Chapter 165: Volume 2, - 165: Not on the Board

Chapter 165: Volume 2, Chapter 165: Not on the Board

The morning mist still clung to the perimeter fences of the Alcochete academy when Thursday’s training session began with a sharp, carrying whistle from Nuno Marques. The under-seventeen squad had gathered on Pitch Three for a high-intensity positional block, and the low hum of competitive focus hung heavily over the turf.

Rayan jogged into position in the left half-space, bouncing lightly on his toes. Salvador Almeida was already organising the defensive screen, calling out instructions to the full-backs.

"Keep the line tight! Don’t let them split us!" Salvador barked, clapping his hands.

"Shift across, Bernardo!" Tiago Silva yelled, pointing towards the central channel as Nuno placed a ball down to initiate the possession drill.

For the first twenty minutes, Rayan moved through the routine with sharp intent. When Salvador swept a short pass into his feet, Rayan checked his shoulder, cushioned the ball with his instep, and slipped a quick, vertical pass into Tiago’s path before the midfield press could collapse around him. Nuno blew his whistle and waved the team forward.

"Good tempo! Keep the ball moving!" Nuno shouted, walking the line. "Don’t admire your pass, El Mansouri, move into space!"

Rayan nodded, adjusting his position and offering an angle for the return. For the past three days, ever since returning from Liverpool, a quiet, restless current had hummed beneath his skin. With Sporting’s first official Liga match of the season looming against Vizela at the Estádio José Alvalade on Saturday, the senior squad’s preparations had dominated the facility.

Though he was only fifteen, unable to sign the professional sports employment contract that awaited him after his birthday, and had never made an official senior appearance, the minutes against Villarreal and the cameo at Goodison Park had whispered a dangerous possibility into his mind. He had secretly wondered whether those preseason exposures meant he might somehow sneak into the opening matchday squad.

Nuno Marques caught Rayan during a brief hydration pause as the players headed towards the water station.

"El Mansouri. The senior group’s been settled for Vizela. You’re staying with us for the weekend."

Rayan stopped unscrewing his bottle.

"Right."

He’d known what Rui Amorim told him at the airport. Nothing had changed since Monday. Still, when Nuno said it aloud, Rayan found himself looking towards the senior training building.

"Same programme?" Rayan asked.

"Same programme," Nuno confirmed. "I want you focused here."

"Yeah. Understood."

Nuno nodded towards Pitch Three. "Back out, then."

Rayan twisted the bottle cap shut and returned to the group. Bernardo rolled a ball towards him. Rayan struck it first time, much harder than the drill required. The pass skipped past Tiago and ran out beyond the cones.

"Oi!" Tiago shouted. "I’m over here!"

Bernardo looked at Rayan. "What’s your problem?"

"Nothing."

"Right. Tell the ball that."

Rayan retrieved it without answering. He took a slow breath, forcing the frustration down. On the next possession sequence, when Bernardo pressed him from the side, Rayan used a simple body feint, waited for Tiago to check his run, and played a clean, well-weighted pass right to his feet.

"That’s better," Bernardo muttered as they reset their shapes.

Rayan rubbed the back of his neck, glanced once toward the senior pitches, then faced forward again when Salvador called for the next ball.

With the possession training extended into a small-sided transition game, Rayan forced himself to channel the lingering irritation into his work. When the B-team midfield tried to bypass Salvador with a direct ball through the centre, Salvador intercepted cleanly, took a touch to steady himself, and clipped an outside-of-the-boot pass towards Bernardo out wide.

Bernardo controlled it on his chest, drove past his marker with a powerful stride, and whipped a low cross across the face of the goal. Tiago met it at the near post, steering a crisp redirection just past the upright.

"Good movement! That’s the speed of thought we need!" Nuno called out, striding towards the centre circle. "Reset from the back! Salvador, dictate the tempo!"

Rayan tracked back, calling for the ball as the exercise restarted. He focused on his scanning, checking his shoulder twice before receiving, and kept his touches clean and economical. By the time Nuno blew the double-whistle to end the morning session, the initial sting of non-selection had settled into a heavy, quiet determination.

By lunchtime, the team had retreated to the academy canteen. While picking at his chicken and rice, Rayan pulled out his phone. On X, a few smaller Sporting supporter accounts were already debating the anticipated matchday squad for the Vizela fixture.

@AlvaladeTalks: Heard the squad is locked for Saturday. Wondering if Rayan from preseason gets a bench spot or if it’s too early.

Another user replied instantly under the post: @Leao_1906: No chance. Competitive Liga matches are different. U17s need him more right now.

Rayan stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the pixels. He locked the phone screen, tossed it facedown onto the table, then picked it right back up a moment later before the screen could even dim.

His phone buzzed in his palm. A text message from his dad.

Dad: Any news about Saturday?

Rayan: Not picked. Staying with the U17s.

Dad: Ah. You alright?

Rayan: Yeah.

A minute later, his phone rang. Rayan stepped outside the noisy canteen into the quiet hallway and slid the answer button.

"Hey, Dad," Rayan said, his voice flat.

Karim El Mansouri’s voice came through the speaker, steady and grounding, carrying a mild note of sympathy. "I’m sorry, Rayan. I know you were hoping."

"It’s whatever," Rayan muttered, kicking the toe of his trainer against the baseboard. "I’m staying with Nuno, like Amorim said. Just thought I might get another chance on Saturday."

"They are building something for you step by step, Rayan," Karim said softly, without a trace of anger or accusation toward the club. "Your time is coming. You played at Alvalade not even two weeks ago. Two months ago, that was just a dream. Keep your head down."

"Yeah. I know."

"Did you call your mother?"

"Not yet."

"Call her. And eat your lunch."

Ten minutes later, Rayan called Mum during a break in her clinic shift. She answered on the second ring, with voices and a ringing telephone audible behind her.

"What did Nuno say?" she asked without preamble.

"I’m staying with the U17s. Not in for Vizela."

"Did you understand what he meant?" she asked, her tone matter-of-fact.

"Yeah, Mum."

"Do you need me to collect you?" Sofia asked.

"No, Mum. I’ve got transport."

"Alright. Eat something properly before you come home."

"I will."

"And Rayan?"

"Yeah?"

"I’ll see you tonight."

He pulled the phone away from his ear, waited for the call to end and slipped it into his pocket.

That evening, back in his bedroom in Olivais, Rayan opened Sporting’s fixture page on his laptop.

Sporting CP vs. FC Vizela

Saturday, 12 August 2023

Estádio José Alvalade

20:30

He stared at the stadium photograph beneath the fixture details. Less than two weeks earlier, he’d walked onto that pitch in a Sporting shirt.

This Saturday, he wouldn’t even have a place on the bench.