Detected]
[Emotional Catalyst: Rejection — Confirmed]
Something warm pressed against his cheek. Asphalt. Blood. Rain.
[Temporal Dormancy: Extended]
[Search Duration: 1,143 Years]
The number meant nothing to him, but the weight of it did. Waiting. Long waiting.
[Viable Host Found]
His heartbeat faltered.
[Initializing Preliminary Link…]
A sensation rippled through him—gentle, deliberate, not intrusive. As if something had finally exhaled after holding its breath for years.
[Host: Alejandro Adeyemi Castillo]
[Age: 13]
[Status: Critical]
The world dimmed.
The last thing he felt was rain on his skin and a strange certainty—not hope, not fear—
Recognition.
...
Then darkness took him.
Voices pulled him back.
Soft at first. Muffled. Then clearer.
"Álex?"
He opened his eyes to white to see white ceiling, white walls around him. The steady, mechanical rhythm of a monitor somewhere to his right. His body felt heavy, stitched together by aches and pressure. His head throbbed. His ribs protested every breath.
Hospital.
His mother was sitting beside the bed, fingers wrapped tightly around his hand like she was afraid he might disappear if she let go. Her eyes were red. His father stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded, jaw tight, the way he looked when he was holding himself together by force.
"You're awake," his mother whispered, voice breaking. "Gracias a Dios."
His father exhaled slowly, like he had been holding his breath for days.
"Easy, campeón," he said quietly. "Don't move." holding him down to prevent him from straining his wounds.
Álex swallowed. His throat was dry.
"What… happened?" he asked.
His mother brushed his hair back gently.
"You were hit by a car," she said. "You scared us."
'Scared us' thought Alex then he remember what happened as flashback of the accident flow through his mind.
A nurse entered then, calm and efficient, checking monitors, shining a light briefly in his eyes.
"He's lucky," she said. "Very lucky. No internal bleeding. Some bruising, a fractured arm, but he'll recover."
Lucky, Alex stared at the ceiling lost in his thoughts.
His parents stayed. They talked softly to the nurse, asked questions, listened carefully. His mother refused to leave his side. His father nodded, serious, absorbing every instruction.
Eventually, the nurse smiled reassuringly.
"I'll need to speak with you both outside for a moment," she said. "Just to go over the next steps."
His mother hesitated to leave him, but Álex reassured her.
"I'll be right here," Álex murmured holding his mother's hand.
Reluctantly, she stood. His father squeezed his shoulder once before following them out. The curtain rustled closed. Their voices faded down the corridor.
The ward grew quiet.
The machine continued its steady rhythm.
Álex was alone.
That was when the air changed.
Not physically—but unmistakably.
[Prodigy System — Online]
The words appeared with clarity now, no longer fragmented.
Álex's heart jumped.
"What?" he whispered.
[Host Stabilization Confirmed]
[Cognitive State: Awake]
"This isn't real," he muttered. "I hit my head."
[Dream State: False]
His breath quickened.
"I'm hallucinating." muttered Álex trying to find the voice as he looks all over the room.
[Neural Activity: Within Normal Parameters]
He clenched the sheet beneath his fingers.
"Then what are you?" asked Álex in a low voice.
[Designation: Prodigy System]
[Function: Football Development Optimization]
Football.
The word struck him harder than the accident had.
"Why me?" he asked quietly.
There was no hesitation this time.
[Trigger Event: Rejection — Valid]
[Secondary Trigger: Near-Fatal Incident — Valid]
[Eligibility Threshold: Met]
A sensation washed over him—not judgment, not praise. Assessment.
[Initial Status Display:]
Name: Alejandro Adeyemi Castillo
Age: 13
Position Inclination: Wide Attacker (Left)
Technical Potential: High
Tactical Awareness: Dormant
Physical Development: Delayed
Mental Resilience: Unforged
Current Standing: Overlooked
Overlooked.
His jaw tightened.
"So what?" he said. "You're here to tell me the same thing they did?"
[Negative]The next line appeared slowly, deliberately.
[Objective Assigned:]
Become undeniable.
No promises.
No shortcuts.
Just a demand.
"How?" Álex whispered.
[No Instant Enhancement Permitted]
[Progress Requires Training, Match Exposure, and Decision Discipline]
"So I still have to work huh," he said in a low voice.
[Affirmative]
The rain had stopped outside. Evening light filtered faintly through the curtain, touching the wall in gold.
Álex stared at it, something settling deep in his chest.
"If I fail again?" he asked.
[Failure Will Be Recorded]
[Growth Will Slow]
[Path Remains Open]
He closed his eyes.
The academy gates.
Clean boots.
His father's unread message.
For the first time since that click behind him, he did not feel empty.
Not hope.
Direction.
"Okay," Álex said softly. "Then show me."
There was no dramatic response.
Only one final confirmation.
[Prodigy System Active]
Outside the ward, his parents returned, unaware that something fundamental had shifted.
Alejandro Adeyemi Castillo lay still, eyes open, breathing steady not knowing what the future awaits for him.
Rejected at thirteen.
Found after a long wait.