The morning sun bathed the streets of Buyenzi in golden light, announcing a day full of promise. The market stalls, still half-asleep, slowly stirred with the footsteps of early passersby. Mr. and Mrs. Cide walked with determined strides, their expressions serious. Their destination: Jumuia Primary School.
For the past week, their son Tesuka had been juggling schoolwork and intense football training. He had insisted he could manage both. Though hesitant, his parents had given him that chance. It was a deal: if he proved he could handle school and sport without faltering, he would be allowed to continue. If not, football would have to stop.
The week had passed. And today, they were meeting Mr. Gabi, Tesuka's homeroom teacher. In their hearts, concern mingled with hope. They needed to know if their son had truly kept his word.
Mr. and Mrs. Cide did not want to wait for their son to show them his grades himself. They knew Tesuka was capable of falsifying the results. It wasn't the first time he had pulled such a trick. The Buyenzi neighborhood was full of con artists, and their son had started being influenced at a very young age, just after turning six.
Upon arriving at the school, they were greeted by the principal, a man with a proud stance and sharp eyes. Without unnecessary words, he led them through the corridors to the teachers' lounge where Mr. Gabi awaited them, a file carefully held in his hands.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Cide. I'm pleased to see you. Please, have a seat," he said with a warm smile.
The parents sat down, their faces marked with worry.
"We have come to inquire about our son's progress," Mr. Cide began. "After this week of intensive training, we fear his academic performance might have suffered."
"What week of training?" Mr. Gabi asked, surprised.
"Football training," Mr. Cide replied calmly.
"Hmm..." the teacher murmured.
"We made a bet with the school's sports teacher, who assured us that our son is a football genius. We told him that if our son's grades improved, we would allow him to continue with his training."
"Hmm, I see..." Mr. Gabi said, suddenly remembering the conversation he had with Coach Bayo about monitoring Tesuka's classroom work a week ago. So that was it... football. I was sure.
Then, Mr. Gabi opened the file and placed it before them.
"I understand your concerns," Mr. Gabi said, adjusting his glasses. "However, let me reassure you. Tesuka has not only caught up, but he also earned the highest grades in every subject this week."
Mrs. Cide's eyes widened in astonishment.
"That's impressive… but is it possible it was just luck?" she asked cautiously.
"I don't think so," the teacher replied calmly. "Even though I don't fully agree with this kind of bet… Tesuka is an exceptionally disciplined student. He actively participates, asks sharp questions, and shows a maturity that's rare for his age."
He paused for a moment, thoughtful.
"And to be honest… I suspect football plays a role. He might be afraid that you'll ask him to give it up, and that fear is pushing him to excel."
Mr. Cide frowned slightly, reflecting.
"We want to make sure this performance isn't just a phase. Could we observe his progress over a longer period?"
"Of course," Mr. Gabi nodded, closing the folder. "Let's give it a month. I'll send you a full report afterward. Then we'll know if allowing him to continue football was the right choice."
It was exactly 4:45 PM when Tesuka arrived at the Polo Stadium field, his breath still steady after a long day at school. The field was already alive with energy: the U9 kids warming up under the watchful eye of Coach Bayo. The air buzzed with quick footsteps and excited laughter. Agility drills were underway—slaloms between carefully lined cones, quick relay races, and methodical stretches.
Coach Bayo's firm yet encouraging voice rang out: "Come on, boys, focus! Work on your footwork, it's the foundation of ball control."
Tesuka immediately joined the group, starting his warm-up with remarkable fluidity. Every movement was precise, fast, almost automatic, showing a rare technical mastery for his age. His gaze was fixed, determined, while his light, agile legs moved tirelessly. He weaved through the cones with impressive ease, controlling the ball as if it were an extension of his body, his footing always solid, never hesitant.
The coach then called out a new drill: precise passing in pairs. Tesuka teamed up with Hamza, a solid teammate but still learning the technical ropes.
Hamza throws the ball toward Tesuka with enthusiasm, but it's Tesuka who quickly takes control, setting the tempo with surprising finesse before sending the ball back with pinpoint accuracy. Their synchronization catches the attention of the other kids, who try to mimic their precision. The group's surprise grows as the passes become sharper and faster, with both players effortlessly anticipating each other's movements.
Coach Bayo watches with an approving smile. "That's it, keep it up! Football is all about teamwork and timing."
"That kid… he's got rare vision for his age."
The drill intensifies—passes fly faster, and the trajectories grow more complex. Tesuka stays calm, his movements precise. He anticipates Hamza's runs, delivering perfectly timed passes that are easy to control.
Next comes a dribbling exercise: each player must weave between cones while varying their speed and direction. Tesuka starts off slow, then accelerates, shifting rhythm and direction with sharp footwork. His movements are crisp, perfectly controlled. He easily outpaces the others.
Breathless, Hamza exclaims, "You're not human, Tesuka!"
Tesuka smiles, a bit embarrassed, then moves on to the shooting drill. Coach Bayo asks the kids to aim for specific zones in a small goal. Tesuka unleashes a series of powerful, accurate shots, each one hitting the net cleanly.
