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[USA U-20 Training Ground – The Night Before Facing France]
The air was thick with anticipation. The floodlights cast long shadows over the training pitch, where the figure of Matteo Smith could be seen dribbling a ball across the empty pitch not minding the light drizzle of rain. His dark locs despite being wet fluttered in the wind as he picked up speed, the ball remaining glued to his feet.
Just as he entered the box from the left side, he looked up at the empty goal but in his eyes the figure of a keeper was visible. Nudging the ball lightly he drew back his foot and then fired a monstrous shot towards goal. The ball cut through the light rain and pierced the top right corner spinning wildly only settling after 3 seconds.
Despite his breathing being dragged he sprinted back to the other side of the field and picked du another ball. With methodical footwork he dribbled past the maze of cones he had set up and once again charged at goal this time from a different angle. The result was the same as the ball once again pierced the top right corner. Tomorrow, they faced France—one of the tournament favourites.
If he was being honest, he did not understand why he was saddled with representing USA in this tournament. Just because he was one of the new young faces for NIKI they made him play for the country all in an attempt to drum up revenue and hype. Yes, they needed him to crush their wunderkind they somehow managed to fumble and now expect him to clean up after them.
Matteo exhaled sharply, rolling a new ball under his feet before flicking it up as he proceeded to juggle it. At first, he didn’t care about what they did off the field as they spun a narrative of him being better than Rakim because he genuinely believed it to be true. The fact he was able to move to a better team and the money he received wasn’t bad either, only when the comparisons started did things go left.
He went from being the hottest striker to not being skilful enough or suddenly not being social despite his shooting efficiency increasing each game. No matter what he did some netizens or media personalities found ways to nitpick on his play style and even his choices in food. Only later did he realise that he got dragged into the war between NIki and its competitors. With his agent Oliver having made more than his fair share of enemies, those also started to stoke the fire distracting from his on-the-field performance.
Still, Matteo wasn’t one to complain as long as he continued to work harder to chase his own dreams. But as NIKI’s pettiness with Rakim started affecting his game he had inwardly made a decision he wouldn’t resign with them after his contract expires in two years. He had given Oliver an ultimatum to sort out all this BS by the end of this season or find some other dummy as he no longer had the patience for it.
The English man had agreed only asking him to play for the US in this tournament as he was working an angle with Sky in that direction. If not for that request Matteo would have represented his mother’s country and joined the super team that is the 3 Lions. Pushing this thought aside he flicked up the ball and immediately volleyed it to the middle of the goal. Crisp. Clean. Ruthless.
"Better than him? I have always been better than him and will crush him under my boot like the bug he is proving once and for all who the king is." He exclaimed as he imagined his shot piercing through Rakim’s smiling face, shattering it as the ball pierced the goal.
Matteo stood still, chest rising and falling as he watched the ball settle at the back of the net. The rain drizzled lightly over the empty training ground, the floodlights above flickering slightly in the mist. His pulse was still racing—not just from the drills, but from the fire that had been building in his gut for months.
He hated the way Rakim’s name always found a way into his story like an annoying fly that didn’t know its place. No matter how much he trained, no matter how much he improved, there was always that unspoken comparison. The media had latched onto it like leeches, sucking the joy out of every goal he scored.
"The new golden boy of American soccer."
"The future No. 9 of the U.S. Men’s National Team."
"But can he ever match Rakim Rex’s flair and dominance?"
"Canon over grace full flair is this the future of US Soccer,"
These voices needed to stop and the sooner the better otherwise someone would have to pay. Matteo walked to the sideline, grabbing his water bottle and squeezing it too tightly before taking a sip. "Hey Matteo, get in here right now, are you trying to catch a cold before tomorrow’s match?" Tab Ramos USA’s head coach exclaimed from the entrance of the sports centre looking quite livid.
He had done a room check and everyone was in attendance except this eccentric striker who was never where he was supposed to be. If not for his goal-scoring efficiency and ability to create goals he would have benched him a long time ago. But he couldn’t fault the kid’s dedication as he always went above and beyond whether it was training or in games.
His only fault is that he cared more about his own accolades rather than the team’s success. As long as he was performing to his own insane standard he wouldn’t care if the team was losing by six goals as long as he had scored a hat trick. "All good coach I’ve trained in worse weather in Manchester and never got sick," Matteo replied nonchalantly but still jogged over after picking up all the loose balls putting them back in their place.
"Sigh just go get a hot shower and see the doctor at the first sign of a cough," Ramos stated as he pulled the striker into the door not willing to let him stand in the cold any longer. Matteo simply nodded as he took off his soaked-through pair of NIKI superfly boots placing them on a designated rack as he slipped don a pair of sliders.
"Don’t worry coach I will score as many as you need me to, it’s what I do after all," Matteo stated with a confident smile before making his way towards his room not waiting for a response.
Matteo walked down the dimly lit hallway of the team hotel, his damp locs still clinging to his forehead despite the quick towel dry. His footsteps were light, but his mind was anything but. His fingers clenched into fists. "Tomorrow, I bury France and whoever else comes in my way."
Just as he turned the corner toward his room, a familiar voice called out from behind. "Yo, Matt!" Matteo glanced over his shoulder. Giovanni Reyna and Yunus Musah. Two of the few guys in the squad he actually respected. Like him, they both played for big teams in Europe with Giovani even making his debut for Dortmund.
The sight of Yunus irritated him more than it should have as the guy always found a way to get under his skin. Yunus leaned casually against the hallway wall; arms crossed. Reyna had his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweats, looking utterly bored like he didn’t want to be here despite starting the conversation.
Matteo barely held back the urge to just walk past them like they didn’t exist, but he needed these foot soldiers if he was going to achieve his goals of conquest. "You were out there training in the rain again, weren’t you?" Yunus asked, shaking his head.
Matteo shrugged. "You already know the answer to that."
"Man, we play France in a few hours. Don’t gas yourself out before the real fight," Reyna said, stepping closer.
Matteo rolled his eyes. "You think I don’t know my limits? If you guys weren’t to hang up on some dude who turned his back on his country I wouldn’t have to carry us through the group stage."
Yunus visibly enraged by his words stepped up getting right in his face. "This isn’t about him, and you know it, we want to win more than anyone, but it gets hard linking up play when you don’t follow the game plan,"
Matteo burst out laughing upon hearing his words. "Hahah, I don’t think you get it, my job is to score whatever chance the team creates no matter how good or bad. So, if you want to win figure out your job and do it don’t go poking your nose in my business. I am not Rakim, I am not your friend and most importantly I do not care as long as I score goals if we win that’s just a by-product."
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To Be Continued...
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