Football : Beyond Boundaries

"Pfff Pfff Pfff..."

I was breathing heavily, my eyes filled with fatigue. Around me were several 14-year-old kids running forward, watching as I dribbled the ball at my feet. I pushed it forward while running after it. In front of me was a boy my age, his eyes also locked on the ball as he tried to figure out how to take it from me. Quickly, I pushed the ball to the right while lifting my head to glance at a teammate who was watching me. I lifted my foot as if to pass the ball, which made my opponent shift toward my teammate's direction. But in a fraction of a second, I dashed to the other side, dribbling past him.

"Come on, Malik!"

"Keep going, my boy!"

"You're going to win this!"

As I passed my opponent, I heard the crowd around the field cheering loudly, but I quickly stopped listening to refocus. At that moment, a new opponent appeared in front of me, catching me by surprise.

"Haha… idiot," he sneered.

I smiled and chuckled while looking at him. He seemed confident he would recover the ball, but as he reached for it, I used my left foot to make a pass to my teammate, whom I had used as a decoy. The moment my teammate received the ball, I sprinted forward as fast as I could so he could return the pass.

"Hurry up, Abdel!"

Hearing my shout, Abdel tried to pass the ball, but unfortunately, the pass was bad. It was a high pass, between two defenders, making it impossible for me to dribble since the ball was in the air. I quickly switched strategies, running straight toward the ball to stop it with the top of my foot. Balancing it there, I gently brought it down to the ground without letting it bounce. The ball rolled smoothly, allowing me to resume my run.

"Ooohhh! Did you see that control? It's magnificent!"

"I can't believe it! He stopped the ball on his foot!"

"Malik is truly a genius!"

Ignoring the comments from the crowd around me, I dashed toward the two defenders. As I got closer, I performed four quick and fluid stepovers, making the first defender fall to the ground. Then, I faked left with a sharp dribble, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw the second defender sliding in with a tackle. I stopped abruptly, placing the sole of my right foot on the ball and dragging it back to my left foot. Then, with a delicate touch, I flicked the ball into the air with the top of my foot and hit it with my heel, sending it over my head and bypassing the defender's tackle.

"Incredible!"

"Go!"

"Just the keeper left, my boy!"

The ball started to drop, and the goalkeeper moved forward toward me. But as he saw me raising my foot, he stopped, ready to dive in the direction I might shoot. Unfortunately for him, I had another plan. My foot came down quickly, but instead of striking the ball, I stopped it dead on top of my foot, keeping it motionless. The keeper dove to his right, falling for my feint, leaving the goal wide open. I calmly pushed the ball into the net, with no one left to stop me.

"GOOOOOOOAL!"

"YESSSSS!"

"Well done, Malik! That was amazing!"

Everyone screamed and cheered as my teammates jumped on me to celebrate. But I looked around without much emotion about the goal I had just scored. It wasn't arrogance; it was just that, as someone reincarnated with the dribbling abilities of Bachira and Nagi from Blue Lock, I didn't expect anything less from myself. Especially against players who all came from the countryside near Casablanca. I wasn't being critical, but none of them even had the basic skills necessary to complete a proper pass.

Beep Beep Beep.

Hearing the old man who acted as our referee blow the final whistle, everyone started to disperse. It was just like any other day; every afternoon, we'd gather to play football. After all, there was no school here, and only families with enough money could afford to send their kids to the city of Casablanca for an education. As everyone left, I did the same, heading home just five minutes away on foot.

When I arrived, I stopped to look at our house, still surprised every time I saw its condition. The house wasn't made of bricks but concrete, resembling a hand-built sand wall—but with concrete instead of sand. I always wondered how my parents managed to live in such a place.

After staring long enough, I stepped inside the house that had no door.

"As-salâm 'alaykum," I greeted in Arabic as I entered the room.

A low table lay on the ground, around which sat six people. There were my two younger sisters, Mayssa, aged 12, and Tissene, aged 9, as well as my little brother Amine, who was only 3 years old. The three of them were playing with a Dior jacket, which I immediately recognized from my past life. They stared at it with wide, sparkling eyes. I could understand their fascination since our family was extremely poor.

