Saturday, January 3rd, 2015 – 6:42 AM
Liverpool FC Academy Dorms, Kirkby
Azim's eyes flew open like a man yanked from the depths of a dream.
Gasping. Chest tight. Cold sweat soaking his collar. His pulse thundered in his ears.
He sat upright, scanning the room through panicked, hyperfocused eyes.
White walls. Faded posters of Gerrard, Sterling, Suárez. The faint scent of turf, sweat, and fresh detergent.
"…Kirkby. Liverpool U18s," he whispered.
"Vital scan complete. Cortical link stable. Welcome back, Azim."
He flinched. "You're still here… IS?"
"Affirmative. Neural interface fully integrated. No latency. You are in the year 2015. January 3rd. Weather: Cloudy. 7°C."
Azim stumbled to the mirror.
The face staring back wasn't the 28-year-old he remembered.
No beard. Slim jaw. Compact build. Lean muscle. Raw fire.
"Body metrics: Height 190 cm. Weight 90 kg. Sprint potential: 64 km/h. Jump peak: 2.6 meters."
"This… is real."
He clenched the sink. Heart pounding—not from fear. From adrenaline.
A second chance had begun.
7:50 AM – Liverpool U18 Facility Lobby
The facility buzzed with life—teammates shouting, cleats tapping across tiles, staff giving out instructions. Azim moved like a ghost through it all, still adjusting to his finely tuned movements.
Each step. Each turn. Each blink.
"Posture optimized. Spine alignment corrected. Balance module active."
Then his eyes locked onto a familiar figure.
"Target locked: Trent Alexander-Arnold."
Trent sat by the wall, lacing his boots, brows furrowed. Thin. Slightly hunched. Still finding his voice.
A coach passed. "Trent—remember, keep working on right-back positioning."
Azim paused.
Right-back. That's just starting.
His mind flashed to 2025—Trent in full prime. Armband on. Whipping crosses from 40 yards. World-class.
But here… he was just a teenager, still transitioning from midfield. Still doubting himself.
"Alexander-Arnold, Trent. Position: CM to RB. Tactical potential: Tier S. Mental resilience: Developing."
Azim walked over, voice low. "Yo, Trent."
Trent looked up. "Azim? Morning, bro."
"Right-back today?"
"Yeah… still weird. I feel more natural in the middle. But coaches say I've got the engine."
Azim smirked. "If you learn this role right, you'll change how it's played. Trust me."
Trent chuckled, nervous. "Hope I don't mess it up today."
"IS Suggestion: Positive reinforcement opportunity."
"You've got vision, composure, passing range. The rest? Repetition. You'll make chaos your blueprint."
Trent cracked a grin. "Thanks… Asia Boy."
Azim raised a brow, smirking. "Still calling me that?"
"Always will."
8:45 AM – Coach's Office, Tactical Assignment
The morning passed in a blur—breakfast, light warm-ups, check-ins.
"To all forwards, you'll be our pivot. Everything flows through you. We build, we bounce, and when you can—you finish."
Azim's face stayed neutral, but inside he lit up.
9:30 AM – Video Analysis: LFC vs Leicester, 2–2 (Jan 1st, 2015)
Conference Room
Players sat in rows, lights low, screen glowing.
Liverpool's senior match from two days earlier rolled:Anfield. Liverpool FC 2–2 Leicester City
"Watch the press line," Coach Lewtas said. "Now pause. Where should Lucas go?"
The clip paused. Henderson and Lucas were caught too high. Mahrez slipped the ball to Vardy.
"IS: Suggestion – reverse pass to Can. Delay 0.4 sec. Better line break."
Azim blinked. A second clip—another Liverpool mistake.A turnover. Poor spacing.
"IS: Optimal triangle was available. Sterling wide cut-in. Gerrard dummy run. Red zone bypassed."
It was like watching ghosts try to solve a puzzle blindfolded.
Azim leaned back, whispering, "They didn't see the options. But I do."
Coach continued, unaware. "Midfield shape, transitions, body orientation—track it all. You want to play with them one day? Study them."
Azim didn't nod. He just memorized every flaw.
10:30 AM – Striker Unit Drills
A tight huddle of forwards circled up. Brooks Lennon, Joe Hardy, Toni Gomes. All lively. All focused.
Coach whistled. "Today we're testing reactions. Ball feeds, quick turns, back to goal, front to finish."
Azim cracked his neck. "Let's eat."
Each striker rotated through tight spaces—pop passes, under pressure, chip finishes, hold-up turns.
Azim's turn. He stood, chest out, legs braced.
The pass zipped in.
"Defender approaching. Wait 1.1 sec. Spin left. Power shot green forming."
He held… dropped the defender… ripped it into the netting.
The group murmured. Joe Hardy chuckled, "He doesn't even blink."
2:00 PM – Team Training Session
The air had cooled since lunch. Heavy clouds hung over Kirkby, casting a grey tone across the complex as the squad filtered out onto Pitch 4.
