IShowSpeed:Never Stop Dreaming!

The crisp morning air seeped through the half-open window, carrying the fresh scent of freshly cut grass. A constant buzzing echoed in his ears, as if his heart was beating too fast.

"Where am I…?" he murmured, his throat dry.

Dante Walker opened his eyes and sat up abruptly. The narrow, cluttered room was unfamiliar: gray walls, a single bed with rumpled sheets, and a battered wardrobe with a half-open door. On a chair, a dark blue jersey with a golden lion emblem and the words Westford Athletic FC lay neatly folded.

His reflection in the cracked mirror left him breathless. It wasn't his face. Tanned skin, hazel eyes, and curly hair didn't match the image he remembered. A shiver ran down his neck, and his heart pounded faster.

"This has to be a joke, right?!" he said aloud, but only the echo of his voice answered.

Suddenly, a knock on the door made him jump.

"Walker! Get up already!" A rough, impatient voice barked. "If you're late for training again, you won't set foot on the field this month."

Dante blinked, feeling adrenaline surge through his chest. Training? Field? Was this real?

With no time to think, he threw on the club's jersey and a pair of shorts, noticing how his muscles moved more fluidly and powerfully than before. Every movement felt more natural, as if his body had been built for sports.

As he stepped into the hallway, he came face-to-face with a man in his fifties, his weathered face stern and gaze sharp. Coach Liam Brooks stood with his arms crossed, watching him.

"Daydreaming again, Walker?" Brooks grumbled. "Move your ass. The others are already warming up."

"Y-Yeah, coach…" Dante mumbled, still struggling to grasp the situation.

The smell of coffee mixed with the disinfectant of the locker room hit him as he passed the common room. The floor creaked under his sneakers as he stepped outside, where the pale dawn light bathed the training field.

The damp grass beneath his feet was a tangible reminder that this wasn't a dream. In the distance, the sound of balls thudding against nets blended with the voices of players calling to each other.

"Come on, boys, faster!" shouted one of the assistant coaches as players jogged in circles around the field.

Dante approached the group, but before he could join them, a tall, athletic figure stepped in front of him.

"Look who decided to show up," said Jack Coleman, the team captain. His mocking smile barely concealed the disdain in his eyes. "Trouble getting out of bed, Walker? Maybe this sport isn't for you."

Heat surged through Dante's veins, and the air around him seemed heavier.

"What do you know?" he shot back, stepping forward. "Just because you're captain doesn't mean you're better than me."

Jack's smile widened.

"Oh yeah? Then prove it on the field… if you can keep up with me."

Before Dante could reply, a sharp whistle cut through the air.

"Walker, Coleman!" Coach Brooks glared at them with one brow raised. "Planning to stand there chatting or actually train?"

Jack chuckled and walked off with confident strides. Dante clenched his fists, frustration and anger churning in his chest.

"Calm down…" he muttered to himself, remembering his goal. "I'm here for something bigger."

He joined the rest of the team and started jogging around the field. The cold air brushed against his skin, and the sound of his footsteps blended with those of the other players. Gradually, he began to notice the differences in his new body: his muscles responded with more power, his steps were lighter, and every breath seemed to fill him with energy.

When it was time for ball drills, adrenaline surged even higher. The ball rolled toward him. He controlled it with the inside of his foot and started forward, feeling the damp grass beneath his cleats. But as he tried to pick up speed, his steps became clumsy. The ball slipped too far ahead, and when he tried to catch up, he lost his balance and fell face-first into the grass.

"Ha! Is that your great speed?" Jack taunted from across the field.

A murmur of laughter rippled through the other players. Dante's cheeks burned with shame as he clenched his teeth. The smell of wet grass and damp soil seemed stronger now that he was lying on the ground.

"Come on, Walker!" Coach Brooks shouted. "If you can't control your own body, you'll never set foot in a professional stadium. Get up!"

Dante jumped to his feet, wiping his hands on his shorts. His heart pounded hard—not from exertion, but from anger and frustration.

"I can do this!" he muttered under his breath.

As the sun slowly rose over the horizon, bathing the field in golden light, Dante made a silent promise:

"No matter how many times I fall, I'll master this body and prove to everyone what I can do. I'm going to reach the top. I'm going to play alongside Cristiano Ronaldo."

With that determination blazing in his chest, he got back into position, ready for the next play. The first step toward his dream had just begun.

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