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The training session had ended almost twenty minutes ago, but neither of them seemed too willing to leave.
The French sky was beginning to turn a dark orange, and the grass still held the warmth of the afternoon sun. In the distance, balls could still be heard bouncing and the muffled voices of other players leaving the fields.
Hugo was lying on the grass, watching as the sky slowly turned into a sweet twilight.
Loki remained seated beside him, one knee raised and his arms resting on it.
The silence between them was never uncomfortable.
Well, not for Hugo really.
“You’re going to end up injured before twenty if you keep forcing that final acceleration.” Hugo said suddenly, looking at the sky.
Julian let out a short laugh.
“Injured?” Julian let out another laugh, leaning slightly back onto his hands. “That happens to normal players.”
Hugo slightly turned his head toward him, the other smiled to the side after noticing the look.
“Besides, my coach says my body adapts quickly. And my mom thinks that in one or two years I could enter the national team.” He said it with absurd confidence for someone who was fifteen years old.
It didn’t even sound like he was bragging.
It sounded as if he were simply announcing something inevitable.
“Though I’ll probably get in earlier. France needs better strikers.” He added. “I’ll make sure the next World Cups belong exclusively to France.”
The redhead remained silent for a few seconds after hearing him.
“That would be statistically possible with you as a forward..” He finally murmured.
Julian turned his head toward him.
Vivian continued speaking with the same calmness as always, as if he were solving a simple equation.
“If France produces strikers every certain generation, it is statistically possible to manage the correct flow of talent to maintain international dominance for at least twenty years.”
“You talk like a seventy-year-old man.”
“And you talk like someone who still doesn’t understand how football works.”
“I do understand how it works.”
“No. You understand how to win.” The dark-skinned boy smiled even more.
“Because I’m going to be the best player in the world.”
There was no doubt in his voice.
No embarrassment.
No false modesty.
He said it the same way his teammate stated his theories: like a fact.
And, strangely enough, he didn’t mock him.
He only observed him for a few seconds.
Analyzing him.
As if he were trying to fit something into place inside his head.
“Yes. Probably.” Loki blinked, that response caught him off guard.
Because normally adults laughed when he said things like that.
Or tried to correct him.
Or talked about humility.
But Hugo simply accepted it, as if it were logical.
As if no other possibility had ever existed.
The dark-skinned boy’s chest felt strange for a moment, the other turned his gaze back toward the sky.
“Your speed alters the entire rhythm of the field. Most players react to the match, you force the match to react to you.” The wind lightly moved his red hair as he spoke. “Your speed forces entire defensive lines to distort themselves. Even when you don’t have the ball, players still react to you. That creates artificial spaces.”
The other boy smiled even more smugly. He liked hearing praise.
But hearing praise from him was different,
it always was.
“Most strikers depend on the team’s system.” Hugo continued. “You can alter the entire system on your own, that’s not something normally trained.”
“So you admit I’m special.”
“You would be useless if you weren’t.”
“What an awful way to say that.”
“It’s a logical way to say it.” Julian shook his head with a laugh. “You create pressure even when you don’t have the ball.
That.. isn’t common.”
The other lowered his gaze to the grass, trying to hide the small arrogant smile threatening to appear.
When Vivian fell silent, a small white butterfly had just softly landed on one of his reddish strands of hair.
Loki stopped smiling immediately, while Hugo didn’t even react.
He kept staring at the sky with a calm expression while the insect slowly opened and closed its wings against his skin.
The wind barely moved his long hair.
And for one full second, Julian forgot what he had been saying.
Because Hugo looked..
Strangely beautiful.
Not in a striking way.
Not like the people who appeared in magazines or sports advertisements.
It was something else.
Something quiet.
Delicate.
“And also, your ego is appropriate.” He suddenly added.
“.. ‘Appropriate’?” he replied without taking his eyes off the insect.
“Yes. Strikers need to irrationally believe in themselves. Otherwise, they hesitate. And a striker who hesitates loses decisive opportunities.”
“So you’re telling me I’m psychologically built to be the best?” he asked, finally looking him in the eyes.
“That’s right.”
“Whoa, it sounds amazing when you say it.” The long-lashed boy turned his head to look at him directly.
The expression on his face remained as neutral as ever.
