FOOTBALL GOD SYSTEM: RISE OF A MONARCH

The call from Nigeria came while Sean was still on the pitch.

He almost ignored it.

The final whistle had gone less than three minutes earlier. Northbridge had won 3–1. The stadium was still roaring. Supporters were singing the players’ names. Teammates were walking toward the tunnel. Cameras were already waiting near the entrance.

His phone vibrated again inside the jacket he had thrown over his shoulders.

Mum.

Sean stopped walking.

Something about the timing made his smile disappear. His mother rarely called him twice on a matchday evening.

He answered.

"Hello, Mum?"

For two seconds there was only breathing on the other end.

Then her voice came, quiet and steady.

"Cole."

Sean’s expression changed immediately.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"That doesn’t sound like nothing."

Another pause.

"You haven’t called your father."

Sean looked toward the dressing-room entrance. The noise of the stadium suddenly felt farther away.

"I was going to."

"You said that yesterday."

"I know."

"And the day before."

Sean rubbed the back of his neck. Football had made him busy. That was the explanation he had been giving himself for weeks. Training. Matches. Recovery. Travel. Interviews. Tactical meetings. Brandt. Carter. Media. Sleep. There was always something.

But hearing his mother’s voice made the excuse sound exactly like what it was.

An excuse.

"I’ll call him tonight."

His mother sighed.

"He doesn’t want your money, Cole."

Sean frowned. "I know."

"He wants his son."

Sean said nothing. The stadium continued celebrating behind him, but he stood alone near the touchline, listening to the silence between her words.

Then she said something that made his chest tighten.

"Your little sister asked if you’ve forgotten where home is."

Sean closed his eyes.

That hurt more than any tackle he had taken all season.

"I haven’t forgotten."

"Then call."

"I will."

"Tonight."

Sean nodded even though she couldn’t see him.

"Tonight."

The call ended.

For several seconds he remained where he was, phone still in his hand. Then Blake’s voice cut through the noise from the tunnel.

"Sean!"

Sean looked up. Blake was waving.

"You coming?"

Sean looked at the phone, then at the tunnel, then back toward the emptying stands.

"I’ll be there."

---

The dressing room was still loud with the afterglow of victory. Blake was celebrating his goal as though he had personally won the league. Vale was arguing with Johansson about a missed chance. Doyle had already disappeared into the showers. Carter stood near the doorway speaking quietly with one of the analysts.

Sean walked in and sat down. Blake immediately noticed his expression.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

Blake stared at him. "That answer usually means something happened."

Sean dropped his boots onto the floor. "My mum called."

Blake’s expression softened. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

Sean nodded. "She just reminded me that I have a family."

Blake smiled faintly. "Good reminder."

Sean looked at him. "When was the last time you called your own family?"

Blake thought about it for a second, then grinned. "That’s not the point."

Sean laughed. "Exactly."

Blake pointed at him. "Don’t change the subject."

Sean smiled. For a moment the weight of the match and the phone call lifted.

Then Carter walked over.

"Good performance."

Sean nodded. "Thank you, coach."

Carter studied him for a second. "You’re distracted."

Sean hesitated. "My family."

Carter nodded once. "Then deal with it."

Sean looked surprised.

Carter continued, voice calm. "Football doesn’t become more important because you’re becoming successful. Sometimes success just makes you realise what you were neglecting."

He walked away.

Sean watched him go. That sentence stayed with him longer than the final score.

---

That night Sean didn’t go to the restaurant with the rest of the squad. He returned to his apartment, showered, changed, and sat on the edge of his bed with his phone in his hand.

Nigeria was several hours away. His family was still there — the same house, the same streets, the same people who had known him before Northbridge, before the interviews, before the goals, before clubs began requesting his performance data. Before Sean Nelson became something other people discussed.

He pressed his father’s number.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

Then—

"Hello."

His father’s voice.

Sean swallowed. "Dad."

A short silence.

"You won?"

Sean smiled. "Yes."

"How many?"

"Three-one."

"Your goal?"

"One."

"Assist?"

"Two."

Another silence. Then his father said simply, "Good."

Sean leaned back. "That’s it?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don’t know."

His father sighed. "You’re doing well."

Sean stared at the floor. "Dad..."

"Yes?"

"I’m sorry."

Silence.

"For what?"

"For not calling."

His father didn’t answer immediately. Then: "You’re busy."

"That isn’t an excuse."

"No."

Sean smiled sadly. "No, it isn’t."

His father’s voice softened. "You’re building your life."

"I know."

"Just don’t build it so far away that you can’t come home."

Sean closed his eyes. "I won’t."

---

After the call, Sean remained sitting on the bed for a long time. His phone buzzed.

A message from his mother.

Did you call him?

Sean replied.

Yes.

Three dots appeared.

Good.

Then another message.

Your sister wants to speak to you tomorrow.

Sean smiled.

