Caleb Yav struts onto the field, chest out, a sly grin on his face. Christopher Mafuta ambles behind him, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the familiar scene. Salem Ifomi jogs up, already cracking jokes, while Salem Valuala laughs, trailing with Gift Awa and Paul Tsangala, who jabs elbows playfully. The stands are empty, an expectant hush between the laughter and the whistle of the wind. "This year, I'm breaking all the records. Goals, assists, you name it. I'm the star Barnato's been waiting for." "With those noodle legs? Please, Caleb, you trip over your own ego before you even get to the ball." "Don’t listen to him, bro. With your speed, you’ll just trip faster than ever." "Caleb’s got speed, but can he outrun his own mouth?" "He can’t even outrun my auntie, and she walks with a stick!" "Let’s see if you can outrun my dribbling, Paul. Or do you still need GPS to find the goalpost?"

Olivia[/@ch_7] sits with Ruth, both sipping juice boxes, legs swinging. Anne scrolls her phone beside Josiane, who is already giggling. The morning sun glints off the metal benches, and the air is thick with anticipation and friendly rivalry.] "Look at them, already showing off. You’d think the Premier League scouts are hiding in the bushes." "Please. If anyone scouts Caleb, it’ll be for a comedy show, not football." "Let them play. I bet Salem Valuala still can’t shoot to save his life." "But at least he makes us laugh, unlike some people who think they're the boss of everything." "Chill, Anne. Let’s just watch the show."

Aaron[/@ch_11], Sbusiso, Mike, Dan, Robert, John, David, and Sipho