“I’m not trying to sound amazing.
I’m stating the truth.”
Julian felt something strange in his chest again.
Because Hugo said those things without any apparent emotion.
Without any intention to impress.
He simply saw them.
As if he could observe human talent the same way others observed the weather.
“Your acceleration is absurd. Your reaction times as well, and you have an unhealthy obsession with winning.”
“That last part sounded offensive.”
“It was a compliment.”
“.. Then keep complimenting me.
I’m listening.”
“You’re probably the most talented striker of your generation in France.”
“Generation?” He clicked his tongue. “I’ll be the most talented striker of the entire millennium. My name will be remembered for years.”
“There’s a statistical margin in case someone extraordinary appears.”
“No one better will appear.”
His response was immediate.
Certain.
Childishly arrogant.
And Hugo, far from being bothered, simply nodded.
The white butterfly continued slowly moving its wings between the reddish strands of his hair, completely calm.
As if it belonged there.
“Yes.” Vivian murmured after a few seconds. “That would also be logical.”
“‘Logical’ again?”
“Extraordinary people are usually aware of being extraordinary before everyone else.”
The wind passed softly between them.
The butterfly barely moved.
Julian couldn’t stop looking at it.
Nor at him.
“Your ego didn’t appear out of nowhere. It’s a natural response to the talent you have.«
His eyes remained fixed on the sky as he spoke.
As if he were describing a mathematical theory and not a boy sitting less than a meter away from him.
“Your acceleration, motor coordination, spatial awareness, and adaptability are far above average. It would be strange for you to think like an ordinary person when your abilities are not ordinary.”
It was ridiculous.
Normally, he loved being admired.
But this didn’t feel like admiration.
It felt worse.
More intimate.
Because Hugo wasn’t trying to boost his ego.
He simply seemed incapable of lying about what he saw.
“Normal strikers need discipline to convince themselves they can dominate the field. You already step onto the field believing it belongs to you.”
“Because it does belong to me.”
“Exactly.”
Again, that.
Again, that immediate acceptance.
Without questioning him.
Without trying to bring him back down to earth.
Most people reacted to Loki’s ego with annoyance or disbelief.
Vivian didn’t.
He analyzed it as if it were something necessary.
As if the world needed people like that.
The butterfly finally drifted a little lower, settling near Hugo’s temple.
Julian swallowed without realizing it.
The sunset made his skin look warm, much softer and gentler than usual.
And for the first time since he had met him, Julian had an uncomfortable thought.
Hugo was beautiful.
Not “beautiful” in a normal way.
Not like someone popular.
It was..
Difficult to explain.
Like observing something too strange to look away from.
“You’ll probably dominate Europe before you’re twenty.” The redhead added.
Julian let out another laugh, though this time it came out a little more nervous.
And that was strange.
He never got nervous.
Not when talking about football, not when talking about himself.
But his teammate had that way of looking at him..
As if he could already see him in enormous stadiums. As if Julian’s future had already been decided years ago.
“People are going to become obsessed with you.” He suddenly said.
“Hm?”
“When you become a professional.” The butterfly slowly opened its wings again.
“Because you’re the kind of player who easily alters emotions. People don’t just enjoy watching players like you, they idolize them.”
“Are you calling me a football god or something?”
“If something similar to a God exists within football, it would probably look like you in a few years.”
The dark-skinned boy’s chest tightened all at once, because his teammate didn’t sound impressed when saying it.
He sounded sincere.
And that was worse.
MUCH worse.
The butterfly finally left the redhead’s hair, slowly disappearing into the twilight wind.
But Loki kept looking at him anyway.
Looking at the way the orange sky faintly reflected in his lifeless eyes, the way he spoke about him with absurd certainty, the strange calm he had even while saying things so enormous.
And Julian, who normally understood everything about himself, found himself thinking something completely inconvenient.
He wanted to keep listening to him talk forever.
“.. Julian.”
“Mm?”
“You’ve gone thirty-two seconds without responding.”
“.. You counted?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing. I was just thinking.”
“About football?”
Julian looked at him again.
Vivian still looked completely serious.
Completely unaware of what he had just done to his heart.
And Julian, fifteen years old and far too proud to understand his own feelings yet, replied with the first thing that came to mind.
“Yes.
.. Something like that.”