Reincarnated As A Wonderkid-Chapter 583: Do Not Open

The Sunday morning air in Berlin was sharp, carrying the scent of damp leaves and the faint, metallic tang of the nearby U-Bahn tracks.

​Leon Fischer stood on the touchline of a municipal pitch in Kreuzberg. The grass was patchy, more mud than green, and the goalposts leaned drunkenly to one side. It was a far cry from the Emirates, from the Bernabeu, from the manicured lawns of his past life.

​But it was football.

​He was fifteen now. In this life, anyway.

​His legs were longer, his shoulders broader. He had grown into the body of a teenager, but his mind... his mind was still an encyclopedia of tactics, a library of losses and wins.

​He looked around his team. The Berlin Bears U16s.

​They were a ragtag group. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

​Markus (Mark) was doing high knees by the corner flag. He was wearing a headband that said SPEED DEMON in glitter glue. He had also taped two small cardboard wings to his ankles.

​"AERODYNAMICS!" Mark shouted to no one in particular. "I AM A JET PLANE!"

​Ricardo (Rico) was sitting on a ball, tying his laces. He was humming a samba tune, his head bobbing to an internal rhythm that only he could hear.

​"Rico," Leon said. "Tie them tight. The mud is deep today."

​"Tight is bad for the flow," Rico said, looking up with a grin. " Loose laces, loose feet, loose soul."

​Leon rolled his eyes. "Loose laces mean you trip and fall on your face."

​Milo was setting up a small folding table near the benches. He was wearing a trench coat filled with... well, everything.

​"GET YOUR MATCHDAY ESSENTIALS!" Milo bellowed, his voice cracking slightly (puberty was hitting Milo hard). "I HAVE GATORADE! I HAVE BAND-AIDS! I HAVE LUCKY PEBBLES FROM THE BERLIN WALL! (They are actually just gravel from the car park, but history sells!)."

​"Milo, you can't sell gravel," Leon sighed.

​"IT IS VINTAGE GRAVEL!" Milo argued. "IT HAS SEEN THINGS!"

​Leon turned his attention back to the pitch.

​Today was important.

​Rumor had it that scouts were coming. Not the big ones from Bayern or Dortmund. The gritty ones. The scouts from the 2. Bundesliga.

​Specifically, a scout from Hertha Berlin II or maybe Union Berlin. Or perhaps even a team like Hamburger SV.

​It was the first step on the ladder. The escape from the mud.

​"Okay, listen up," Leon clapped his hands.

​The team gathered. They looked at Leon. Even though he was the same age, they treated him like the manager. He had that aura. The aura of someone who had lifted the World Cup (even if they didn't know it).

​"Today, we play smart," Leon said. "The pitch is heavy. The ball will stop dead. Do not try long ground passes. They will get stuck."

​"So we fly?" Mark asked, flapping his arms.

​"We lift it," Leon said. "Chips. Volleys. Keep it in the air."

​"The Floor is Lava strategy!" Rico cheered. "I love that game!"

​The opposition team, FC Spandau, looked tough. They were bigger. They had beards (or at least, very convincing fuzz). They looked like they ate raw potatoes for breakfast.

​The referee blew his whistle.

​The game began.

​It was a battle. The mud sucked at their boots. Every step was a struggle.

​In the tenth minute, a Spandau midfielder, a giant boy named Hans, tackled Rico.

​Squelch.

​Rico flew into a puddle.

​"Penalty!" Rico screamed, wiping mud from his eyes. "He drowned me!"

​"Play on!" the referee waved.

​Leon watched Hans. He analyzed him.

​Slow turning circle. Heavily reliant on his right foot. Aggressive.

​Leon got the ball.

​Hans came charging at him like a rhino.

​Leon waited. He remembered the lesson from his first life. Use their weight against them.

​He didn't move the ball. He moved his body. He feinted left.

​Hans bought it. He lunged left, his boots sliding in the mud.

​Leon simply stepped right and took the ball with him.

​Hans slid past, ending up face-down in the sludge.

​"Olé," Leon whispered.

​He looked up.

​He saw Mark.

​Mark was making a run. But not a normal run. He was running in a zig-zag pattern.

​"I AM A SNAKE!" Mark yelled. "YOU CANNOT CATCH A SNAKE!"

​The Spandau defenders were confused. They didn't know which way he was going.

​Leon clipped the ball.

​It was a perfect lob. It cleared the defensive line.

​Mark ran onto it.

​He was clear.

​But the mud was treacherous.

​As Mark tried to control the ball, his foot slipped.

​He did the splits.

​"OW! MY HAMSTRINGS!" Mark yelped.

​But as he slid, his other foot hit the ball.

​It wasn't a shot. It was a reflex.

​The ball scuffed off his toe. It rolled slowly towards the goal.

​The Spandau goalkeeper dived. He landed in a puddle. The ball rolled under his armpit.

​It hit the post. Thud.

​And stopped on the line.

​"GO IN!" Mark screamed from the floor. "USE THE FORCE!"

​A gust of wind blew. Or maybe it was the spin.

​The ball rolled over the line.

​Goal.

​One zero. Berlin Bears.

​Mark jumped up. He tried to do a knee slide, but he just got stuck in the mud again.

​"I AM A STATUE OF VICTORY!" Mark shouted, posing with his arms wide.

