Herding the scattered flock, Leo stumbled along, his heart suspended in mid-air. As dusk deepened and the village lights flickered on one by one, each step towards home amplified his dread—he could already picture his father's sombre face, hear the stern rebuke, even imagine being locked indoors, never to approach the village clearing again.

  The sheep followed him with heads bowed, moving at a leisurely pace. The tinkling of their bells rang out distinctly in the quiet dusk, as if providing a soundtrack to his unease. Leo gripped the sheep whip tightly, his fingertips turning white from the pressure. Images of kicking the ball on the clearing replayed endlessly in his mind, bringing back the warmth and joy that white ball had offered. His heart felt sour and bitter—he was terrified of losing that light.

  ‘Boys, wait a moment.’

  A gentle voice suddenly broke the twilight's stillness from behind him, snapping Leo out of his reverie. The tone was soft yet carried an inexplicable strength—devoid of his father's sternness or the villagers' indifference, it held an unexpected warmth that made Leo instinctively halt his steps.

  He turned slowly, his heart leaping in his chest. Standing behind him was a man in a black coat, tall and straight-backed, his hair flecked with grey yet his eyes unusually bright. He was smiling at Leo. Leo recognised him instantly—this was the man he’d glimpsed behind the olive tree just moments before.

  The man held a football in his arms—not the mud-spattered white ball from the clearing, but a brand-new, pristine white one, its surface gleaming faintly and catching the twilight light. He approached Leo step by step, his pace slow and steady, his smile consistently gentle, without a trace of condescension.

  ‘Who... who are you?’ Leo's voice trembled slightly as he instinctively took a step back, gripping his sheep whip tightly. His eyes were filled with wariness and confusion. He didn't recognise this man, nor did he understand why he had called out to him, or why he was holding a brand-new football.

  The man halted, not advancing further, merely clutching the ball tighter to his chest. ‘Fear not, lad,’ he said with a smile. ‘I mean you no harm. I'm Mario, the football coach at the village primary school.’ He paused, his gaze settling on Leo's tense face before shifting to the flock of sheep at his feet. ‘I saw you kicking a ball about on the village green earlier.’

  Football coach? Leo froze, his eyes brimming with disbelief. He'd never imagined that a rough-and-ready lad like himself, who couldn't even kick a ball properly, would catch a football coach's attention. He glanced down at his shoes, their toes peeking out, then at the pristine ball in the man's hands. The familiar sting of self-doubt crept back, and he lowered his head further.

  ‘I... I don't know how to play football. I was just messing about,’ Leo murmured, his voice barely audible. He feared his clumsiness would earn him ridicule from this coach.

  Mario shook his head, his eyes brimming with approval. "No, lad, you weren't messing about. I can see clearly that you possess innate talent—an exceptionally keen sense of the ball. You can precisely perceive its weight, trajectory, and even anticipate where it will land. Then there's your physical coordination, far surpassing that of other children your age. Even without any formal training, you can control and pass the ball with remarkable stability."

  Leo snapped his head up, eyes brimming with confusion. He didn't understand what Mario was saying. All he knew was that when he played football, he relied on some inexplicable instinct—he hadn't realised it was “ball sense”, let alone “talent”.

  As if reading his bewilderment, Mario smiled and explained: "Don't be surprised. This talent is ingrained in your very bones. Moreover, I've noticed how steady your footing is when herding sheep. Even on rugged slopes, you move with remarkable agility. Spending long hours tending sheep on hillsides demands constant balance. That daily discipline has honed your coordination and sharpened your ball sense."

  Ah, so that's it. Leo's mind stirred. He recalled his daily routine of herding sheep on the slopes, treading uneven gravel paths and dodging tangled weeds—constantly needing to watch his step and maintain balance. He'd never imagined that his monotonous life tending sheep could, quite by accident, bestow such a ‘gift’ upon him.

  ‘I was wondering if I might visit your home to speak with your parents about you?’ Mario's tone remained gentle, tinged with respect. ‘I mean no offence, but I feel your talent shouldn't be wasted. You deserve better opportunities.’

  A surge of hope welled up in Leo's chest, only to be swiftly replaced by dread. He recalled his father's stern nature, remembered his loathing for ‘useless things.’ He feared his father would reject Mario, grow angry, or even drive him away.