Azim tied his boots tighter. This wasn't just a warm-up.
This was sharpening the blade.
Coach Barry Lewtas clapped his hands sharply. "Right lads, afternoon block—we're going high intensity, sharp decision-making. Final-third focus.
Trent jogged over, stretching his quads. "Hope you're not gassed yet, Asia Boy."
Azim smirked. "Try to keep up."
The warm-up started with quick-change footwork through low hurdles—hopping, bounding, turning. Azim moved like a blade through air, each step perfectly balanced.
"IS calibration: balance locked. Force return: optimal. Visual lag: zero."
Then came shuttle sprints—ten meters forward, five back, then hold a single-leg cone balance. Reaction drills on the coach's whistle. Azim anticipated them all.
"Good intensity," the strength coach shouted. "Sprint economy looks tight, lads."
Azim barely felt winded.
Now the pitch was split into lanes.
One side: Canos (LW) and Hart (LB).Other side: Wilson (RW), and just beyond him, Trent (RB) ready to overlap.
In the middle stood Azim. Always central. Always coiled.
The ball rolled back to Chirivella (CM), who opened play to Wilson on the right. He slid the ball into Trent, who was already surging toward the byline.
"IS: Overlap delivery trigger active. Prepare near-post sprint. CB lag 0.6 seconds. Green impact zone 1.2 seconds."
Trent whipped it.
Azim launched forward, slipping past Masterson (CB), and hammered the volley into the net.
A few players let out low whistles.
Then again—Dhanda (CAM) fed Trent, who drove it low across the six.
Azim cut across Phillips (CB), this time with a glancing touch. Goal.
Coach Lewtas simply pointed. "That's the timing we want!"
Then the play flipped.
Now Canos (LW) got the feed from Phillips. He beat Lewis (RB) wide and crossed high.
Azim delayed. Waited. Then snapped backward and rose high over the defender.
Header. Bar down. Net.
Firth (GK) didn't even dive.
The session wound down with light stretching, players sitting on cones, panting, drinking, laughing at the insanity of Azim's finishing streak.
Lewtas gathered them into a half-circle.
"Good work. The final session says everything: Some of you are ready. Others… need to start chasing."
"I want intensity like that tomorrow. But evening…" He tapped his clipboard. "We play Red vs Yellow. Eleven a side."
Murmurs ran through the group.
Azim glanced toward the far side of the pitch, where staff were already prepping kits and bibs.
Trent nudged his elbow. "I guess we're starting again."
Azim grinned this time. "Let's put on a show."
4:30 PM - Friendly Match
The sky above Kirkby was dull and grey, but the atmosphere on the pitch was anything but.
Red bibs versus Yellow bibs. A friendly, yes—but pride, selection, and position hierarchy were all on the line. Especially with senior staff watching from the balcony above the pitch.
Azim stood at the halfway line, his red bib clinging to him in the cold breeze.
He looked across the field at the opposing team—smirking faces, raised eyebrows.
"Azim's been here since 2012, man. He ain't gonna surprise us."
"He's strong, yeah. But slow on the turn."
Azim chuckled to himself.
They had no idea what was about to happen.
Coach Barry Lewtas, clipboard in hand, gave instructions.
"Azim—target man. Hold your ground. Distribute."
Azim nodded.
Player tracking calibrated. Energy cap locked to 70% output. Sprint limit: 35 km/h. Jump cap: 2.6 meters."
"Disguise mode: ON."
He wouldn't show them everything. Just enough to make a statement.
==
Red Bibs (Team A) – 4-2-3-1
GK: Ryan FultonDEF: Trent (RB), Whelan (CB), Brewitt (CB), Hart (LB)MID: Chirivella (CM), Phillips (CM), Dhanda (CAM)FOR: Wilson (RW), Canos (LW), Azim (ST)
Yellow Bibs (Team B) – 4-3-3
GK: Andy FirthDEF: Lewis (RB), Masterson (CB), N. Phillips (CB), Maguire (LB)MID: Rossiter (CM), Ejaria (CM), Woodburn (CAM)FOR: Ojo (RW), Kent (LW), Sinclair (ST)
--
4th minutes
The match began with caution. Midfield skirmishes, safe passes.
Then Chirivella (CM) broke it open. He cut through midfield with a half-turn and fed Dhanda (CAM) between the lines.
Dhanda held, then pinged it left to Canos (LW). Canos squared up Lewis (RB), touched it inside.
Azim stepped across the top of the box.
"Shot path red. Defender too close. Dribble to right – reposition."
He chopped inside, rolled the ball past Masterson (CB), then quickly turned left again.
"Green window: top right. Power: 78%. Shoot now."
He blasted it.
GOAL. 1–0.
The ball clipped the underside of the bar and bounced in. Dhanda ran to Canos. Firth screamed for tighter lines.
