Chapter 81: Volume 1, - 81: Eight Points
The kitchen table in the Olivais apartment was quiet at six in the morning. A single plastic mug of black coffee sat beside Sofia’s laptop, the fan inside the computer whirring softly as the portal page refreshed.
Rayan stood behind her, his tracksuit bottoms zipped to the ankle, watching the grey loading circle spin against the blue header of the Ministry of Education site.
"Sit down, Rayan," Sofia said, her voice dry with fatigue. "Breathing down my neck will not make the server load faster."
Rayan pulled out the wooden chair opposite her and sat down. He adjusted the strap of his gym bag, which rested on the floor beside his feet. Inside were his clean black boots, a spare pair of socks, and the white envelope Marta Nunes had handed his mother the previous afternoon.
The portal page resolved. Row by row, the 10th-year marks populated the screen.
Sofia leaned closer, running her index finger across the display.
Portuguese: 11. History: 10. Mathematics: 10. Physical Education: 16. Natural Sciences: 11. English: 12.
Sofia checked every subject twice. She clicked on the drop-down tab for the final term assessments to confirm there were no pending remedial exams or summer modules required before September.
"Ten in Mathematics," Sofia said, stopping on the line. "The minimum pass."
"Mr Carriço said my final exam was enough to cover the second-term drop," Rayan said quietly.
"It was barely enough," Sofia corrected, though the tension in her shoulders visibly gave way. She clicked the print icon, listening as the inkjet printer on the side table groaned to life. "You passed the year, Rayan. But do not think that being retained by Sporting means you can coast through the eleventh year."
"I know, Mom."
Sofia gathered the warm paper from the tray and folded it precisely into thirds. "Did you read the schedule again?"
"Yes," Rayan said. "Testing at eight. The full sessions are Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. Seven-thirty reporting time. The bus route is in the envelope."
Sofia nodded once. "Eat your porridge. You cannot do physical tests on an empty stomach."
By eight o’clock, Rayan stood in the high-performance testing laboratory at the Alcochete academy building.
Dr Miguel Fonseca sat on a rolling stool and checked the calf Rayan had injured earlier in the season. He pressed along the muscle, tested its movement and compared both legs.
"No swelling or tenderness," Fonseca said. "Strength and movement are acceptable. We keep the eccentric work and increase the load gradually."
Pedro Gama, Sporting’s movement and physical-development coach, stood beside a digital goniometer while two force plates sat embedded in the rubber floor.
"Stand on the plates, Rayan. Bare feet," Gama said.
For thirty minutes, Gama and Fonseca ran him through movement assessments. Gama logged the jump mechanics and deceleration stability on his monitor.
On the single-leg balance test, Rayan held the first position cleanly, then wobbled when Gama asked him to decelerate and receive light shoulder contact at the same time. His acceleration carried him into the station quickly, but his feet narrowed as he stopped, leaving his upper body easy to move. Gama reset the markers without comment and made him repeat the sequence at lower speed until the stance remained wider.
"Your first steps are sharp," Gama said. "The problem is stopping. You stay too tall and let your knees take too much of the load."
Fonseca stepped around to inspect Rayan’s posture as he stood straight.
"Your trunk and shoulders are still developing," Fonseca said. "Some of the older players will move you in contact unless your stance is set before they arrive."
"We’ll work on your stance, how you stop and how you prepare for contact," Gama said. "Use your body earlier instead of waiting for someone stronger to hit you."
"Understood, Coach," Rayan said.
"Sleep eight hours minimum. Follow the nutrition sheet in your folder," Fonseca added. "Report back on Monday at seven-thirty for the field session."
Rayan left the academy shortly after nine. The morning sun beat down on the pavement as he waited for the bus back to Lisbon.
A smoked-black panel resolved smoothly within his vision.
[AVAILABLE ATTRIBUTE POINTS: 8.]
[AVAILABLE BASIC SKILL TOKENS: 1.]
[CURRENT OVERALL: 47.]
Rayan focused his mind, selecting the attributes carefully to address his core baseline weaknesses.
[ATTRIBUTE ALLOCATION COMPLETE.]
[Ball Control: 41 → 43.]
[Dribbling: 43 → 44.]
[Passing: 45 → 46.]
[Decision-Making: 39 → 40.]
[Stamina: 51 → 52.]
[Strength: 43 → 44.]
[Defensive Awareness: 28 → 29.]
[Available Attribute Points: 0.]
[Overall: 47 → 48.]
The smoked-black panel updated.
He left his single Basic Skill Token unspent.
The bus pulled up to the kerb with a hiss of air brakes, and Rayan boarded for the ride home.
At four in the afternoon, Rayan’s phone buzzed on his desk. Karim’s name flashed on the screen.
"Rayan!" Karim’s voice came through eager. "I was thinking about your summer schedule. A guy at the market gave me a routine used by elite academy players in Spain. We start tomorrow morning: five in the morning, hill sprints near the park. Then fifty hill reps, three hundred wall passes, evening roadwork, and heavy squats in the local gym!"
"Dad, I can’t do that," Rayan said, settling onto the edge of his bed.
"Why not?" Karim asked, his tone dropping into mild frustration. "You have to show them you want it!"
"Sporting gave me a plan, Dad. If I add hill sprints and heavy squats, I’ll turn up tired on Monday and could hurt myself. I have to follow what they gave me."
Silence held on the line for a few seconds.
"They checked all that?" Karim asked quietly.
"Yes. The medical staff are monitoring the load."
Karim sighed softly over the speaker. "All right, Rayan. If the doctors at Sporting gave you the plan, you follow the doctors. But make sure you stretch properly!"
"I will, Dad. Thanks for calling."
"We eat fish on Sunday," Karim reminded him before hanging up.
By nine in the evening, the bedroom was quiet.
On the back of his desk chair, his green-and-white Sporting kit was neatly folded, his academy number 11 shirt lying on top. On the floor beside the desk, his black boots rested on dry newspaper, the studs free of rubber crumb.
He felt a quiet satisfaction knowing his System rating had reached Overall 48. Yet the small increases in his attributes had not changed the U17 players waiting for him. On Monday, he would enter as one of the youngest candidates in the group and have to earn every useful action.
Rayan turned off his bedroom light and got into bed.