Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Tingbjerg, Husum District

Despite the fact that Denmark is one of the safest and most peaceful countries in the world, there are still areas where any local person would think twice before crossing through those streets at night, as was the case where Lars was walking.

With his hood completely covering his face and looking down, Lars carried the ball under his arm while walking quietly through the silent streets, something he was completely used to.

His footsteps stopped once he reached his destination, a dilapidated house with peeling paint in some parts and with totally dirty windows, unable to even see the inside of the house.

Giving a tired sigh, Lars took his house key out of his pocket and inserted it into the rusty lock of the door, and struggling a little, he finally managed to open the door and enter what could be called his home.

As soon as he went inside, background music could be heard inside the place, which Lars knew perfectly well who it belonged to, and without caring in the slightest, he tried to walk as slowly as possible in the direction of the second floor, wanting nothing more than to rest.

"Hey, you, where do you think you're going, hic..." a voice was heard coming from a hallway where the music originated from, showing a man who was barely standing, leaning against the column and with a bottle of beer in his hand.

That man was none other than Lars's father, Damian Nielsen.

"Do you think hic these are hours to arrive, by any chance?" Damian said while he finished the liquid that remained in the bottle before it slipped from his hands and ended up rolling on the floor.

"Time just flew by," Lars simply said before continuing to go up the stairs, not wanting to continue arguing with the person in front of him.

"Hey, come back here, I'm not done with you yet, you little bastard," Damian barked as he made the effort to head toward where his son was going, but falling flat on his face upon losing his balance.

"Tch, when I lay my hands on you," he grunted between his teeth.

On the second floor, Lars reached the safest place for him in the entire house, his bedroom, and locked the door with the key, knowing that if he didn't do so, his father would not hesitate to come through that door and teach him a lesson.

With the door handle clicking, Lars finally let out the air he was holding and left the ball on the ground before throwing himself onto the mattress on his bed, which began to creak as soon as Lars's weight was on it, showing how old it was.

Taking a hand to his pocket, Lars pulled out the card that Oskar had given him while reading the name in black letters: Oskar Dahl, and under all of that: Scout for FC Midtjylland.

He had heard of that team, although it doesn't have as many titles in comparison to FC Copenhagen, they are a whole powerhouse of the country and regularly play in several international tournaments like the Europa League.

The most attractive thing about all of that was that the club had its base in the city of Herning, several kilometers from here, and surely totally away from his father, which sounded tempting; the only bad thing was that the scout had not assured him anything, he simply wanted him to do some trials with the team.

Despite that, anything is better than staying here, so with a decision made, he immediately headed toward the cabinet where he kept his clothes, and removing one of the drawers, he took out what was a small box, which was filled with several coins and bills that had been gathered by Lars over several years.

"500, 600, 750," that was all the money that was in the box, which meant that he only had enough money for a one-way ticket with no return, something he agreed with, so without losing time, he immediately put the money back, ready to buy a ticket first thing in the morning.

Going back to lie down on the bed, he did not waste time and closed his eyes again, falling deeply asleep.

Morning

Rubbing his eyes to shake off the laziness, his eyes focused immediately on the door, which was partially open, which seemed like something impossible to him, since he always locked it with the key.

Getting to his feet quickly, his hands took out the drawer and removed the box in which practically all his money was, and he breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that the box was still there, but the moment he opened it, his face changed upon seeing that it was empty.

Without needing to know who was the one who did it, and holding the box in his hand, he immediately went down the stairs with heavy steps in the direction of the kitchen, in which his father was having breakfast quietly, without even caring in the slightest that he had woken up.

"You did this," Lars said as he showed the box, which was completely empty, to Damian, who looked up briefly before continuing to concentrate on his food.

"I needed it for the electricity, so I simply took it from there; consider it a rent payment," was his only response before continuing to chew his food as if nothing had happened, without caring about having stolen his son's money.

Clenching his fists, Lars said through gritted teeth, "That was my bloody money!!"

Before he could say anything else, Damian slammed his hand against the table, causing the utensils that were on it to fall to the floor. "And I already said I needed to pay the electricity, so suck it up or get the hell out of here once and for all," Damian roared, getting to his feet and throwing a glaring look at Lars, daring him to say anything else.

"Well, maybe I'll get the bloody..." Lars roared before falling flat on his face to the floor and taking his hand to his face, while Damian still had his fist closed after the strike he had given him.