I’ll call her.

His mother replied:

Don’t make me remind you.

Sean laughed. For the first time that evening the weight in his chest lifted a little.

---

His phone vibrated again.

This time it was Brandt.

Congratulations on the win.

Sean opened the message.

The performance was excellent.

Then another message arrived.

There is also something you should know.

Sean waited.

One of the clubs monitoring you has requested a private meeting.

Sean sat up straighter.

A meeting.

Not another scout report.

Not another data request.

A meeting.

He typed:

Which club?

Brandt replied after a few seconds.

I’ll tell you tomorrow.

Sean frowned.

Why wait?

Because I don’t want you thinking about transfers tonight.

Sean stared at the message. Brandt sent another.

Tonight, you’re allowed to be Sean.

Sean looked at the phone, then smiled. That was strangely comforting.

---

The next morning Sean woke before his alarm. For several seconds he simply stared at the ceiling. Then his phone vibrated with a video call.

His sister.

He answered. Her face appeared immediately.

"You finally remembered us!"

Sean laughed. "Good morning to you too."

"You’ve become famous."

"I’m not famous."

"You’re on television."

"That doesn’t mean I’m famous."

"You have people wearing your shirt."

Sean smiled. "Who told you?"

"Mum."

His sister grinned. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Are you rich now?"

Sean burst out laughing. "What kind of question is that?"

"A serious one."

"Why?"

"Because Mum said you shouldn’t change."

Sean shook his head. "I’m still your brother."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

She smiled. Then her expression became more serious.

"When are you coming home?"

Sean’s laughter faded. He didn’t have an immediate answer. Training. Matches. Travel. Contracts. Everything was scheduled months ahead. But suddenly the question felt more important than all of it.

"I don’t know yet."

She looked disappointed. Sean noticed.

"I’ll find a way."

"When?"

"Soon."

"That’s not an answer."

Sean smiled. "You sound like Mum."

"I learned from the best."

They both laughed.

---

Later that morning Sean arrived at training. The squad was already warming up. Blake saw him and raised an eyebrow.

"Family call?"

Sean nodded.

"How was it?"

"Good."

Blake smiled. "Good."

No joke. No teasing. Just that. Sean appreciated it more than he expected.

Training began. Carter gathered them near the centre circle.

"Yesterday was good." He paused. "Today doesn’t matter."

Blake whispered, "There he goes again."

Carter ignored him. "We have another match in four days. The opponent will have studied yesterday’s footage."

Sean listened carefully.

Carter looked directly at him. "They’ll know you scored. They’ll know you assisted. They’ll know where you received." He paused. "But they won’t know what you’re going to become next."

Sean felt something settle inside him.

That was the challenge now. Not simply improving his football. Becoming harder to predict.

---

The session was intense. Press resistance. Final-third combinations. Weak-foot finishing. Crossing under pressure. Defensive recovery.

Carter deliberately targeted the areas Brandt’s earlier reports had identified — aerial work, weak-foot reliability, physical consistency, defensive contribution. Sean noticed. Carter noticed him noticing.

"You read the report?"

"Yes."

"Good." Carter’s voice was calm. "Then prove it wrong."

Sean smiled. "That’s the plan."

By the end of training Sean’s shirt was soaked. He walked toward the dressing room with heavy legs and a clearer mind. For the first time in several days he didn’t feel pulled between football and everything outside it.

He realised something simple.

His life wasn’t two separate worlds. Football wasn’t one world and family another. Friends another. Romance another. Money another. They were all part of the same life. And if he wanted to become the player he imagined becoming, he couldn’t allow success in one part to destroy everything else.

---

His phone vibrated as he reached the dressing-room door.

A message from Brandt.

Meeting confirmed.

Sean opened it.

Tomorrow. Private.

Then the name of the club appeared.

Sean stopped walking.

He read it again.

And this time his heart beat differently.

Not because of the money.

Not because of the fame.

Because this was the first time a club outside his current football world wasn’t simply watching.

They wanted to sit across from him.

They wanted to talk.

And Sean suddenly understood what that meant.

The next stage of his career had started moving — whether he was ready or not.

---

That evening Sean opened his notebook.

He wrote:

Football can take me somewhere.

He paused. Then added:

But I can’t let it make me forget where I came from.

He looked at the sentence for a long moment. Then wrote another:

The player I’m becoming has to be bigger than the player everyone sees.

Sean closed the notebook.

His phone buzzed one more time.

A message from his sister.

Goodnight, football star.

Sean smiled. He typed:

Goodnight, troublemaker.

Then placed the phone beside his bed.

Tomorrow would bring the meeting. A new club. A new possibility. A new decision.

But tonight Sean wasn’t thinking about transfers.

He was thinking about home.

And for the first time in a long time, home didn’t feel like somewhere behind him.

It felt like something he was carrying with him.

Always.

End of Chapter 174