July 14th, 2026
A room, tiny as heck, hospital-clean, but somehow perfect. The kind of place you end up when you're not sure if you're about to party or just…wait for something to fall outta the sky. City lights leaking through the busted blinds, mixing with that weird blue glow from the TV. Germany's just bagged their fifth World Cup. Five! That's Brazil-level now. People on screen losing their minds.
Not that Robin Silver gave a damn.
Nineteen, hair like he'd just lost a fight with a wind tunnel, spiked up in every direction. Rocking this green Northport United jersey—looked vintage, almost. Like, if you squinted, you could believe it had seen some stuff. He wasn't German. Wasn't Brazilian. Didn't even care when the ref blew the whistle. Just stared. Quiet. Watching like it was someone else's dream. American, for what it was worth. The US? Didn't even make it to the knockouts this time. Embarrassing, really.
Robin leaned back, eyes glued to the TV while Germans did their champagne shower thing. Fireworks going off in Berlin. Crowd's a mess of noise and color. But to Robin? Felt like he was watching behind glass. Like none of it really touched him.
He finally reached for the remote, clicked off the TV. Boom—silence. Well, almost. Street noise still there, neon buzzing, some idiot laying into their car horn, and someone laughing like a hyena two blocks over. Summer in Europe. The city felt alive, just not for him.
Robin cracked open a Coke from the mini-fridge.
Tomorrow, he'd be signing his first pro contract.
Northport United called two days ago. Offer's on the table. All that's left—his signature, a handshake, and a tiny bit of paperwork. That's it. Life about to get real.
July 15th, 2026
Northport United's training facility looked like a washed-up heavyweight; you could tell it used to be something, but now? Bit worn around the edges. Once kings of the Premiera League. Now? Fourteenth last season. "Rebuilding," they said. Sure.
Robin rolled up in a suit that definitely wasn't his—cousin's old banking intern getup. Sleeves stopped at his forearms, shoes pinched his toes. Couldn't afford better, but hey, it was enough.
He slid into the conference room. His agent already mid-argument with Oliver Smith—the club's brand-new coach, all wiry and sunburnt, with that tough-as-nails Aussie vibe. Guy looked like he'd survived a shipwreck and won a trophy while doing it. Which, apparently, he had—just swap shipwreck for the Women's World Cup.
Robin kept quiet, which honestly felt like the move.
"Four years, bench role, $3K a week. You in?" his agent shot at him.
Robin nodded. Didn't get dramatic. It was big, yeah. But he wasn't gonna pretend it was more than it was. He knew the deal.
"Perfect," the agent grinned, hand out. "Congrats, you're Northport United now."
Robin shook hands with both of them. The club's name echoed in his head.
Northport United.
Once a fortress. Now a scrap yard. But maybe, just maybe, about to rise again.
July 17th, 2026
Training kicked off before he even finished his medicals.
Robin stood on the pitch, the right side. Medical checks? What medical checks? No press, no cameras, just a nod from the assistant coach and a ball rolling his way.
"Put in some crosses," they told him. Easy stuff. Hit your target. Make it clean.
He did fine at first. Whipped the ball to the far post like he'd done a thousand times.
Then Oliver Smith decided it was time to dial up the pain—three defenders, all teeth and elbows, right in his path.
Boom—rhythm gone. Just like that.
One decent cross outta five. Brutal.
Lost the ball three times with guys all over him. Last effort? Sliced it—side netting. Not even close.
Coach? Didn't flip out. No shouting, no lecture. Just this long, slow sigh that stung way more than any words.
Robin dragged himself off the pitch, face slick with sweat. He didn't need a pep talk to know how bad that went.
July 20th, 2026.
Middle of training. Sun's blazing, legs feel like bags of cement. Robin's hunched over, sucking wind, when Oliver Smith waves him over.
They plop down on that battered bench next to the pitch. One sad little water bottle between them.
"You wanna sit on the bench?" Oliver just lays it out there. "Or play every week for two years in the lower leagues?"
Robin's whole body tensed up. He could smell where this was going and, honestly, it stank.
"Depends," he shot back, all cautious. "Why you asking?"
Oliver's staring at the warm-up—teammates laughing, ball pinging around, everyone looking like it's easy.
"I checked the squad list," Oliver says. "You're not getting minutes anytime soon. Got two monsters at left wing."
"I can play right too," Robin jumps in, leaning forward like that'll help.
Oliver just grins, shakes his head. "I'll be real. Saw a left winger last week—kid's legit. I wanna bring him up. He won't play much either if you stick around. Squad's too bloated."
Robin actually smiled, for real this time. Not that fake, trying-to-hide-it smile—just dry humor. "So where am I off to, then?"
"North Wall FC," Oliver says. "Our feeder club. Go on loan, play every week, rack up experience. Come back stronger."
Robin hesitated. Mulling it over, you know?
"I'm doing you a favor," Oliver added. "Right now, you're not displacing our starter. Up to you, though."
Robin just sat there.
July 26th, 2026
North Wall FC's place? Smaller, cramped, a little rough around the edges. The kind of place you either find yourself or get chewed up.
Robin showed up early, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, chin up. Staff gave him the nod—not fanfare, just respect. Wasn't a fall from grace. Just another step on the grind.
Coach's office: Martin Langford.
Guy's pushing fifty, bald, shiny dome, cocky half-smile, reputation for playing it safe. Robin had googled him. Martin would rather draw 0-0 than risk a wild 3-2 loss. Mr. No-Nonsense.
Martin strolls in, drying his hands, like he's got all day.
"Robin Silver," he grins. "Northport United sent us their golden child. Welcome to North Wall."
"Cheers, boss," Robin fires back.
Martin leans on his desk, arms folded, sizing him up. "Alright, Silver. Tell me—what's your plan this season? How many you gonna score?"
Robin met his eyes, voice steady. "Win the league. Or at least get us promoted."
Martin just stares for a second—then cracks up, can't help it.
"Ambitious much?"
"I should be, boss."
Martin raises an eyebrow, maybe a little impressed.
"Last season, we were fighting for our lives. Now our star player's gone."
Robin just grinned. "But you got me, don't you?"
Martin bursts out laughing. Already easier to like than most.
"Confidence. I like it. But if you can't back it up on the pitch, it's just noise."
"I get it, boss."
"Alright, grab your boots, Silver. Show me what you've got."
Robin stood.
This is gonna be fun.
Meanwhile, on X:
@RabrizioFomano
"Young signing Robin Silver has been sent on a loan to North Wall FC, Northport United's child club.
Loan for 2 years. "
@Trollll - Bro didn't even last 5 days lmao
@CanceidaEra – Career over even before it began
@Kingstonkings – NU doesn't even have a strategy lmao. Why buy, when you are going to loan him out to your child club. Kingston FC is way better.