He followed me into the office, and I gestured for him to sit. He did, perching on the edge of the chair like he was ready to bolt at any moment.

"Relax," I said, trying to put him at ease. "You're here because I think you're talented. I watched you in the Millwall match. You were the best player on the pitch by a mile. Different level."

He blinked, clearly surprised. "Millwall didn't think so."

"Millwall are idiots," I said bluntly. "They wanted you to be a physical workhorse. That's not your game. Your game is technical, intelligent, and creative. You see passes that other players don't see. You can dribble in tight spaces. You make everyone around you better. That's what I want."

He nodded slowly, and I saw something shift in his expression. Hope, maybe. Or belief.

"I'm offering you a four-week trial," I continued. "It includes the three preseason matches we've got coming up. During that time, you'll train with the U18s, you'll play in those matches, and we'll see if you're a good fit. The trial contract includes accommodation support, travel expenses, and a weekly stipend. If you impress, we'll sign you properly. If not..." I shrugged. "We'll part ways professionally."

"I'll impress," he said, and there was steel in his voice.

"I believe you will. But I need to be honest with you, you've got weaknesses. Physicality is the big one. You got bodied by players in the match. In training, our lads are going to test you. They're going to press you hard, challenge you physically. You need to work on your strength, your balance, and your ability to hold off defenders. Rebecca, our fitness coach, is going to put you through a strength program. It won't be fun, but it's necessary."

He nodded. "I'll do whatever it takes."

"Good. Let's go meet the lads."

I led him out to the training pitch, where the U18 squad was warming up under Rebecca's supervision. When they saw us approaching, they stopped and turned, curiosity written all over their faces.

"Lads, this is Eberechi Eze," I said, gesturing to him. "He's here on trial for the next four weeks. Make him feel welcome."

Reece stepped forward first, extending his hand. "Reece Hannam. Captain. Welcome to Palace."

Eze shook his hand, and I saw him relax slightly. One by one, the other players introduced themselves. Nya, Connor, Ryan, Lewis, Jake, Sam, Tom. They were welcoming, friendly, and professional. Exactly what I'd hoped for.

"Right," I said, clapping my hands. "Let's get to work. Eze, you'll join the midfield group with Nya, Jake, and Sam. We're working on pressing angles and defensive tracking today. Rebecca, can you take Connor and work on his positioning? Michael, Ryan's with you for distribution drills. Sarah, you're with me on the tactical side."

The session began, and within minutes, it was clear that Eze was on a different level technically. When we ran a possession drill 8v8 in a tight space he was untouchable. His first touch was immaculate, his awareness of space was exceptional, and his passing was weighted perfectly.

But when the physicality ramped up, when Connor and Lewis started pressing him hard, challenging him for the ball, he struggled. He got knocked off the ball twice, lost possession three times, and I could see the frustration building in his face.

I pulled him aside during a water break. "You're doing well. Your technical quality is obvious. But you need to be stronger. When they press you, use your body. Shield the ball. Feel the contact coming and adjust your position. It's not about being the biggest or the strongest it's about being smart with your body."

He nodded, breathing hard. "They're... they're really physical."

"They are. And they're going easy on you because it's your first day. In matches, it'll be worse. That's why we need to work on it."

The rest of the session continued, and I worked with Connor on his pressing angles, using cones to demonstrate the correct positioning.

"You're pressing too centrally," I explained, moving a cone to show him. "You need to angle your run to cut off the passing lane. Force them where you want them to go, usually toward the touchline or into a crowded area. Like this." I demonstrated the movement, and Connor nodded, his expression focused.

With Nya, I worked on defensive tracking. "You're brilliant going forward, but twice in the Millwall match, you didn't track your runner. When the ball goes wide, you need to scan and see who's in your zone. If they make a run, you go with them. Don't ball-watch."

By the end of the session, I was exhausted, but satisfied. The lads had worked hard, Eze had shown flashes of brilliance despite his physicality issues, and we'd addressed the mistakes from Wednesday's match. Progress. Incremental, but real.

At noon, I was walking past the U16 training ground on my way to grab lunch when I heard voices coming from the coaching office. The door was slightly ajar, and I caught fragments of conversation.

"...five weeks now, and he's shown nothing..."

"...Gary's going to release him after eight weeks if he doesn't improve..."

"...shame, really. The potential is there, but he's just not developing..."

"...Bristol City is also..."

I paused, curiosity piqued. I knocked on the door and pushed it open. Two U16 coaches Mark and Steve, both in their forties looked up in surprise.

"Danny," Mark said. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, fine. I just overheard you talking about a player. Someone on trial?"

Mark exchanged a glance with Steve, then nodded. "Antoine Semenyo. Winger. He's been with us for five weeks on an eight-week trial. Talented kid, but... he's not showing improvement. His current ability is low, and he's not adapting to the intensity. Gary's probably going to let him go."

"What's his potential like?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

Steve shrugged. "Hard to say. He's got raw attributes pace, dribbling, decent finishing. But he's inconsistent. Doesn't seem to understand positioning or decision-making. We've tried working with him, but he's not clicking."

I felt a familiar tingle at the back of my mind. The same feeling I'd had when I'd watched Eze in the Millwall match. Instinct. Intuition. Something telling me that there was a player here worth investigating.

"Can I watch him train?" I asked.

Mark raised an eyebrow. "You want to watch a U16 trialist?"

"Just curious. I've got some time."

They exchanged another glance, then Mark shrugged. "Sure. They're out on pitch three. Knock yourself out."

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