Raphael, a child with a mix of Brazilian and Spanish blood, noticed something weird about the ball that lay at his feet.
It wasn't the weight. Not the stitching. It was the feeling. The way it settled against his foot like it belonged there, like it was an extension of his very soul. But quickly the thought was brushed away..
He kicked it, toes impacting the ball slightly off centre leading to the ball rolling across the grass in a crooked line, bumping into his father's foot, where he controlled it with amusement at the first attempt.
Oscar laughed at the frustrated look on his son's face whilst simultaneously encouraging him. "Again, Raph. Try again."
Raphael frowned. He was four years old, legs still short, balance still weird, but something inside him twitched. A familiar itch. He adjusted his angle so the inside of his foot would connect with the back of the ball, dead centre, shifted his weight slightly forward and kicked again.
This time the ball went straight.
Oscar blinked. Inwardly musing how he was able to execute the pass with no prompt from himself.
In the backyard of a modest house in Brazil, the suns warmth radiated all around the area, with loud city noise echoing, yet all of this fell into the background as ralph gazed openly at his father for the first time since touching the ball.
Oscar dos Santos former Chelsea midfielder, World Cup veteran, a man who had played against the best in the world stared down at his son like he'd just seen a magic trick.
"Have you done this before?" Oscar asked.
Raphael tilted his head. He was certain he had never touched a football in his life, but the movements felt so.. Right.
His knowledge of the sport may have been from his past life where he had watched his country Spain's journey to win the euros with his friends, or from that manga blue lock that was about creating the ultimate egoist.
Of course after all this time his memory of such things were foggy at best, but that didn't matter to him as he simply intended to live this new life to the fullist, and after finding out who his father was, football seemed to be the path to go.
"I don't think so, it just made sense I guess," Raphael replied, shrugging. As if it was the most simple thing in the world.
Oscar smiled, shaking his head. "Alright then. Again."
They played like that for a while. Pass, trap, pass. Oscar kept it simple, inside of the foot, receive, move. Stuff meant for toddlers. But Raphael kept fixing himself mid motion, copying movements he saw his father doing without being told, adjusting angles instinctively to what felt natural.
It was practice, the bare boned basics maybe but practice he needed nonetheless.
By the time he was five, the basic practices slowly transitioned into training.
Oscar never forced it. Never raised his voice. But the drills were real; cone drills to help improve ball control, light jogs, coordination ladders drawn in chalk on the pavement.
"This is a necessary step for those who walk the path of football," Oscar said one morning as Raphael panted, hands on his knees. "Football is beautiful, but it's cruel. Your body has to survive it. There will always be someone stronger, so strive to be more technical. There will always be someone with greater technique, so be smarter. There will always be someone smarter, so be faster and stronger" he explained
"The aim of the game is to beat the opponent and score more goals by any means, you must always have a viable option to do so in your arsenal or you will quickly get found out by the true monsters of this world" oscar sated as if reminiscing on his days as a professional.
Raphael didn't complain about the training.
Actually… he kind of liked it, and he completely agreed with his fathers sentiment, and so he trained. Running until his lungs burned felt agonising but he believed the pain was worth it. They worked on balance, agility, and simple ball mastery. Nothing fancy. Oscar avoided tricks on purpose and instead chose to work on his foundations.
Raphael understood but still felt intrigued by the prospect.
When Oscar showed him a basic body feint, something he claimed the greatest player at the time used to brush past players cleanly, he aimed to demonstrate how effective it could be in the hands of a master. Raphael's feet tangled the first time he tried to stop his father. He fell flat on his back, staring at the sky.
Oscar rushed over. "You okay?"
Raphael grinned. Wide. Sharp. "Yeah that was wicked. let me try this time."
His first try was basic as if he was just getting a feel for it. And Oscar let him try again, but his 2nd attempt was a little different, he added something extra. A hesitation quickly followed by a sudden burst.
Oscar froze. His son had just added the next step to a skill he saw one time, and it wasn't at a rudimentary level either.
"Who taught you that?"
Raphael blinked."No one, it just seemed effective. If i hesitate before moving i thought it'd throw the defender off as i could cut back or keep going depending on his reaction leaving him to be too slow to readjust to my movement" he said.
Oscar took a sharp intake of breath. He may be witnessing the birth of a football genius unlike any the world has ever seen. Maybe even surpassing Messi who he himself regarded as the best player to grace the game.
Brazilian parks were chaotic.
Kids older than Raphael crowded dusty fields, barefoot or in cracked cleats, playing like the game was oxygen. No positions. No mercy. If you couldn't keep up, you were gone.
Raphael tried to hold his ground but ultimately got shoved aside. He tried to use the body feint his father recently taught him but he was quickly stripped of the ball when the opposing player wasn't fooled by his movements, making him fall harshly to the ground.
He stood rooted to the spot looking back at the player, dust on his knees, fists clenched and heart pounding. Not from fear, nor was it from anxiety, but from irritation. He may have been thinking back to what his father said but the reason for his irritation was much much simpler than that.
'That was boring.' he mused. 'A games no fun if you don't win'
When he got the ball again, he tried something random. A flashy touch he wasn't sure he could do. The ball bounced in the air lazily as if waiting for his next command.
He volleyed it across the pitch to his teammate who controlled it in stride. A smirk registered on his face at the goal scored as a result of his pass.
This time, the ball was sent to him for a shot but he hit it wide, once again irritation flared
His feet began to move faster than his thoughts. A feint that turned into an elastico nutmeg. A drag-back into space followed by a shot that curled into the corner of the goal.
A sudden cut that sent a bigger kid sliding past him. A reverse pass that reached his unguarded teammate due to him drawing the pressure away.
"Woah!" someone shouted.
Raphael's grin stretched wide.
He failed a lot. Tripped. Lost the ball. Got yelled at. But every time he learned and adjusted accordingly, all the drills his father taught him used in a real game situation became intrinsic, lacking the need for conscious thought boosting his reaction speed.
By sunset, heavy breathing could be heard all around the clearing.
"Hey," one of the older kids said, breathless. "What's your name?"
Raphael paused.
"Raphael," he said. "Raphael dos Santos." the name that would soon reverberate throughout the streets of brazil.
That night he lay on his bed exhausted, but still thinking about what the future held in store.
A boy with green eyes chasing something impossible. isagi
Another laughed like a madman while performing a roulette. barchira
A tall demon with wild hair and violence in his smile. shidou
'It seemed those were the 3 that resonated with me most in blue lock, but that no longer matters. I'll lead the new age of football and bring home the u20 world cup to brazil thus crushing the dreams of blue lock. But that was just the start, i will dominate the top 5 leagues and become the undisputed greatest without question, without equal'
"I cant wait" he muttered in excitement as he finally drifted off to sleep.'