  ‘I... my father probably won't agree,’ Leo murmured, biting his lip, his eyes filled with trepidation. ‘He thinks football is useless, that it'll distract me from farm work.’ "

  ‘It's alright, lad. I'll speak to him properly,’ Mario patted his shoulder, his tone firm yet gentle. ‘I believe he'll understand. Your talent shouldn't be buried in farm work. You can study and play football together—helping at home while pursuing your passion.’

  As he met Mario's resolute gaze, Leo's unease gradually gave way to a glimmer of hope. Nodding, he murmured, ‘All right, I'll take you to my home.’ Turning, he began herding the flock towards his dwelling, with Mario close behind, clutching the brand-new football as though it were a bundle of hope.

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  Soon they reached the entrance to Leo's home. It was a dilapidated stone cottage, its walls riddled with cracks and the roof tiles partially missing. The yard was piled high with dried olive branches, lending it an air of stark simplicity. Leo's father sat upon a stone in the yard, smoking a pipe, his expression still sullen. Spotting Leo's return and Mario behind him, his brow instantly furrowed, his eyes brimming with wariness.

  ‘Who are you?’ his father's voice was deep and tinged with hostility. He instinctively rose to his feet, positioning himself in front of Leo as if Mario were some sort of villain. In this barren countryside, the arrival of strangers always aroused suspicion, especially one carrying a brand-new football, looking utterly out of place.

  ‘Good day, sir. My name is Mario. I'm the football coach at the village primary school,’ Mario extended his hand proactively, his face still bearing a gentle smile, his tone respectful. ‘I've come today to discuss matters concerning your son, Leo.’

  ‘Leo?’ The father's brow furrowed deeper, the hostility in his eyes intensifying. "What about my son? Mark my words, don't you dare drag him into your useless pursuits. He's needed to help farm and tend the sheep – he's got no time for your nonsense.‘ With that, he shoved Mario's hand away, his tone harsh. ’Now go. You're not welcome here."

  Leo's heart sank. Just as he'd feared, his father had refused. Instinctively, he tugged at his father's sleeve and whispered, " Father, Coach Mario... he means no harm. He just wants me to play football."

  ‘Football?’ His father whipped around, glaring at Leo with even greater severity. ‘I sent you to herd the sheep home. Not only are you late, but you dare mention football? It seems you're becoming increasingly irresponsible!’

  "Sir, please calm down. ‘ Mario remained unruffled, his gentle smile unchanged as he patiently explained, ’I understand your concern that football might distract Leo from farm duties or prevent him from helping at home. But I assure you, football won't interfere with his work or take up his time—I'm the primary school football coach, and training is after school, just one hour daily. The rest of the time, he can still help you with the fields and sheep."

  The father fell silent for a moment, the hostility in his eyes softening slightly, though wariness remained. ‘Why did you choose him for football? He's just a wild lad who can't even kick a ball properly. What use is he?’

  ‘He's no wild child. He's a remarkably gifted boy,’ Mario replied firmly, his eyes brimming with admiration. ‘I saw him playing on the village green today. His ball control and physical coordination are innate talents, far surpassing other children his age. Moreover, his years herding sheep on the hillsides have honed an exceptional sense of balance—a truly invaluable asset for football.’

  He paused before adding, ‘Sir, you must see how much Leo loves football. There's passion in his eyes, a yearning for something better. In this barren village, many children never get to pursue their dreams. But Leo has this gift, this chance. I won't let his talent go to waste.’

  The father's gaze softened slightly. He glanced at Leo, who stood beside him with head bowed, eyes brimming with expectation, then looked at the football in Mario's hands. A long silence fell. He recalled Leo's usual quiet solitude, then remembered the light in his eyes just now—a vibrant glow he'd never seen there before.

  ‘I understand,’ Mario continued, sensing his father's wavering resolve. ‘You and your wife work the fields and tend the sheep—it's hard labour. You want Leo to help shoulder the family burden.’ He paused. ‘But football could change him. It could make him more outgoing, more confident. It could offer him a different future. If he trains diligently, he might become a professional player one day. He could lift your family out of this hardship.’ Even if he doesn't turn professional, football will build his strength and forge him into a more responsible young man."

