The letter from Grenn Academy had been sitting on the kitchen counter for a week before Kellan's parents finally agreed it was time. It wasn't a long letter — just a few lines on crisp white paper — but its words seemed to change the rhythm of the De Vries household. For ten-year-old Kellan, it meant stepping into a world far larger and sharper than the one he knew.
On the morning of the trial, the sky above Dronen hung low and gray, the kind of sky that carried both promise and weight. Henrik loaded the family's small car while Alena packed sandwiches and a thermos of tea. Kellan sat quietly in the back seat, his boots resting in his lap. The drive to Grenn took less than an hour, but it felt longer. He watched fields and rivers pass by, thinking about the players he would meet — stronger, faster, louder. The thought made his stomach twist, but his mind remained steady. He had prepared for this all his life without realizing it.
The academy was everything Dronen's pitch was not. Three immaculate fields stretched under towering floodlights. Buildings of glass and steel surrounded them, filled with equipment rooms, video suites, and dormitories. Coaches wore matching tracksuits, speaking in clipped, confident tones. It was organized, professional, and intimidating.
Kellan followed Henrik and Alena to the registration desk. Around him, boys laughed and pushed each other, nerves hidden under bravado. He stood still, his eyes scanning the pitches. The grass looked too perfect to be real. When his name was called, he simply nodded and jogged toward the warm-up area, his heart hammering softly in his chest.
The first session was brutal. The drills were faster, the expectations higher. Coaches barked instructions in quick succession, leaving no room for hesitation. The other boys moved with energy but little control. Kellan, smaller and quieter, focused on precision. He let the noise fade and listened only to the rhythm of the ball. During a possession drill, he received a pass and, instead of forcing play, paused just long enough to draw an opponent in. Then, with a calm flick of his foot, he opened the field and released the ball perfectly into space. One of the coaches stopped the play and watched him closely.
By the end of the session, Kellan's shirt clung to his back, and his legs trembled with fatigue. Henrik met him by the sideline, eyes proud but cautious. "How did it feel?" he asked. Kellan shrugged. "Fast," he said, then added quietly, "but I saw things before they happened." Henrik smiled. That was enough.
A week later, the acceptance letter arrived. Kellan De Vries had earned a place at Grenn Academy. The news spread quickly through Dronen. Neighbors congratulated Alena in the market, and the local paper ran a small story about the town's "golden-haired prodigy." Kellan accepted the praise politely but didn't linger on it. In his mind, this was just the beginning.
The transition to academy life was not easy. On his first day, Kellan carried a single suitcase into the dormitory that would become his new home during the week. The room smelled faintly of detergent and rubber from the training shoes lined neatly under the beds. His roommate, a boy from the capital city, introduced himself cheerfully, but Kellan responded with a nod and a small smile. He wasn't rude — just cautious. Change came slowly to him.
Days began early at Grenn. A bell rang at six, followed by breakfast at half past. Training started at seven-thirty sharp. Sessions were intense and technical. Mistakes were corrected immediately. Every movement, every pass, every decision mattered. Coaches expected not only effort but understanding — they wanted players who could think as well as run. That suited Kellan perfectly. While others focused on impressing, he concentrated on learning.
In the evenings, after dinner and study hours, most boys gathered in the lounge to watch television or play video games. Kellan preferred the quiet. He would sit by the window in his dorm room, notebook open, writing brief lines about the day: Don't chase the ball. Let it come. See before you act. Trust patience. Those notes became his secret map, a guide through the maze of new expectations.
Weekends brought brief returns home to Dronen. Alena always met him at the station, her eyes full of pride and worry. "You're growing," she'd say, even when he hadn't. Henrik would ask about training, and Kellan would describe drills and tactics as if recounting an adventure. They listened, not because they understood every detail, but because they recognized how much it meant to him.
Months passed, and Kellan began to adapt fully. The coaches noticed his intelligence — how he absorbed feedback, how he understood space. During one match, he played against a team of older boys. He didn't score or show flashy tricks, but his calm orchestration controlled the tempo. When the game ended, the academy's technical director approached his coach and murmured something. Later that week, Kellan was moved up to a higher age group.
Despite progress, life at Grenn wasn't easy. Loneliness often crept in at night. The dormitory grew quiet, and the chatter of other boys faded into soft breathing. Kellan would stare at the ceiling, thinking of Dronen — of the old wall behind his house, the echo of the ball against brick, the rhythm that had once filled his evenings. But then he reminded himself why he was here. The boy from the small town was chasing something greater than comfort.
On a gray winter morning, snowflakes drifted across the training ground. As the boys huddled together for warm-ups, Kellan stood slightly apart, watching the white flakes melt against the green grass. The coach blew the whistle, and Kellan jogged into position. The cold bit at his face, but he smiled faintly. Each step, each drill, each lonely night was shaping him. He wasn't just learning how to play football — he was learning how to think, how to adapt, and how to endure.
Somewhere deep inside, Kellan felt it — a quiet certainty that this was only the beginning. The road ahead was long, but he was ready to follow it, one deliberate step at a time.