"Hey, watch your tone with me, bastard," was the next thing Damian said. "You should be grateful that I gave you life and I give you a roof, otherwise imagine what your life would be like with that bitch," he finished saying as he quickly headed toward a specific drawer and took out a bottle of liquor before taking a deep swig.

"I'm telling you it's about time you look for a job and contribute to this house," his father continued talking while drinking from the bottle again.

"Maybe if you didn't waste the money on alcohol, we wouldn't have these problems," Lars retorted while having his fist clenched.

"Are you saying this is my fault, by any chance?" He threw the bottle against the floor, causing several pieces of glass to scatter across the kitchen floor. "I remind you that I could have been a great footballer! I could have won the Euro Cup in '92 if it weren't for that bastard who tore my ligaments!" he exclaimed as he launched into his usual tirade when he started drinking.

Lars, at that, could do nothing more than scoff, since he knew that story practically by heart.

His father had been a professional player in the past, playing in the 80s in the Danish first league, which was the highest competition league at that time.

He had even managed to play some matches with the senior national team before having to retire catastrophically due to a severe injury to the anterior cruciate ligament that put an end to his career when he was about to reach his best level.

After that, his career went down the drain, passing through second-division and amateur teams and squandering all the money he had earned in his short career, which led them to be in this current situation.

His mother, of course, had disappeared years ago, even before Lars could even remember her, leaving him to his fate with this attempt of a father, who did nothing more than drink and vent his frustrations on him, relegating him to being his punching bag of frustrations.

"I needed that money for something important!" Lars barked at him, cutting off his father's tirade while with his hand he caught the fist that was heading toward his face again.

"What could be more important than your home, huh, tell me?" Damian barked while yanking off the hand holding his fist and taking light steps backward.

"Do you even care about that?" Lars barked one last time before turning halfway around and heading straight upstairs, not wanting to spend one more minute in that house.

Once he went back to his room, he slammed shut the door of his room, which echoed through the whole dilapidated house, and headed straight toward his wardrobe, taking out a sports bag and starting to put all the clothes that could fit in there.

Along with that, he also put some of his few belongings, like his watch and some faded books, which had a deep sentimental value for him.

Once everything was stuffed in, he changed clothes quickly and picked up his football, which was in one of the corners of the bedroom, before pulling his hood back up and giving one last look at the place that for years he had called his room.

The room was nothing more than the bed and the piece of furniture where he kept the few clothes he had, plus the wardrobe; no poster nor anything that gave any sign that someone had lived here for a long time.

Without looking back again, he immediately closed the door and went down the stairs, only to run into his father at the bottom of the stairs, who gave him a bad look and his eyes fixed on the ball he was holding in his hands, which was the most precious possession that Lars had.

"So you're really leaving, huh?" Damian said, seeing the sports bag that Lars had around his back, and feeling his gaze, Lars unconsciously squeezed the bag tighter against himself before continuing to walk toward the door.

As soon as his hand touched the door handle, Lars heard how his father began to speak behind his back, and without turning around, he did nothing else but listen. "If you cross that door, you forget that this is your home and you don't return anymore," was the only thing his father could say at that moment, something Lars was not surprised by.

Stopping with his hand holding the door handle, Lars simply inhaled deeply before decisively opening the door of the house that opened toward the streets of his neighborhood.

Turning his head slightly, Lars saw how his father was still with his back to him, without even taking a second to turn around or look his son in the face, which for Lars was one more confirmation enough to know that this was no longer his home, and with a door slam, he closed the door.

Once outside, he was received by the empty streets of Copenhagen, which remained relatively empty, but Lars had no time to lose, so he immediately searched through his pockets until finally finding a few coins that had been leftover from yesterday.

With the coins in hand, he immediately headed toward a public telephone on one of the corners and dialed the number that appeared on Oskar's card, who answered after a few beeps.

"Hello," said the voice on the other side of the line in a professional and cordial tone.

"It's Lars, does the trial offer still stand?" he asked, although inside he held his breath, waiting to get the answer he wanted so much.

After a few seconds in silence, the voice on the other side of the line answered quickly in an excited tone.

"Of course, I am still in Copenhagen finishing up some matters," Oskar said, excited, while continuing to talk about the advantages of going to do the trials at FC Midtjylland and the great feeling he had about his talent and a bunch of more compliments.

At the end of it all, Oskar gave him an address that belonged to a coffee shop in the center of the city before the call came to an end.

With a plan in mind, Lars hung up the phone, and adjusting the bag he was carrying on himself, he immediately began to head to the address at which they had agreed to meet, with the future still uncertain.