The video had gone viral.
Not on television—youth football rarely made mainstream sports channels—but across football forums, social media groups, and scouting networks throughout Europe. Someone in the crowd had recorded Ethan's four-player dribble against Saint-Étienne and posted it online with the caption: "9-year-old Lyon prodigy destroys entire defense."
Within forty-eight hours, it had been viewed over two million times.
Ethan knew nothing about this. He didn't have social media accounts—his parents were strict about that. But everyone around him knew. The coaches knew. His teammates knew. And most importantly, the scouts knew.
Monday morning at the academy felt different. As Ethan walked through the hallways toward the training pitch, he noticed people staring. Whispers followed him. Even some of the older players from the U-14 and U-16 squads nodded at him in acknowledgment.
"You're famous now, petit," Antoine said, catching up to him. "My older brother showed me the video. It's everywhere."
"What video?" Ethan asked genuinely.
Antoine pulled out his phone and showed him. Ethan watched himself receive the ball at midfield, then proceed to dance past four Saint-Étienne defenders like they were traffic cones. The crowd's reaction was audible even through the phone's tiny speaker—gasps, then cheers, then an explosion of noise when the ball hit the net.
"That's... a lot of views," Ethan said quietly.
"A lot? Dude, people are calling you the next big thing. The next prodigy." Antoine grinned. "You're a star."
Ethan handed the phone back, feeling uncomfortable. He didn't want to be famous. He just wanted to play football.
Coach Martineau called him into his office after training. Ethan knocked on the door, wondering if he was in trouble.
"Come in, Ethan. Sit down."
The office was small but organized. Trophies lined one shelf. A tactical board covered one wall, filled with formations and player positions written in marker.
"You're not in trouble," Martineau said, reading Ethan's expression. "But we need to talk about what happens next."
"Next?"
"Your performance last Saturday has attracted attention. Serious attention." Martineau opened a folder on his desk. "In the last two days, I've received calls from twelve different clubs. Paris Saint-Germain. Monaco. Marseille. Even some foreign clubs—Ajax, Barcelona, Manchester United."
Ethan's eyes widened. "They... they want me?"
"They want to scout you. Watch you train. Some are offering trial periods at their academies." Martineau leaned back in his chair. "You're nine years old, Ethan. This is unprecedented. Most players don't get this kind of attention until they're teenagers."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you have a decision to make. Well, your parents do. You can stay at Lyon, continue developing here, or you can explore opportunities elsewhere." Martineau paused. "Personally, I think you should stay. You're doing well here. You're happy. Why disrupt that?"
Ethan thought about it. Lyon had been good to him. The coaching was excellent. He had friends. Antoine, Thomas, even Coach Martineau had become important people in his life.
But another part of him—the part that always thought three moves ahead—wondered what else was out there. What if there was a better path? A faster route to becoming the player he knew he could be?
"Can I think about it?" Ethan asked.
"Of course. Take your time. Talk to your parents." Martineau stood and extended his hand. "Whatever you decide, I want you to know—you're special, Ethan. I've been coaching for fifteen years, and I've never seen anyone like you. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Ethan shook his hand, feeling the weight of those words.
That evening, the Loki family gathered around their small kitchen table for dinner. Marie was doing homework in her room, but Moussa, Aminata, and Ethan sat together over a simple meal of rice and chicken.
"Coach Martineau called me today," Moussa said, breaking the silence. "He told me about the interest from other clubs."
Ethan looked up from his plate. "What do you think I should do, Papa?"
Moussa set down his fork and looked at his son with those serious eyes that always made Ethan pay attention. "When I was young in Ivory Coast, I had talent. Not like yours—nobody has talent like yours—but I was good. Good enough that scouts came to watch me. Good enough that I had offers."
"What happened?" Ethan asked, though he'd never heard this story before.
"I got impatient. I left my first club because another one promised me more playing time, better opportunities. Then I left that club for another one. I kept chasing the next big thing, the next promise." Moussa's expression darkened slightly. "By the time I realized what I was doing, I had a reputation. Club-hopper. Unreliable. The offers stopped coming."
Aminata placed her hand on Moussa's. "Your father learned an important lesson. Loyalty matters. Patience matters. Grass isn't always greener elsewhere."
"But," Moussa continued, "I also learned that sometimes, you must take risks. Sometimes the right opportunity comes along, and you'd be foolish not to consider it seriously." He looked at Ethan. "So here's my advice: don't make a decision based on fear or greed. Make it based on where you'll grow the most. Where you'll be happiest. Where you'll become the player—and the man—you're meant to be."
Ethan absorbed the words. Three moves ahead. What was the best path forward?
"Lyon is safe," he said slowly, working through his thoughts out loud. "I'm doing well there. But..."
"But what?" Aminata prompted gently.
"But what if there's somewhere I could do even better? What if there's a place where I could reach my full potential faster?" Ethan looked at his parents. "I don't want to waste time. I want to be the best. The absolute best."
Moussa smiled slightly. "There's my son. Always ambitious." He leaned forward. "Alright. We'll listen to the offers. We'll visit the clubs if they invite us. But we do this carefully. We ask questions. We make sure wherever you go, they value you not just as a player, but as a person. D'accord?"
"D'accord," Ethan agreed.
Over the next two weeks, three clubs requested meetings: Paris Saint-Germain, AS Monaco, and FC Barcelona.
PSG came first. Their academy director was professional but cold. He spoke about facilities, about their track record of producing talent, about the prestige of playing for the capital club. But when Moussa asked about individual development plans, the director was vague. "We have a system. The best players rise to the top."
Ethan left that meeting feeling underwhelmed.
Barcelona's representative flew to Lyon specifically to meet with them. A Spanish scout named Carlos spoke passionately about La Masia, about their philosophy of developing technical players, about the club's values. "We don't just train footballers," he said in accented French. "We develop artists. Your son would thrive in our environment."
Ethan was intrigued but hesitant. Barcelona was far from home. A different country. A different language.
Then Monaco came.
The meeting was held at a café in Lyon, deliberately casual. The man from the derby match introduced himself as Philippe Clement, head scout for AS Monaco's youth academy.
"I'm not going to sell you on facilities or history," Philippe said, ordering coffee for the adults and hot chocolate for Ethan. "You can visit any club and see nice buildings. What I want to talk about is philosophy."
"Go on," Moussa said.
"Monaco is unique. We're a small club compared to PSG or Barcelona. We can't outspend them. So instead, we out-develop them. We take young players and give them opportunities earlier than the big clubs would. Look at the players we've produced—Thierry Henry started here. We have a track record of trusting youth."
Philippe turned to Ethan. "You're nine now. If you come to Monaco, here's my promise: by the time you're sixteen, you'll have trained with professionals. By seventeen, you'll be competing for a first-team spot. Can PSG or Barcelona promise that? They have too many stars. Too much pressure to win now. But Monaco? We build for the future."
"What about education?" Aminata asked. "His schooling is important."
"We have an excellent academic program integrated into the academy. He won't fall behind." Philippe pulled out a tablet and showed them photos of Monaco's facilities, the training center in La Turbie, the beautiful Mediterranean coast. "Plus, it's closer than Barcelona. You could visit regularly."
Ethan felt something click. Monaco made sense. They valued development. They gave opportunities. And Philippe mentioned something intriguing—they had recently signed a young striker named Kylian Mbappé who was already making waves.
Playing alongside Mbappé, Ethan thought. Learning from him. Competing with him.
Three moves ahead. This was the right move.
"When can we visit?" Ethan asked.
Philippe smiled. "How about next month?"
End of Chapter 5