Also present were my father Yassan, aged 40, and my mother Ladia, aged 35. They were speaking with a man I didn't recognize. On the table was tea, a staple of Arab tradition.

"Wa 'alaykum as-salâm," everyone replied in unison, smiling brightly at me. My mother spoke next.

"Malik, could you come sit with us? This man came to our house, but he only speaks English. Your father is trying, but he's having a hard time."

"Don't say that! I understand him perfectly," my father protested.

"Oh? Then what did he say?" my mother challenged.

Cough, cough. "Malik, please come help us translate," my father conceded.

I smirked at him before sitting next to the man and speaking in English.

"Hello, sir. What can we do for you?"

The man looked surprised for a moment, then smiled and replied.

"Oh, you speak English very well, young man."

"Thank you. You can call me Malik."

"My name is Diego. It's a pleasure to meet you, Malik."

"What can we do for you, Diego?"

"Well, I'll get straight to the point. I'm a recruiter for Paris Saint-Germain, a Ligue 1 club. I came to Casablanca to scout young players at the academy, but none impressed me. So, I started traveling from village to village, and I stumbled upon one of your matches. I was incredibly impressed. You performed actions that even professionals would struggle to pull off. After observing your matches for a week, I decided to meet your parents to make an offer."

I stared at him in shock for a moment before turning to my parents to explain everything in Arabic. My parents looked even more surprised, as neither of them knew I played football. Although my father was a football fan, the only matches we could follow in the village were those of Barcelona or Real Madrid. Outside of that, my father was busy working and couldn't watch or even know that I played football. After explaining, I turned back to Diego to continue the conversation.

"My parents want to know what kind of offer you're making."

"It's simple. I want you to come to France and join PSG's training center. If things go well, you could even turn professional."

Hearing this, my jaw dropped. I hadn't expected such an opportunity, especially in such a remote village. I quickly explained it to my parents, who smiled broadly. I then turned back to Diego.

"Sorry, but I'll have to refuse. I don't have the money for the trip or accommodation..."

"Haha, don't worry about that. I'll cover everything."

"Really?"

"Of course! All you have to do is agree and sign. But I warn you, it won't be easy. There will be racism and people who'll try to harm you out of jealousy for your talent."

I looked at him uncertainly before explaining everything to my parents. Glancing at my siblings playing in the corner, I turned back to my parents with sadness, ready to refuse the offer. But just as I was about to speak, my father took the pen and signed the paper, leaving me in shock while my mother smiled proudly.

My father looked at me with love and spoke.

"It's destiny, my son. I want you to achieve your dreams. So go, and with God's blessing, you'll reach your goals, In shâ' Allah."

"In shâ' Allah," I replied, looking at him before turning back to Diego with determination.

"When do we leave?"

"We leave tomorrow. The sooner, the better."

"Okay."

I then got up and went to my room to prepare, but unfortunately, I didn't have much to pack.

The Next Day

The whole village gathered near the car, watching me as I got ready to leave. After putting my bag in the car, I turned around to approach my family. I hugged each of them, and when I got to my father and mother, they both held me tightly in their arms before handing me a small cloth. As I took it, I began to open it, but my father stopped me, telling me to open it once I was in the car.

As I walked toward the car, I waved a final goodbye and got inside. Although I would be able to call them in the future thanks to the phone Diego had bought for my family, I knew I would miss them a lot. I had grown deeply attached to them; I truly saw them as my real family.

The car started, and as we moved further along the road, I began unwrapping the cloth. Inside, I found 100 dirhams. Seeing this, I started crying.

"What's wrong, Malik?"

"My father gave me 100 dirhams."

"That's about 10 euros, right?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you crying?"

"Because they need it more than I do."

"I see."

Diego remained silent, keeping his eyes on the road. I then looked up with tear-filled eyes, staring at the path ahead.

"I swear I'll repay the money my father gave me with millions of euros."

I kept crying until I eventually fell asleep.

Two Days Later

"Welcome to France, Malik."

"..."

"What's wrong, Malik?"

"It's freezing here."

I was trembling all over; I felt cold in places I didn't even know could feel cold. I guess I had grown far too used to the warmth of Africa.

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give me a k-pop star for romance, I don't know who to choose