Football FIC Prologue (Patreon)

January 23, 2007

Copenhagen, Denmark

It was a cold day like any other in the coldest month of the year, right after the Christmas holidays, with most people wrapping up warm against the cold winds and the light snow that had started to fall from one moment to the next without even a warning.

In one of the parks in the Indre Østerbro district, right next to Sortedam Lake, there was a young man of no more than 15 years old who was totally concentrated on the movements he was making with the football.

His rhythmic breathing generated clouds of vapor which went in time with the pace at which he handled the ball with total calm, paying no attention to the crowd of passersby who had stopped to watch the show that was taking place in the middle of the pitch.

"How long has he been like that?" asked one of the passersby to a person who had been there longer than him. "I’ve been here for more than half an hour and I still haven't seen him stop, or even seen the ball touch the ground," the person replied without taking his eyes off the show that was taking place.

Lifting the ball as high as possible, the people couldn't help but look up, never losing sight of the ball which, upon reaching its highest point, was pulled down by gravity, causing it to quickly begin to descend so that the boy could calmly control it with his knee and finish with the ball on his head while keeping it there.

The applause was immediate as the boy finally stopped and the ball touched the ground.

With a smile, the boy bowed to his entire audience with a smile, only to then grab the cap he had left lying to one side and begin to walk toward the crowd, who upon seeing that action knew what it was about.

"You’re very good, kid," said one as he deposited a few kroner into the cap, just like the rest of the spectators.

"Thank you, thank you," the boy said, excited to see how the cap was gradually beginning to fill with more and more kroner, which meant he wouldn't have to worry about getting something to eat later.

As he finished collecting the coins that the passersby were handing him, a group of older boys couldn't help but whisper too. "What a clown show," one of them said to the boy who was in the middle of the group, causing the whole group to laugh.

Clearly, the comment was intended for everyone to hear, as he deliberately raised his voice to draw the attention of the entire crowd.

Some men in the crowd wanted to say something, but they swallowed their words upon seeing the jersey that each of the five was wearing.

That jersey was a dark blue color with the logo of a lion's head embroidered at the height of the heart, which the boys clearly wore with pride, since that badge belonged to what was the best team in all of Denmark: FC Copenhagen.

As the capital city's team and current champions of the Danish Superliga, the team was a powerhouse at the national level, with several of their players belonging to the senior national team of Denmark.

But acting as if it didn't matter to him, or simply ignoring them, the boy in question kept going, finishing collecting all the money from the passersby before starting to put it all into the worn-out bag that was in a corner.

"Hey, clown, give us a show, will you?" said one of the FC Copenhagen players as he took some bills out of his pocket and threw them in the direction of the boy in question, who upon seeing the money immediately picked it up without any second thoughts.

That simple gesture caused the five of them to laugh as they waited for the show they were about to see, while the boy took up the rhythm again by starting to do keepie-uppies with the ball with both legs.

After that, from one moment to the next, he kicked the ball with all his strength, causing it to hit directly in the face of the guy who minutes before had thrown the bills at him, causing him to put his hands straight to his nose.

"You bastard!" he said, clutching his nose, from which a trickle of blood was starting to run.

"You said you wanted a show, right?" the boy asked innocently, despite being at a clear numerical disadvantage of 5 to 1.

That comment caused laughter among the spectators who had still stayed to see how the whole scene played out, causing the ears of the person in question to turn red, matching the color of his nose, which seemed not to be broken by a miracle.

Immediately, his eyes landed on the football that was near his feet, and without thinking twice, he gathered strength in his leg and kicked it with all his might in the direction of the boy in question, looking to return the favor.

Seeing the ball heading in his direction, he did not panic, and with total tranquility, he controlled the ball with his chest, stopping it dead before stepping on it and having control of the ball back.

With his plan totally frustrated, the boy did not hesitate to run straight in his direction, being followed immediately by his four mates in the direction of the boy, looking to teach him a lesson he would never forget.

Instead of running to get away from them, the boy did the exact opposite and ran directly in the direction of the four boys, starting with the one who started it all, who did not hesitate to make a sliding tackle clearly aiming at the boy's ankle in a malicious foul.

Seeing that, he immediately controlled the ball with his instep, making the ball rise while he jumped over him and prepared to keep advancing in the direction of the other four people who remained.

Reacting quickly, and seeing that the boy in question was not someone easy, they adopted a standard formation, preventing leaving any openings that he could take advantage of.

All of this was watched by the crowd of people, who already looked badly upon the attitude of the five Copenhagen players, who were clearly intimidating a boy with numerical advantage.

One of the passersby in question was more attentive to the movements of the boy in question. "What will you do in this situation?" he muttered more to himself than to the people around him while he kept his notebook open.

