Spain, Barcelona…
It was the morning after the grueling UEFA Champions League match in Fulham, England, a match that had a lot of significance to Sam.
The city of Barcelona stirred gently under a soft Mediterranean sunrise.
The sky was painted in warm hues of orange and pink, and a light sea breeze filtered in through the open balcony doors of a luxurious high-rise mansion overlooking the cityscape, Sam’s mansion.
The distant hum of life in the streets below, of early risers heading to work, the faint melody of a street musician, all blending into the quiet elegance of the morning.
"Ahh!" Sam sighed, taking a deep breath as he looked down through the open balcony doors. ’What a sight’. He thought.
And then, he started easing into his day with a slow stretch, his body still feeling the aftereffects of the previous night’s battle on the pitch.
The adrenaline had long since faded, leaving behind the familiar dull ache in his muscles, a badge of effort and victory.
He moved with the deliberate sluggishness of someone who gave everything the night before on the pitch.
Yes, Sam was suffering from fatigue from the grueling match yesterday.
Even with his physical conditioning elixirs that the system rewarded him with, to return to optimum state as soon as possible for the next game, Sam still had to recover normally like other professional football players.
It was just that he had an advantage over other players in terms of recovery speed, an advantage that could not be bridged with just talent alone.
The game in Fulham may have seemed like a workover for FC Barcelona if you look at the 2-4 scoreline, but Fulham gave them hell.
Led by Emile Smith Rowe, they fought a great battle against the Catalan giants, pushing them to the edge.
This was why after the game, Hansi Flick gave his players the day out to rest and recover for their next game which was a league game.
And this was why for the first time since they started their daily work-out as training buddies, Pedri, Lamine Yamal and the others decided to skip today, telling Sam that they were too exhausted to go today.
Sam couldn’t blame them, after all, none of them had a system like him.
And so, dressed in training gear, he settled into his post-match recovery routine in the mansion’s sleek recovery room.
A state-of-the-art compression machine wrapped around his legs, methodically working to flush out lactic acid and reduce inflammation.
At the side, an ice bath waited nearby, the thought of it unappealing but necessary.
Sitting, Sam sipped on a nutrient-packed smoothie, the taste of banana, oats, and protein powder blending together as he scrolled through his phone.
He went through messages from his teammates, notifications from the club and its fan pages, and then highlights from last night’s game flooding his feed.
But then, all of it was interrupted by a sudden video call notification.
{Incoming video call from Mi Corazon…}
Seeing that pop-up notification, Sam smiled involuntarily.
It was his girlfriend, Kayla.
His Spanish lessons already reached an advanced level. And with his growing knowledge of Spanish, Sam changed the name he saved his girlfriend’s contact with on his phone to Mi Corazon, translating to My Heart.
He answered the video call with a smirk, leaning back in his chair as Kayla’s face appeared on the screen.
She was still in bed, wrapped in a blanket, her hair slightly messy.
"You look exhausted," she teased, her voice laced with warmth.
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"And you look like you just woke up". He fired back with a chuckle.
They talked effortlessly, slipping into the comfortable rhythm of two people who knew each other inside out.
It was just a week or so since Kayla left, but Sam was missing her already.
She congratulated him on the match, playfully scolding him for scoring a hattrick after all that he went through with Fulham in England.
Hearing that, Sam was caught off-guard, laughing before defending himself, though they both knew he’d do it again if it meant winning.
As they talked, he moved to the ice bath, grimacing as he lowered himself in. "Alright," Sam groaned. "Here comes the suffering". He muttered, causing Kayla to laugh at his exaggerated misery.
And just like that, minutes passed in easy conversation; discussing weekend plans, her work, his upcoming training schedule.
It was a rare moment of normalcy in a life that rarely slows down.
Outside the city continued to wake but in this quiet pocket of the morning, everything felt balanced.
Football, recovery, love, a harmonious blend of the things that mattered most.
"I feel blessed". Sam suddenly said, smiling lovingly.
Kayla smiled. "I know, I love you too".
Sam chuckled.
After ending the call minutes later, Sam finally stood up, going about his day as he decided to cook and yet that was when another phone call came in.
{Incoming call from Coach Eric Chelle…}
Sam answered the call immediately. "Hey Coach, good morning".
"Good morning Sam, how are you doing?"
"I’m good, what of you?"
Well, that was the prelude to another lengthy conversation.
Eric Chelle, the head coach of the Nigerian national team contacted Sam personally because something important to Nigerian football was coming up.
The coach called because in less than 2 weeks, the AFCON tournament would start. On 21st December, Morocco, the host country will welcome Comoros at the Prince Moulay Abdellah Stadium in Rabat for the first clash of the tournament.
For Africans, the AFCON tournament had the same significance as the Euros and the Copa America. It was a big major trophy in any player’s cabinet.
Besides, Nigerians suffered an AFCON heartbreak recently.
They made it all the way to the 2023 AFCON tournament final only to lose to the hosts, Ivory Coast in a slightly controversial and agonizing manner.
Nigerians were desperate to win a major trophy after having last won the AFCON title back in 2013, when it was held in South Africa.
Eric Chelle wanted to create history with his Nigerian squad, and hence why he personally contacted his best player.
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He wanted Sam to report to the squad as soon as possible.
Sam’s answer?
"Don’t worry coach, I’ll try my best".