​Leon ran over. "The snake run worked!"

​"It was tactical!" Mark said, wiping mud off his nose. "I confused them with my geometry!"

​The game continued. It was a grind.

​On the sidelines, a man in a grey raincoat was watching. He was taking notes in a small black book.

​He wasn't cheering. He wasn't smiling. He was just watching.

​Leon saw him.

​The Scout.

​He felt a spark of adrenaline.

​"Time to show him the curriculum," Leon thought.

​Second half.

​FC Spandau equalized. A corner. A scramble. A toe-poke.

​1-1.

​The game was getting rougher. The Spandau players were frustrated. They started kicking ankles.

​In the seventieth minute, Leon got the ball deep in his own half.

​He looked up.

​The pitch was crowded. There was no space.

​He remembered the old days. The days of The Professor.

​When there is no space, you create it.

​He started to dribble.

​Not fast. Controlled.

​He drew a defender in. Then he passed to Rico.

​Rico flicked it back. A one-two.

​Leon moved forward.

​Another defender came.

​Leon did a "Roulette". He spun over the ball.

​The crowd gasped. A Zidane turn in the mud?

​He kept going.

​He was in the final third.

​He saw Mark making a run. But the passing lane was blocked.

​He saw the goal.

​He was twenty-five yards out.

​The Scout was watching.

​Leon took a breath.

​He remembered the feeling of the Ballon d'Or in his hands. The weight of it.

​He channeled that feeling into his right foot.

​He hit the ball.

​He hit it with "The Knuckleball" technique.

​The ball didn't spin. It floated. It wobbled in the air like a ghost.

​The goalkeeper moved left. The ball swerved right.

​It dipped at the last second.

​It smashed into the top corner.

​GOAL.

​Two one.

​Leon stood there. He didn't run. He just opened his arms.

​"Class dismissed," he whispered.

​The whistle blew ten minutes later.

​Victory.

​The team celebrated. Mark was trying to sell his muddy shirt to Milo ("IT IS A COLLECTOR'S ITEM! GAME WORN!").

​Leon walked off the pitch.

​The man in the grey raincoat was waiting by the gate.

​He stepped forward.

​"Fischer," the man said. His voice was gravelly.

​"Yes?" Leon asked.

​"I am from Hamburger SV," the man said. "The Second Team."

​Leon's heart jumped. HSV. A historic club. A fallen giant. Playing in the 2. Bundesliga (the second division).

​"We need players who can think," the Scout said. "Players who don't just run like headless chickens."

​He looked at Mark, who was currently trying to balance a football on his head while eating a banana.

​"Although," the Scout added. "The fast kid has... energy."

​"He is a weapon," Leon said quickly. "Unpredictable. But effective."

​The Scout nodded. "And the Brazilian?"

​"Magic," Leon said. "Raw magic."

​The Scout closed his notebook.

​"We have a trial day next Saturday," the Scout said. "Hamburg. Can you make it?"

​"I can make it," Leon said.

​"Bring the circus with you," the Scout said, gesturing to Mark and Rico. "Maybe we need a bit of chaos."

​The Scout walked away.

​Leon stood there. The rain started to fall again.

​He felt a hand on his shoulder.

​It was Milo.

​"DID HE OFFER A CONTRACT?" Milo whispered. "DID HE MENTION A SIGNING BONUS? I NEED TO KNOW MY CUT! 10%? 15%? I WILL TAKE 20% IF I HAVE TO WASH YOUR KIT!"

​"It's a trial, Milo," Leon smiled. "Just a trial."

​"A TRIAL IS THE DOORWAY TO FORTUNE!" Milo shouted. "I WILL BOOK THE TRAIN TICKETS! I KNOW A GUY WHO SELLS TICKETS! (It is me, I bought a group saver pass!)."

​Mark and Rico ran over.

​"Did we get scouted?" Mark asked, eyes wide.

​"We got invited to Hamburg," Leon said.

​"HAMBURGers!" Mark screamed. "THEY NAMED A CITY AFTER MY FAVORITE FOOD!"

​"It is a port city, Mark," Rico said. "Fish."

​"FISH BURGERS!" Mark corrected. "EVEN BETTER!"

​"We are going to the big leagues," Leon said. "Well, the second big league."

​"It is a start," Rico grinned. "From the mud to the stadium."

​They walked out of the park.

​Leon looked back at the pitch one last time.

​The goalposts were leaning. The mud was deep.

​But it was beautiful.

​It was where the dream restarted.

​"Hey Leon," Mark said, walking backwards.

​"Yeah?"

​"If we go to Hamburg... do we have to learn to sail?"

​"Why?"

​"Because it is a port! What if the pitch floods? What if we have to play on a boat?"

​"Mark, we won't play on a boat."

​"But if we did," Mark said seriously. "I would be the Captain. Captain Speed of the HMS Pizza."

​Leon laughed.

​He looked at the grey Berlin sky.

​Life Three was over. Life Four (or was it Two-Point-Five?) was just beginning.

​He had his team. He had his chance.

​And he had a secret weapon.

​He had lived it all before.

​"Hamburg," Leon whispered.

​The next chapter of the textbook was about to be written.

​And the Professor was ready to teach a whole new class.

​End of Chapter.