"Genius is terrifying when it learns the art of discipline."
- Unknown
*Beep* *Beep*
*Beep* *Beep*
*Beep* *Beep*
Sebastian woke up to the sound of his alarm clock; a simple tap was all it needed to stop. A glance at the time revealed it was 6 am. A simple stretch was all it took to get rid of the lingering drowsiness. It wasn't that easy initially, but after five years of constant repetition, it had become a routine for him.
He stood up, switched on his nightlight, and in less than three minutes changed from his pyjamas to his workout outfit, a sleek black Nike joggers and hoodie with a pair of black sneakers.
Sebastian stepped outside his home, the cold morning wind hitting his face, and he started jogging down the street, his pace steady but fast. The sounds of his sneakers hitting the sidewalk were constant and muted as he made his way on the sidewalk.
A few minutes to an hour later, he was already making his way back home. It took a while—years even—but eventually he could cover ten kilometers in less than forty minutes.
Before reading inside, he spent a few minutes stretching in the yard and also trying to catch his breath.
Once inside, he headed straight to the kitchen for water. As he opened the fridge, he spotted his dad standing beside the coffee maker, brewing his usual morning coffee.
"Good morning, Dad," he greeted his uncle before taking a few gulps of water from the bottle.
"Seb? You worked out today?" He asked, surprised to see his son sweating in his tracksuit.
"Does my morning run count as a workout?" Sebastian replied.
His dad chuckled, shaking his head. "Depends. Did you break a sweat?"
Sebastian looked down at his damp hoodie and shook his head. "I still don't think it does."
Thomas Falk, Bastiaan's 38-year-old father at 6 feet, leaned casually against the counter with his coffee mug in hand. His black hair was slightly tousled, and his neatly trimmed beard gave him an air of maturity that contrasted with his laid-back demeanor. His slightly muscular frame gave hints of someone who worked out once in a while, though he'd always joked that he wasn't as disciplined as his son.
"Okay, if you say so," Thomas said with a chuckle, breaking Bastiaan's train of thought.
"You sure it won't affect your performance in the trials?"
Sebastian gave a small nod, finishing his water before replying, "It won't. I'm just warmed up.".
You're the only person that would consider a 10-kilometer run "warm-up." Thomas shook his head with amusement as he heard his son.
"So are you nervous?" Thomas asked, his tone light but genuinely curious.
"Nope,"
"Really?" Thomas arched an eyebrow. "Not even a little?"
"Nope." Sebastian answered, placing the empty bottle on the counter. "I know I'll do well."
"Alright, alright," Thomas conceded, holding up a hand in mock surrender. "Go on, get cleaned up."
"Yeah. I'll go get ready." Sebastian answered and turned around, heading to his room.
As he walked, his mind wandered to the upcoming Malmö FF youth academy trials.
The invitation to the tryouts hadn't come out of nowhere. A month ago there was an interschool middle school football tournament being held in Gothenburg, and Sebastian's school, Göteborgs Högre Samskola, dominated every stage.
Sebastian's performance had been nothing short of extraordinary. Over six matches, he had scored ten goals and provided eight assists, effortlessly controlling the game from the midfield. His exceptional acceleration, vision, and technical ability left the opponents scrambling to keep up.
By the time his team lifted the trophy after a one-sided 4-1 victory in the final against Hvitfeldtska Gymnasiet, Sebastian was unanimously named the tournament's MVP.
Unbeknownst to him, a Malmö FF scout had been watching from the sidelines. He had been thoroughly impressed by Sebastian and his performance since the start of the tournament and approached him after the award ceremony to offer him an invitation to the group trial that Malmö FF Youth Academy was holding about a month later, specifically on Friday, 12th of August, 2011, in Malmö.
Back in his room, the cool air of the morning clung to his skin as he pulled off his hoodie and joggers, placing them in the laundry basket near the door. Standing in front of the mirror, he paused, taking a moment to assess himself.
Standing at 5'7" (170 cm), Sebastian was tall for his age; his lean and athletic body was forged by years of relentless training. His physique was a balance of agility and strength with defined abs, toned arms, and impressive thighs and calves; he looked nothing like a 13-year-old.
His jet-black hair was damp with sweat, sticking slightly to his forehead. Bright and piercing grey eyes stared back at him intensely.
He reached for his towel and headed to the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the small space as he brushed his teeth and stepped into the shower. The cold water washed away the sweat and lingering fatigue, leaving him refreshed and focused.
Back in his room, he pulled on the new Malmö FF kit his dad got for him to wear for the trials. The traditional blue and white jersey and shorts fit him perfectly; underneath he wore a fitted white long-sleeve inner shirt, the sleek material clinging comfortably to his body. He packed his socks, shinguards, and boots, as well as his bottle and towel, into his duffel bag before looking around his room, making sure he wasn't forgetting anything.
Finally, he slipped into a pair of slides, slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder, and he left his room, heading to the kitchen.