Training continues with a seven-a-side match.
The next drill is a themed mini-game, where players must perform a specific pass or dribble to earn a point.
From the kickoff, Tesuka dominates the game. He makes the most of open space, his runs and rhythm changes throwing defenders off balance. He scores multiple goals with sudden bursts of speed.
He distributes the ball intelligently, accelerates into open lanes, dribbles past opponents with ease. His speed and stamina leave everyone around impressed.
Coach Bayo then introduces a sprint drill. He splits the group into two teams: a 20-meter dash followed by a precise ball control, then a sprint back.
Tesuka charges forward with determination, his legs propelling him at full speed. He retrieves the ball and controls it with surgical precision before passing to his teammate. He repeats the drill several times, showing no signs of fatigue.
Bayo mentally notes his exceptional endurance.
At the far end of the field, Coach Ndikumana, who oversees the U13 team, can't help but glance repeatedly in Tesuka's direction. Every move the boy makes challenges his earlier assessment of Tesuka's physical potential.
He watches closely—his stamina, his ability to maintain a high pace without showing a hint of exhaustion. He recalls the decision to downgrade him: "Lack of endurance," he had concluded.
Yet here, Tesuka clearly outperforms every U9 player—and by a long shot. More than that, his agility,stamina and technique even surpass many of the U13 players Ndikumana knows well.
Ndikumana bites his lip, torn between the pride of having spotted a talented player and the regret of having possibly underestimated his physical condition.
As the match ends with a crushing 12-2 victory for Tesuka's U9 team, Bayo turns to him and says, "Keep it up—you're doing your team proud."
In his mind, Ndikumana vows to keep a close eye on the boy's development, though he remains firm in his initial decision. "He still has to prove he can keep this up long-term."
"If Tesuka keeps progressing like this, I'll have to reconsider. But admitting I was wrong would be a hit to my credibility. Still… I can't ignore these performances."
One Month Later
The month passed quickly, filled with football training sessions and school days. Despite his packed schedule, Tesuka continued to excel in his studies.
At the next parent-teacher meeting, Tesuka's parents, along with Mr. Gabi, were welcomed with an even broader smile than before.
"I'm pleased to inform you that Tesuka has maintained his outstanding performance. He continues to lead in every subject, achieving top marks across the board over the past month."
He handed them a new folder containing his results.
"This is incredible," Mrs. Cide whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Your son is a shining example of determination and discipline," the teacher added. "He's living proof that passion and academics can go hand in hand."
Mr. Cide turned to his wife, a proud smile lighting up his face.
"It seems our son is far more mature than we ever imagined."
---
One afternoon, while Tesuka was training on the football field, his friend Abdoul walked up to him.
"Tell me, Tesuka, how do you manage to be this good both at school and on the field?"
Tesuka shrugged with a slight smirk.
"I just work hard, that's all."
Ball looked at him, amused.
"Mmh, stop lying. Tell him the truth—that you're actually an adult in a kid's body. Tell him you're a regressor."
Tesuka burst out laughing, though deep down, he knew Ball wasn't that far from the truth.
"Seriously though," Abdoul added, "do you really work that hard? I think I should start following your example."
Tesuka smiled, brushing off Abdoul's curiosity with a gentle nudge.
"You don't need to be like me," he said. "You just need to find your rhythm—your way."
Abdoul nodded, thoughtful. "Still… I've never seen anyone focus the way you do. It's like nothing distracts you."
It's just I know where I want to go ,just try to find your and you will see the results.
That evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, Coach Ndikumana stood alone at the edge of the U13 field, watching from afar.
He had observed Tesuka for weeks now, quietly gathering data, comparing performances, tracking progress. There was no denying it anymore—Tesuka had surpassed expectations.
Not just those of a nine-year-old. He was showing signs of tactical intelligence and physical readiness that rivaled players seven, even eight years older.
Ndikumana let out a long breath. "He's not just gifted," he murmured to himself. "He's built for this."
Still, he remained cautious. His pride wouldn't let him reverse his earlier judgment so easily. He needed more than performances. He needed consistency over time. Maturity under pressure. Resilience after failure.
And yet… every time Tesuka touched the ball, something extraordinary happened.
As the sun slowly began to set, Coach Bayo gathered the kids around him. His gaze was serious, but a spark of excitement shone in his eyes.
"Alright, boys, listen up," he started firmly. "Match time is fast approaching. This week, you need to rest. No intense training, just rest to recover all your strength."
The children exchanged surprised looks, some sad not to return to the field immediately, others eager at the thought of playing soon.
"We'll resume training on Friday with an important tactical session. Then, Saturday will be a complete rest day. You need to be at your best on Sunday for our match against Saint Augustin, another team from the neighborhood."
A murmur ran through the group, mixing nervousness and excitement.
"Get ready, it's going to be a real challenge. I'm counting on you!"
Tesuka felt his heart race. The match was the perfect opportunity to prove everything he had learned. The challenge was set, and he was ready to face it.
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