First VS Second

The morning sun bathed the Emirates training ground in a golden glow, but for the players, there was no time to admire the scenery. The next three days would be brutal.

Day two of their intense training camp was underway, and the stakes were undeniable. In just 48 hours, they would face Bavarian in the Champions League opener—a moment that could define their season. But the looming presence of their Premier League struggles was just as pressing. Emirates Gunners sat at 10th in the table, a humiliating position for a team with title ambitions.

Sverre Odegaard adjusted his shin guards, his mind still replaying Rivera’s words from the day before. That last game had given him the buzz, the adrenaline rush he craved. But it wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed to prove he deserved to be in the starting lineup.

Around him, teammates filtered onto the pitch. Some exchanged casual banter, others stretched in silence, but the tension in the air was thick.

Rivera’s sharp voice cut through the morning haze. “Alright, listen up!”

He stood at the center, arms crossed, Jenna Morales and Kells beside him.

Jenna, the team’s physiotherapist, had her hands on her hips, wearing that no-nonsense look that meant she wasn’t here for complaints. Kells, their fitness coach, had his signature smirk—the kind that meant today would be hell.

Rivera paced, his eyes scanning the squad. “I won’t repeat myself. You all know what this week means. This game—these two games—are critical to our season. It doesn’t matter where we are in the table right now. That can change. But only if we step up.”

The players shifted under his gaze.

“The Champions League demands a different level of intensity,” he continued. “Some of you know this. Some of you will learn it the hard way.”

He stopped, looking each player in the eye. “Like yesterday, Jenna and Kells will work with the first team. I’ll handle the second team.”

Jenna clapped her hands together. “We’re starting with stamina work. Endurance runs, resistance sprints, and agility drills. Then Kells will put you through explosive strength work.”

A few groans rippled through the squad, but Jenna ignored them.

Kells grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, don’t worry. By the end of this you’ll thank us. But until then you will hate us, so let’s get to it.”

The session kicked off with high-intensity interval runs—short, explosive sprints followed by minimal rest, simulating the relentless pace of a real match.

Sverre pushed himself hard, sweat already trickling down his temple. He wasn’t the fastest, but he had endurance. He could run for hours if needed.

Beside him, Temidayo Saka was panting, hands on his knees as they stopped at the next marker.

“I swear they’re trying to kill us,” Saka muttered between heavy breaths.

Sverre smirked. “Better this than running out of gas in the 75th minute.”

Next came the agility drills, with ladder runs, cone weaves, and reaction exercises. Kells shouted instructions as players darted through the obstacles, pushing their bodies to the limit.

Then, the ball control drills began.

Kells lined up the players, passing the ball low and fast, expecting them to control it perfectly within a chalk-drawn circle.

“Next!” he shouted.

Kai stepped up. The ball zipped toward him, and he mistimed his touch—it skidded wide of the target.

Resurrección followed, smoothly trapping the ball at the center.

Sverre took his turn, cushioning the ball with a soft touch, but it stopped just on the line—so close.

“Close one,” Kells nodded. “Work on it.”

Then came Arsenic.

Kells smirked and sent the ball flying at a blistering pace. Faster than before.

Arsenic narrowed his eyes, reading the speed, the spin. He waited—waited—then at the perfect moment, he placed his foot over the ball, stopping it dead in the center of the circle.

The ball spun slightly before coming to a halt.

Silence.

Then cheers erupted from the players.

“Not bad,” Kells said, nodding.

Arsenic grinned. “Come on, man. You can say it. That was perfect.”

Kells rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

The next phase was brutal—squats, weighted lunges, core circuits. Jenna and Kells ensured no one slacked off.

By the end, exhaustion hung in the air. Some players collapsed onto the grass, gasping for breath. Sverre stayed on his feet. Barely.

After two hours, they broke for lunch.

The team gathered in the cafeteria, plates stacked with grilled chicken, pasta, and steamed vegetables. Hydration was just as crucial, and Resurrección, ever the leader, tossed water bottles to the younger players like Callum, Sverre, and Saka.

Conversations were flying at fast pace, jokes were being throwed around.

Saka leaned over, grinning at Arsenic. “Hey, man, it’s really awesome playing with you. You know you were my inspiration for playing.”

“Ooh, looks like someone has a crush,” Mendes taunted. The other players joined in.

“Okay, okay that’s enough guys,” Resurreccion shut it down. “But really man,” he said looking at Arsenic. “These young players mostly grew up watching you and seeing your achievements. So you must remember to be a role model to them.”

“I remember that last game before your injury. The one against Atletico Royals when you drove the ball from half-way the pitch. That goal was awesome no wonder it won the Puskas award,” Sverre said.

Arsenic chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I remember. At first I wanted to wait for my teammates to push forward but with slowpokes like Jorge here, I just had to go alone.”

“Hey, I am older than you, show some respect,” Resurreccion said smirking.

Laughter broke out, but there was an underlying respect in the air. They all knew Arsenic’s journey back hadn’t been easy.

An hour later, the squad returned to the pitch—only to be met with an unexpected sight.

The second-string players, along with youth academy hopefuls, were lined up, ready to play.

Rivera stepped forward. “I need to see if you’re ready,” he announced. “Think of this as the final selection process. First Team eleven versus Second Team eleven. I will only be selecting the best players from this game.”

He let that sink in before continuing. “We’ve done this before. But today, we’re playing for forty minutes Treat this like a real match.”

His gaze shifted to the second team. “Some of you have made the bench. Some of you haven’t had a chance yet. Just last week, Sverre earned his spot. Any of you can do the same. If you impress me, you can take a first-team player’s spot.”

Then he turned to the first team. “You have everything to lose. If you underperform, I won’t hesitate to bench you. I want you to destroy these second-team players who think they can take your place.”

Kells handed him a notepad. Rivera glanced at it and read off the lineups.

First Team XI:

GK: Alex Reyes

CBs: Viktor Kaminski, Matteo Baxton

FBs: Callum Waters, Alain Andre

Midfield: Marcus Pryce, Ricardo Mendes, Jason Nwosu, Oscar Linhart

Forwards: Hugo Laurent, Kai Hevartz

Rivera smirked. “Some of you look confused. A few first-team names are missing.”

He gestured toward Resurrección. “Our captain will be coaching the second team today filling in for assistant coach Henrique who is visiting family. And he requested Sverre and Arsenic to play alongside them...to balance things out.”

Resurrección stepped forward with a cocky grin. “Alright, listen up. My team is going to make sure you lose. So bring your A-game, yeah?”

Second Team XI:

GK: Jake Turner

CBs: Patrick Ndongo, Kaito Nakamura

FBs: Hakim Malik, Rafael Costa

Midfield: Mikel Wright, Miguel Diaz, Sverre Odegaard

Forwards: Temidayo Saka, Arsenic Phillip, Cillian Dwyer

The match was set—forty minutes, two halves of twenty minutes each.

Kells, standing as the referee, blew the whistle.

The game was on.