  His father drew a deep breath, slowly lifting his head to meet Mario's gaze, his tone softening considerably. ‘Is this true? Football won't interfere with his farm duties? It genuinely offers him a different future?’

  ‘I pledge my honour that every word is true.’ Mario nodded firmly. ‘Moreover, Leo attends our primary school. Joining the team won't interfere with his studies—it will motivate him and give him purpose.’

  Leo's head snapped up, eyes wide with astonishment. He hadn't expected Coach Mario to know he attended the school, let alone invite him to join the team. He looked at his father, eyes brimming with hope, praying his father would agree, praying he could seize this rare opportunity.

  His father remained silent for a moment, his brow still furrowed. He neither nodded nor shook his head, his tone softening slightly yet still cautious. "I cannot agree to this immediately. You've seen our circumstances—farming and tending sheep require manpower. Leo helps at home. I must discuss this with his mother and see if he truly can manage without neglecting farm duties or falling behind in his studies."

  Coach Mario's face remained warmly smiling, showing no hint of disappointment. Instead, he nodded understandingly: "Not at all, sir. I fully understand your concerns. There's no need to rush your reply. Discuss it thoroughly with your family. I'll return after school tomorrow to hear your decision.‘ He paused, his gaze settling on Leo's expectant face, his tone softening. ’I know Leo loves football and shows real talent. I don't want to miss out on this lad, and I hope you'll give him a chance."

  ‘Thank you, sir! Thank you for your trust!’ Mario's face broke into a relieved smile. Leo trembled with excitement, tears welling in his eyes but held back with all his might—he could finally play football, finally grasp that ray of light illuminating his life.

  Mario hesitated briefly before placing the brand-new football into Leo's hands. ‘Leo, this ball is yours for now,’ he murmured. ‘Regardless of how our discussions turn out, you can get acquainted with it—feel its weight and touch. It'll help you if you join the team later.’ His gaze fixed on Leo, brimming with expectation. "I'll return tomorrow, hoping for good news. Starting tomorrow, if it's agreed, come to the school football pitch after lessons; if it's not decided yet, that's fine too. I'll await your response."

  Leo reached out, carefully taking the ball. As his fingertips touched its smooth surface, that familiar, soul-stirring sensation surged through him once more. This ball felt newer and warmer than the one he'd touched on the open field. It carried Mario's hopes and his own most fervent desire, yet that longing remained suspended in the air—his father hadn't given a clear yes, and everything was still uncertain. Clutching the ball tightly, his fingertips tracing its surface, his eyes brimming with both reverence and trepidation, he murmured softly, ‘Thank you, Coach. I... I'll wait for Father and Mother to discuss it, and I'll take good care of this ball.’

  Mario smiled and nodded, patting his shoulder. ‘I believe in you, Leo. You're a gifted lad with a passion for the game. Whatever the outcome, never give up that love. I'll come by tomorrow to see you again. Have a proper chat with your family about it—no pressure.’ After exchanging a few polite words with Leo's father, he turned and left.

  Mario smiled and nodded, patting his shoulder. ‘I believe in you, Leo. You're a gifted lad with passion. Your future will shine brightly. I'll be waiting for you at the football pitch after school tomorrow.’ After exchanging a few more words of advice with Leo's father, he turned and left.

  As dusk deepened and the evening breeze grew cool, Leo stood in the courtyard, clutching the brand-new football tightly. His heart brimmed with excitement and anticipation. Watching Mario's receding figure, then glancing at his silent father beside him, his eyes shone with a vivid light for the first time.

  He clutched the brand-new football tightly, his heart brimming with anticipation, yet more so with trepidation—what outcome would his parents reach in their discussion? Would they consent to his playing football? If his mother also opposed it, would he never again have the chance to touch a ball, to pursue this passion? And even if his family consented, would he be mocked by the other players tomorrow at school training for his tattered clothes? Would his lack of foundation leave him unable to keep pace with the drills?

  Moonlight spilled over Leo, over the football in his hands, casting a gentle glow. Clutching the ball tightly, he silently prayed: May Father and Mother agree. May he seize this hard-won chance. He had no idea what answer his family would give tomorrow, nor whether his dream could take its first step. All he knew was that this football was the sole light in his bleak existence, and he couldn't bear to let it go. Tonight was destined to be a sleepless one—a family meeting about his future was about to unfold within these crumbling stone walls.