The main hall of Project Athena's campus was silent in a way that felt almost oppressive.
Aïna walked slowly, her bag clutched tightly against her side. The smooth floor reflected the vast glass walls, letting in a white, cold light that clashed violently with the dusty heat of Kinshasa she had left only a few hours earlier. Everything here felt too clean. Too big. Too serious.
There were many of them.
Girls from all backgrounds, all roughly her age. Some whispered softly, others laughed nervously, and a few stood alone, headphones on, eyes hard and distant. Aïna understood one thing immediately: no one had come here to make friends.
A giant screen lit up at the far end of the hall.
The conversations stopped.
A deep, neutral, perfectly controlled voice echoed through the room.
— Welcome to Project Athena.
Aïna felt her heart beat faster.
— You have been invited here because your application caught our attention. But make no mistake.
The screen displayed a simple, brutal sentence:
> Being here means nothing.
— From this moment on, the voice continued, you are all equal. No status. No position. No privilege.
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
— Project Athena is neither a club nor an ordinary high school. It is an experimental program designed to revolutionize women's football worldwide.
A shiver ran down Aïna's spine.
— You will study. You will train. And above all… you will be constantly evaluated.
The screen changed again.
> Phase 1: Observation and Disorientation
— During this first phase, you will not choose your positions. They will be assigned to you. — You will not play according to your habits. — You will not be judged on your goals, but on your ability to adapt.
Aïna frowned.
Central midfielder—that was all she knew. Reading the game. Distributing. Organizing.
What if they put me somewhere else? she thought.
— Some of you will be eliminated within the first weeks. — Others will be redirected toward traditional academic tracks. — Only the best will continue.
A girl behind Aïna whispered:
— They're not joking…
The voice concluded:
— You will now be assigned to your buildings. Good luck.
The screen went dark.
The silence returned, heavier than before.
Groups were called in alphabetical order.
When Aïna heard her name, her throat tightened.
— Aïna M. — Building C.
She followed the flow, crossing a vast courtyard lined with perfectly maintained fields. She felt as though she were entering another world—one where football was no longer a game, but a science.
Building C looked like a modern university residence. White corridors, numbered doors, discreet cameras in the corners.
Room C-214.
She stepped inside.
Three beds. Three desks. Three wardrobes.
Two girls were already there.
— Hi, said the first, tall, broad-shouldered, calm-eyed. I'm Mila. — Sora, the other added with a confident smile. Nice to meet you.
Aïna set down her bag.
— Aïna.
A brief silence. Then Sora tilted her head.
— Where are you from? — Kinshasa. — Seriously? Nairobi is far from there.
Aïna nodded.
— And what position do you play? Mila asked. — Central midfielder. — Too bad, Sora replied with a smile. Here, that means nothing.
---
A soft alarm echoed throughout the building.
> General Assembly — Field 4
The girls changed quickly and went downstairs.
Field 4 was immense. The white lines looked millimeter-perfect. Around it stood stands, cameras, screens.
A man stood at the center. Tall. Dark suit. Piercing gaze.
— I am Ethan Kovač, Sporting Director of Project Athena.
He studied them for a long moment.
— There are many of you. Too many.
Murmurs followed.
— Some of you think you're here because you're talented. — Others think you're here because you've suffered. — I'll be clear: I don't care.
He paused.
— Women's football is underestimated because it's treated as an inferior version of men's football. That will not be the case here. — Here, you either become better than anything that exists… or you leave.
He gestured.
Coaches stepped onto the field.
— First test: physical and mental evaluation. — No ball.
Sighs spread through the group.
— Interval running. Endurance tests. Reaction drills. — And above all: observation.
Aïna ran.
Again. And again.
Her legs burned. Her breathing became uneven. Around her, some slowed down, others gave up, sitting in the grass, eyes unfocused.
She thought of her parents.
Of the promise.
Of Nairobi.
Of that dusty field in Kinshasa.
She kept going.
---
That evening, back in the room, no one spoke.
Sora lay on her bed, arms behind her head.
— They're trying to break us, she murmured. — No, Mila replied calmly. They're trying to see who holds on.
Aïna stayed silent.
She kept thinking about one sentence from Kovač:
> Here, you either become better… or you leave.
She got up and went to the window. The floodlit fields shone in the night.
She clenched her fists.
I didn't come all this way just to go home.
At that exact moment, a notification appeared on the room's wall screen.
> Tomorrow: Random position assignment.
Be prepared.
Aïna felt her heart tighten.
Central midfielder or not…
She was going to have to survive.