Reincarnated As A Wonderkid-Chapter 585: Midfield General

The internet café in Imbaba smelled of stale smoke and overheated computers. It was a dungeon of screens and shouting kids playing Counter-Strike from twenty years ago.

Karim sat in a corner booth. He was staring at a monitor that flickered every few seconds.

"Come on," Karim muttered. "Load, you piece of shit."

He was trying to upload a highlight reel. Not of him. Of Hassan.

He had filmed it on Mo's phone (which Mo claimed was an iPhone 25, but was actually a Nokia taped to a camera lens). The video showed Hassan sprinting past tuk-tuks, dribbling around stray cats, and scoring goals against garage doors.

Title: THE EGYPTIAN FLASH. SPEED 99. SKILL 99.

"Upload complete," Karim sighed, hitting enter.

He leaned back in the broken plastic chair.

It had been six months since he woke up in Cairo. Six months of dust, heat, and street football.

He was tired. He missed grass. He missed balls that were actually round. He missed referees who didn't smoke during the game.

"I need to get out of here," Karim whispered. "I need England. I need rain. I need a Premier League pitch."

He checked his own profile on the scouting website.

Name: Karim 'The Professor' El-Masry.

Age: 11.

Position: Midfield General.

Special Skills: Geometry, Physics, sarcasm.

He refreshed the page.

One new comment.

Karim's heart jumped. Was it a scout? Was it Arsenal? Was it Real Madrid?

He clicked on it.

User: SniperWolf69

Comment: LOL look at this kid. He thinks he is Zidane but he plays in a trash can. Go back to school, nerd.

Karim frowned. "Trolls. Even in this timeline, the trolls exist."

Another comment popped up.

User: PizzaKing_99

Comment: HE IS TOO SLOW! HE RUNS LIKE A TURTLE IN PEANUT BUTTER! HE NEEDS MORE CHEESE!

Karim froze.

"Wait a minute," he whispered.

He typed a reply.

Karim: Mark? Is that you?

A reply came instantly.

PizzaKing_99: WHO IS MARK? I AM THE PIZZA KING! BUT YES, IT IS ME! I AM IN ITALY! I AM PLAYING FOR THE ACADEMY OF NAPOLI! THE PIZZA HERE IS AMAZING! BUT THE CRUST IS TOO THIN! I MISS THE THICK CRUST!

Karim laughed out loud. The guy next to him gave him a dirty look.

Karim: Mark! You made it! You are in Italy!

PizzaKing_99: YES! AND RICO IS HERE TOO! HE IS DANCING WITH THE STATUES! MILO IS SELLING FAKE COLOSSEUM TICKETS! WE ARE WAITING FOR YOU, PROFESSOR! WHY ARE YOU STILL IN THE SANDBOX?

Karim stared at the screen.

They were in Italy. They were already in Europe. They were living the dream.

And he was here. Getting roasted by SniperWolf69.

"Fuck this," Karim said. "I am done waiting."

He stood up.

Hassan burst into the internet café. He was wearing a headband made of duct tape.

"KARIM!" Hassan screamed. "EMERGENCY! LEVEL RED!"

"What is it?" Karim asked. "Did Mo try to sell the Sphinx again?"

"WORSE!" Hassan yelled. "THE SCOUT IS COMING!"

"What scout?"

"THE ENGLISH SCOUT!" Hassan grabbed Karim's arm. "Mo found him! He is at the Pyramids! He is looking for talent! Or maybe he is just looking for a camel! BUT MO SAYS HE IS FROM LONDON!"

Karim's eyes widened.

"London?"

"YES! HE IS WEARING A SUIT! AND HE LOOKS MISERABLE! HE MUST BE ENGLISH!"

Karim grabbed his bag.

"Let's go," Karim said. "Operation: Get The Fuck Out Of Egypt."

The Pyramids of Giza.

It was 40 degrees. The tourists were melting. The camels looked bored.

Mo was standing near the Sphinx. He was wearing a suit made of postcards.

"POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGE!" Mo screamed. "ALEX! I MEAN KARIM! HURRY UP! THE TARGET IS MOVING! HE IS BUYING A MAGNET!"

Karim and Hassan ran over. They were sweating buckets.

"Where is he?" Karim asked, panting.

Mo pointed a finger.

There, standing by a souvenir stall, was a man.

He was wearing a grey suit. He had a clipboard. He looked like he hated the sun, the sand, and happiness in general.

He looked perfect.

"That is him," Mo whispered. "Mr. Smith. From West Ham United."

"West Ham?" Karim raised an eyebrow. "They blow bubbles. I can work with bubbles."

"GO!" Mo pushed them. "IMPRESS HIM! DO FOOTBALL THINGS!"

Karim looked around. "Here? In the sand?"

"THE WORLD IS YOUR PITCH!" Mo yelled. "USE THE GEOGRAPHY!"

Karim looked at Hassan.

"Okay, Speedster," Karim said. "You see that tourist group?"

"The ones with the funny hats?" Hassan asked. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

"Yes. They are defenders. Dribble through them."

"But they are eating ice cream!"

"DRIBBLE THROUGH THE ICE CREAM!" Karim ordered.

Hassan nodded. He dropped the ball (a slightly better one they had stolen from Tarek).

"TURBO MODE!" Hassan shouted.

He ran.

He weaved through the tourists. He nutmegged a German lady. He spun around a Japanese man. He jumped over a dropped ice cream cone.

"Sorry!" Hassan yelled. "Football emergency!"

The tourists clapped. They thought it was a show.

Mr. Smith looked up. He adjusted his glasses. He looked interested.

"Now me," Karim whispered.

Karim waited for Hassan to pass the ball back.

Hassan kicked it high. It was a terrible pass. It was going towards the Sphinx.

Karim didn't panic. He calculated the wind. The heat. The sand friction.

He ran.

He jumped onto a stone block.

He chested the ball down.

He kept it in the air. Knee. Foot. Shoulder.

Mr. Smith was watching. He had stopped looking at magnets.

Karim looked at the scout. He made eye contact.

Then, he volleyed the ball.

He didn't aim for a goal. There was no goal.

He aimed for a bin fifty yards away.

The ball flew. It curved. It dipped.

Clang.

Right into the bin.

"BASKETBALL!" Hassan screamed. "THREE POINTS!"

Mr. Smith walked over. He looked at the bin. He looked at Karim.

"You meant to do that?" Mr. Smith asked. His accent was pure East London.

"Calculated trajectory," Karim said in perfect English. "Drag coefficient of the hot air. Simple physics."

Mr. Smith's jaw dropped.

"You speak English? And physics?"

"I speak Football," Karim smiled. "And I want a trial."

Mr. Smith looked at his clipboard.

"I'm looking for a striker," Mr. Smith said. "Big lad. Strong. Like a brick wall."

He looked at Hassan.

"He is fast," Mr. Smith noted. "But he looks like he would blow away in a strong wind."

"He eats Koshary," Karim said. "He is dense with carbohydrates."

"I am heavy with pasta!" Hassan nodded enthusiastically.

"And you?" Mr. Smith looked at Karim. "You are... small. Midfielder?"

"Playmaker," Karim corrected. "I control the time."

"Look, kid," Mr. Smith sighed. "West Ham is a tough league. It's physical. It's wet. Can you do it on a cold rainy night in Stoke?"

Karim laughed. A cold, hard laugh.

"Mister," Karim said. "I have died on a cold rainy night in Brentford. I have won the World Cup in the desert. I have eaten pizza with the Emperor of Speed. Stoke is a holiday for me."

Mr. Smith looked confused. "You... died in Brentford?"

"Metaphorically," Karim said quickly. "Spiritual death. From a bad tackle."

"Right," Mr. Smith stepped back. "You kids are weird. But... you have talent."

He pulled out a card.

