One-on-One: No More Waiting

The weight of scrutiny still pressed on Arsenic Phillip. Six days had passed since the Sheffield Borough game, but the media and analysts weren’t letting up. Every sports show, every column, every fan forum dissected his performance.

“He’s not the same Arsenic Phillip we knew.”

“The injury is still a weakness.”

The Emirates Gunners’ training ground buzzed with activity as players prepared for their next match. The sun was still rising, casting a golden hue over the pristine grass. Players went through their warm-ups, the rhythmic sound of boots against grass filling the crisp morning air.

Near the touchline, Resurrección Jorge was running up and down, alternating between explosive sprints and slower recovery jogs. After a few reps, he switched to high knees, side shuffles, and quick-feet ladder drills, his short but powerful frame moving with precise control. Even before the coaches arrived, he made sure his body was game-ready.

The draw against Sheffield Borough had left a bitter taste, not just in Arsenic’s mouth. It was a game they could have easily won. Arsenic had played it safe, avoiding challenges and second-guessing his movements. He knows he has to change, to return to his former self.

"Yo, Arsenic!" A voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Resurrección, jogged toward him, bouncing slightly on his toes. One would look at his small muscular frame and short stature and not think much of him, but in reality he was one of the hardest-working players in the squad. Their captain, he was respected by all and had a strong commanding aura even stronger than their coach. He was the kind of leader who never gave speeches just for the sake of it—when he spoke, people listened.

"You ready for today’s session?" he asked.

Arsenic forced a smirk. “Yeah.”

“Good. We’re starting with an 8v7.”

Resurreccion was in charge of the morning trainings before the coach arrived and he had a tradition of beginning with a game. He had a habit of starting training with handicap games—something he picked up from his time in Serie A, the Italian league. His former coach believed in preparing teams to play under pressure, whether it was because of a red card or a tactical disadvantage.

He formed his team, picking Arsenic among the seven players.

“Let’s see how you handle it,” he muttered, almost to himself.

The whistle blew, and the game began. The team with eight players had an obvious numerical advantage, forcing Arsenic and his side to rely on tight defensive structure and quick counters.

Resurrección controlled the game from midfield, constantly adjusting positioning, scanning everything. He directed the press, called for switches, and dictated the tempo like a chess grandmaster.

Then, a chance—Resurrección intercepted a pass and immediately sent a quick ball through the lines. Arsenic sprinted forward, ghosting past the last defender. It was a perfect pass to his right.

He let the ball pass to his left foot and struck the ball cleanly into the bottom corner. Goal!

His teammates clapped, but Resurrección wasn’t celebrating. Instead, he jogged up to him.

"You okay? Feeling good on the knee?"

“I’m great,” Arsenic replied automatically.

Resurrección studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "Nah. You’re lying."

Arsenic's smile faded.

"Listen, man," Jorge continued, voice firm but not unkind. "We all saw it and not just the game but now. I sent that pass to your right side for a reason."

Arsenic clenched his jaw.

"I get it. That tackle was nasty. And I know what it’s like to not want to get injured again. But let me tell you something…" …playing scared is worse than any injury. It will kill your game faster than any broken bone if you don’t snap out of it.”

Arsenic exhaled, about to respond, but Coach Alex Rivera’s whistle cut through the air.

"Alright! Gather up!" Rivera barked.

The squad assembled in a circle around the coach and his assistants.

"Today's focus is attacking transitions and finishing. We didn’t take enough risks in the last game, and it cost us. We’re playing too safe, and I need my attackers aggressive and sharp." Rivera’s eyes swept across the team before settling on Arsenic for a split second.

Arsenic felt the weight of that glance.

"Also, in other news…" Rivera motioned toward the side. "I’m glad to confirm the signing of Ricardo Mendes. He’ll begin training with the first team today."

A round of applause followed as Mendes joined them.

Rivera clapped his hands. “Let’s get to work.”

The first and second team were split into groups. The first drill was simulated fast breaks—3v2 situations where attackers had to create a goal-scoring chance.

Arsenic, Pryce and Mendes lined up against one defender, Ressureccion and the goalkeeper.

First attempt:

Mendes played a perfectly timed through ball but Arsenic hesitated just a moment too long. The defender recovered, blocking his shot.

"Move faster, Come on!" Rivera shouted.

Second attempt:

Arsenic beat his man but instead of going for a shot on his right he opted for a tame pass to Pryce. Pryce was caught off guard mishitting the ball over the bar.

Resurrección groaned. "Take the damn shot!"

Final attempt:

Mendes whipped in a beautiful cross. Arsenic jumped for a header—then flinched mid-air, letting the ball skim off his shoulder instead of meeting it with power.

The ball bounced harmlessly out of play.

Rivera blew the whistle, looking unimpressed.

Resurrección stepped forward. "Coach, let me run something real quick."

“Okay but don’t overdo it.” Rivera raised an eyebrow but nodded.

Resurrección pointed at Arsenic. "Me and you. One-on-one. Right now."

A murmur ran through the squad and they all shifted their attention towards them.

Arsenic blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." Resurrección tossed him the ball. "Try and get past me."

A few players grinned, recognizing the challenge for what it was. Mendes leaned over to Pryce. “This is either gonna be brutal or brilliant.”

Rivera folded his arms. "Alright. Let’s see it."

Arsenic took a deep breath. He had faced Resurrección before in training, but today felt different. The entire morning it felt like he was watching him, testing him. There was something personal in the challenge.

Dragging the ball with his left feet slowly, Arsenic glanced at Resurrección then he made a quick feint, shifting his weight left before going right. He thought he passed him but Resurrección reacted instantly, matching his speed and blocking him from moving forward.

*Alright, one more time.* Arsenic thought to himself.

He pulled back and tried a step over into a cut inside- his signature move but Resurrección read it. with a well-timed shoulder check, he knocked Arsenic off balance and stole the ball.

The squad erupted in “Ooohs!”

Ressureccion sighed and placed a hand on Arsenic’s shoulder.

"This ain't you, man."

Arsenic looked away.

"You're waiting for permission to be yourself again." Resurrección continued. "Stop waiting. The world won’t wait for you!"

Rivera clapped his hands. "Enough. Next drill. Move."

As the squad dispersed Arsenic lingered for a moment clenching his fists. He had lost again. Ressureccion was right, he had to change. No he had to accept that he wasn’t the same player as before. He needed to learn the game again.

Later that night, the training ground was empty, the floodlights casting long shadows. Arsenic sat alone in the center circle, a ball at his feet. He replayed the entire day in his mind. The hesitation. The fear. The moment he flinched instead of finishing.

Then he heard Jorge’s words again.

"You’re waiting for permission to be great again. Stop waiting."

Arsenic exhaled and rose to his feet.

He wouldn’t wait anymore. Tomorrow he would show them and himself that he can still play at a high level.