He, in any case, was a football scout who was originally in Copenhagen looking for the team to loan players to his own team, but when passing by this park, he did not expect to find a hidden gem.

If he had to guess, the boy would be barely 17 or perhaps less, but even so, his ability was without a doubt top-level, especially his ball sense and dribbling against players of the U-19 team of FC Copenhagen.

In particular, the boy whose nose he had almost broken: Jacob Neestrup, one of the most promising talents in Denmark and one of his targets for being there in the first place.

Returning to the situation on the pitch, despite the best attempts of the boys, they still couldn't take the ball away from him while he simply moved between them like a complete dancer.

"You..." one said as he approached him from behind, looking to take him by surprise and steal the ball from behind, but as soon as he felt that, he immediately lifted the ball toward the sky while spinning on his own axis and passing by the side of the player in question in the direction where the ball was about to fall.

But before he could do anything else, he felt a hand pull the hood of his jacket, and because he was in motion, that took him off guard and he ended up falling heavily to the ground.

"Hey, that's a foul!" he said, getting up immediately from the ground without losing a single second and without shrinking before the five players in front of him.

"This isn't a match, kid," one of the boys told him, not caring in the least about the blatant foul he had committed.

"Tch," he clicked his tongue in frustration while he was still sitting on the grass of the pitch, not even bothering to get up yet.

"How shameless," whispered a boy to his group of friends, who had witnessed all the action from the beginning, especially the blatant foul they had committed against the boy, which in an official match, if he were the last man, could cost him a red card.

Whispers like those were heard throughout the crowd, causing the five in question to shrink before the scrutiny of all the people present.

"Let's leave it like this, it's not worth messing with a simple clown," Jacob said to his teammates as he walked directly toward the boy who had humiliated them.

"I hope you enjoy your moment of glory, kid, because while you keep doing your little tricks for a few coins, my teammates and I will earn millions," he told him with venom in his voice before kicking the football with all his strength toward the back of the park until it was lost from sight.

Then, under the attentive boos of the others, the five left without looking back at any moment, with their silhouettes gradually disappearing among the crowd of people present.

Noticing how everything had finished, the crowd that minutes before had been witnessing everything gradually disappeared, while the boy in question let out a tired sigh and finally stood up and headed in the direction where the idiot had kicked his ball.

The moment he approached, he saw how his precious ball was in the hands of a complete stranger, who was holding it in his hands while dedicating a friendly smile in his direction.

"Good moves back there, kid," the man said as he threw the ball in his direction higher than expected, but that had been done on purpose, looking to know what the boy's reaction to that would be.

To the scout's delight, the moment the boy saw the ball heading in his direction, instead of catching it with his hands, he adjusted his position and controlled it with his instep before lifting it and holding it firmly with his hands.

Nodding his head and without saying a single word, he immediately turned around, ready to leave before it got too late.

"Wait," the scout said suddenly, not wanting to lose the opportunity to know more about the young man in front of him. "By any chance, are you a player for some team in the area, or do you train in some semi-professional league?" those were the first two questions he asked in rapid succession, wanting to know the exact situation.

His question was mostly to know if he was a player from some league like the second division, or if he was representing some team with which to negotiate a transfer or loan.

Seeing that the questions he had asked him were too abrupt, he immediately put his hands in his pocket and took a business card out of his wallet. "My name is Oskar Dahl, and I am a scout for FC Midtjylland," he told him as he handed the card to the boy in front of him, who received it and saw the logo in one of the corners of the card.

"I'll be frank, I saw your entire performance against those five boys from the Copenhagen FC U-19s, and I would like to know if you would be interested in doing some trials for our team," he said with enthusiasm while talking to him about the history of the whole team.

"And will I be able to earn money if I go there?" the boy asked suddenly, speaking for the first time with the stranger in front of him.

"How old are you?" Oskar asked suddenly, not willing to assure anything without knowing the most important detail.

"I'll turn 16 in March," he replied dryly, while Oskar frowned at that. Legally, FIFA prohibits offering contracts to youth under 16, and usually, contracts are for a maximum period of 4 years and with low amounts.

"Umm, it's a complicated situation, but I think if you manage to pass the team's trials, you could get a youth contract with the team," Oskar answered him frankly without sweetening anything, knowing that there were protocols he had to follow.

Knowing that, and with the possibility that he could earn money, an indescribable emotion that he had never felt before began to surface in his heart, thinking of the opportunity that was about to open up for him.

Oskar, seeing how he had managed to capture the boy's attention, couldn't help but ask, "By the way, what is your name, kid?" with genuine curiosity in his voice.

"Lars," he said. "Lars Nielsen," he finally finished saying.

The name that one day would echo all over the world and would go down in history as one of the great names in the world of football.

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