"We have an academy satellite in London. If you can get there, I will give you a look."

"Get there?" Mo shouted, jumping in. "WE NEED TICKETS! FLIGHTS! VISAS! AND A HOTEL WITH A MINIBAR!"

"I can't pay for that," Mr. Smith said. "I'm just a scout. I have a budget for magnets and sandwiches."

"CHEAPSKATE!" Mo yelled. "WEST HAM HAS NO AMBITION!"

"Mo, shut up," Karim hissed. He took the card. "We will get there."

"How?" Hassan whispered. "We have no money. We spent it all on Koshary."

"We will hustle," Karim said.

Mr. Smith walked away, shaking his head. "Weird kids," he muttered. "But that volley..."

Karim looked at the card. It was a golden ticket.

West Ham United Academy.

"London," Karim whispered. "I am coming home."

"How do we get money?" Hassan asked, kicking the sand. "Do we sell a kidney?"

"No," Karim said. "We use our skills."

He looked at Mo.

"Mo. You are the Merchant. What can we sell?"

Mo looked around. He saw the tourists. He saw the camels. He saw the empty water bottles.

His eyes lit up.

"I HAVE A PLAN!" Mo screamed. "OPERATION: PYRAMID SCHEME! (Literally!). WE WILL SELL THE EXPERIENCE! WE WILL TEACH TOURISTS HOW TO PLAY LIKE PHARAOHS! 'THE ANCIENT EGYPTIAN FOOTBALL CLINIC'!"

"Ancient Egyptian Football?" Karim asked. "That is not a thing."

"IT IS NOW!" Mo yelled. "WE TELL THEM TUTANKHAMUN WAS A STRIKER! RAMSES WAS A GOALKEEPER! THEY WILL BELIEVE IT! TOURISTS BELIEVE ANYTHING!"

"It is a lie," Karim said.

"It is marketing!" Mo corrected. "Come on! Hassan! Put the turban back on! You are now the Spirit of Anubis! Run fast and look mysterious!"

"I can do mysterious!" Hassan said, pulling his shirt over his head. "I AM A GHOST!"

Karim sighed.

"Fine," Karim said. "Let's scam some tourists."

They spent the next week running the "clinic".

Karim taught "Geometry of the Gods" (basic passing).

Hassan taught "Chariot Speed" (running in circles).

Mo sold "Sacred Water" (tap water in old Coke bottles).

They made a fortune. Or at least, enough for three economy tickets to Heathrow.

The Airport. Departure Gate.

Karim stood looking at the plane.

It was happening. Life #4 was moving to the next level.

"Goodbye, Egypt," Hassan waved at the duty-free shop. "I will miss your onions."

"London has onions, Hassan," Karim said.

"But are they spicy?"

"We will find out."

Mo was wearing a suit made of boarding passes.

"THE JETSETTER!" Mo screamed. "ALEX! WE ARE INTERNATIONAL! I AM SELLING DUTY-FREE PERFUME! I FILLED THE BOTTLES WITH LEMON JUICE! IT SMELLS ZESTY!"

"Milo, please don't get arrested before we take off," Karim said.

"I HAVE DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY!" Milo lied.

They boarded the plane.

Karim sat by the window.

He opened his phone. He sent a message to PizzaKing_99.

Karim: I am coming. Get the pizza ready. And tell Rico to tune his guitar.

A reply came instantly.

PizzaKing_99: THE OVEN IS HOT! THE CHEESE IS MELTING! SEE YOU IN THE RAIN, PROFESSOR! PS: BRING KOSHARY!

Karim smiled.

He closed his eyes.

The plane took off.

He felt the G-force pushing him back into his seat.

It felt like gravity. It felt like destiny.

"Why are you trolling me, universe?" Karim whispered. "You make me start again. You make me fight."

But then he felt the card in his pocket. The West Ham card.

"But you also give me a chance," he added.

"To play. To win. To eat pizza."

"Fucking hell," Karim laughed. "Let's do this."