No one looked at Azim—he just turned, walked back with steel in his eyes.
--
9' minutes
Ejaria (CM) miscontrolled in midfield. Phillips (CM) stabbed it forward. Dhanda raced in and touched it to Azim just outside the D.
"Red wall ahead. Backheel flick to Wilson – green breakaway."
Azim stopped the ball, used the sole of his boot—flicked it behind into Wilson's (RW) path.
Wilson exploded into the box—Firth saved his shot with a kick-out block.
Ojo (RW) sprinted back to clear the loose ball. Whelan (CB) applauded the recovery. Hart (LB) thumped his chest.
--
13' minutes
Lewis (RB) lofted a poor clearance. Chirivella nodded it down to Azim.
"No space. Defender approaching. Fake spin, left drive."
Azim faked a turn, then accelerated left—shoulder-charged Masterson, who stumbled.
He shaped to shoot—
"Yellow path. Cut inside again. Delay 0.6 sec – green shot forming."
He paused, shifted again—
Then curled a low shot past the keeper.
GOAL. 2–0.
Trent raised a brow. "He's playing futsal out here."
Maguire (LB) shook his head, hands on hips.
--
20' minutes
Phillips (CM) played it wide to Trent (RB), who overlapped and smacked a perfect cross to the penalty spot.
"Jump opportunity. Defender timing slow. Green header line."
Azim leapt, above both center-backs—boom. Downward header.
GOAL. 3–0.
Players didn't even shout. Just stunned reactions, a few claps. Dhanda bumped his shoulder lightly. "Alright, calm down, Terminator."
--
28' minutes
Whelan (CB) intercepted a lazy square pass. He pinged it to Azim, now dropping deep.
"Space 5m ahead. Left foot range. Long shot green in 2.0 sec."
Azim took a touch.
Then launched.
From 30 meters—a rocket. No spin. Laser into the top corner.
GOAL. 4–0.
Firth fell to his knees.
Ojo (RW) stood frozen. Phillips (CB) rubbed his face.
No celebration. Azim jogged back, face unreadable.
--
32' minutes
Rossiter (CM) won the ball off Phillips (CM) and broke down the middle. He fed Woodburn (CAM), who turned sharply and found Sinclair (ST).
Sinclair drove past Brewitt (CB), shot across goal.
GOAL. 4–1.
Team B finally had something. Ojo fist-pumped. Kent clapped Sinclair on the back. The tempo lifted.
--
41' minutes
Team B came again. Kent (LW) rounded Trent and crossed low.
Sinclair dummied, Woodburn met it—side-foot shot—
Fulton (GK) was beaten—
But Azim, tracking from the top, slid in near the line and cleared it off the goal line.
Hart (LB) shouted, "YES AZIM!"
He didn't reply—already sprinting back upfield.
--
45' minutes
Dhanda drew a foul just outside the box.
Trent (RB) walked over.
Azim: "Let me."
Trent handed it off without argument.
"Wall compact. Curl over right shoulder. Power 64%. Green angle."
Azim struck clean.
GOAL. 5–1.
Bounced in off the bottom of the bar.
Dhanda clapped above his head. Brewitt whistled. Firth picked the ball up without looking at anyone.
--
51' minutes
Trent gave a quick throw to Wilson (RW), who played it square to Azim on the edge.
"Red – triple pressure. Nutmeg Masterson. Rotate left. Green forming."
Azim tapped the ball between Masterson's legs, spun left—dropped Phillips with a feint—
Then slotted it under the keeper.
GOAL. 6–1.
Everyone just laughed in disbelief. Wilson shook his head. "He's not human."
--
57' minutes
Chirivella (CM) intercepted Rossiter's (CM) lateral pass and quickly found Phillips (CM), who spotted Azim ghosting between the centre-backs.
"Sprint green. Through lane forming. Time your burst in 1.4 seconds. First touch forward. Chip trigger ready."
Phillips slipped the pass. Azim darted, one clean touch, Firth (GK) rushed—
He clipped the ball over with elegant ease.
GOAL. 7–1.
The net bulged. The air rippled with tension release.
Dhanda (CAM) let out a sharp whistle. "That's six."
Canos (LW) just crouched down, staring at the grass like he'd witnessed something illegal.
--
58' minutes
Coach Barry Lewtas raised his hand.
"Azim, off."
The assistant raised the board.
Azim turned silently, jogged off. No fist pumps. No ego. Just calm.
As he reached the sideline, Coach Lewtas patted his shoulder once.
"Good shift."
Azim sat on the bench. Untied his boots. Water bottle in hand. Expression unreadable.
On the pitch, the game carried on. The ball moved. Tackles flew. Goals were still chased.
But everyone knew—the difference had already been made.
"IS: Session log complete. Efficiency rate: 100%. Tactical Prediction Module now unlocked."
Azim exhaled slowly and leaned back on the bench.