When his mother, who was cooking, handed him a letter. Yes, it was a call-up to the first team. The dream he had been chasing despite all the financial limitations.

  That night, after his first training session with the main squad, his family held a small celebration."Harry, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

  "Hahaha, that's my boy! Work hard, Harry. Sorry Dad couldn’t buy you new boots." Those were the words that echoed in Harry’s mind. His father, who had always worked tirelessly, was so warm toward him. Despite their poverty, Harry remained grateful.

  The voices of his mother and father—soft yet tearful. They felt guilty about Harry’s circumstances. He was a vilge boy, quiet, and never believed he was good enough. But that day, he promised himself he would run as far as he could to chase one thing:

  His dream.

  "Welcome, Harry."

  Yesterday, the manager called him into his office. He greeted Harry with his usual cold demeanor."Tomorrow, you’ll be pying with the first team."

  At those words, Harry froze. In his st match, he hadn’t performed well enough. But now, he was being given a golden opportunity.

  Then, breaking the silence, Reinhart spoke again:"Work hard. Show your worth."

  Those short words reminded him of his father.

  At that moment, Harry didn’t realize it, but a fire was slowly igniting within his spirit. And Reinhart saw it too.

  Before the match, as he was preparing, someone he knew well stood in front of his house. A beautiful young girl hugged Harry and whispered:"I’ll be watching this match on TV. I’ll even give you a reward, so do your best..."

  Back on the field.

  Harry gritted his teeth. His breath was heavy, but his eyes burned with determination.

  "Work hard."

  For those who supported him—his parents, his teammates, the coach, and her.

  "I’ll do my best… AARGHHH!"

  With that, Harry slowly broke free from his chains and began to spread his wings.

  One step. Two steps. His legs became like engines. He wasn’t running at a normal human speed.

  The crowd was stunned. Even the commentators fell silent. The pyers chasing him from behind couldn’t keep up. The speed of this 15-year-old boy shocked everyone.

  The fastest sprint ever recorded by a footballer was Kylian Mbappé’s 38 km/h run during PSG vs. AS Monaco.

  But today, a boy with no big name—just a boy fighting to change his family’s fate, chasing his dream, and winning her heart—showed a miracle.

  Harry ran at a sonic speed of 38.000001 km/h.

  [Commentator 1]:"WHAT… WHAT ARE WE WITNESSING?! HARRY SHALKED… HE… HE JUST OUTRAN THE GOALKEEPER?!"

  Daryl Vokes leaped, but it was too te.

  Harry touched the ball first. With a slight feint, he tricked the keeper. The ball rolled past the right side. The keeper fell.

  Two defenders rushed to catch him, but no one could reach him.

  Harry kept running. Then, facing an empty net, he delivered a soft strike.

  GOAL.

  And…

  The stadium fell silent.

  As if all sound had been sucked into a vacuum. Even the Gillingham supporters said nothing. The commentators were speechless. Every pair of eyes locked onto one point:

  Harry Shalked.

  [Commentator 1]:"GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLL!!! HARRY SHALKED!!! WHAT HAVE WE JUST WITNESSED?!"

  [Commentator 2]:"That 15-year-old boy STOLE THE BALL FROM A DISTANCE NEARLY THREE TIMES THE KEEPER’S REACH, dribbled past him, and scored! This… this isn’t just speed—THIS IS A MIRACLE ON THE PITCH!"

  The stadium remained silent for a few seconds—an eternity in football.

  Then, an eruption of cheers exploded from the Bradford supporters, who numbered only about 500.

  The Bradford pyers celebrated. Anderson jumped in excitement. Duvant on the bench held his head in disbelief at that insane speed. Lucien, who had created the space, smirked slightly before running toward Harry, arms wide open for a hug.

  Amid the crowd of embraces and cheers, the camera panned to Reinhart.

  He remained seated on the bench. No smile. No celebration.

  Only his eyes gleamed, staring at the field as if reading the future. His fists clenched—very slowly.

  In the stands, Cassandra, watching the match, screamed in joy alongside Eliza, the housemaid. Bradford fans watching on TV also erupted—especially Harry’s family, who were watching on their neighbor’s television.

  "Wow, is that your son?! What kind of speed was that? Hahaha!"

  The praise came from James, their neighbor and a frequent helper to Harry’s family. He and his wife had invited them over to watch their son’s performance.

  There, a girl—perhaps two years older than Harry—sat gracefully sipping her tea. She smiled softly, thinking:

  "Harry… you’ve finally done it, huh?"

  Without a word, Harry’s parents simply watched their son on TV, embraced by his teammates. They were grateful their child was slowly but surely chasing his dream.

  [Commentator 2]:"Look at that expression… Reinhart knew. He knew from the start. Harry only needed one chance to explode."

  The following minutes saw little change. Gillingham tried to regain momentum, but Harry, now fully awakened, had an overwhelming presence on the pitch.

  [Minute 38]

  After the goal, Harry pyed with bzing intensity. His earlier despair had vanished—repced by burning determination.

  He marked Kyler Greaves—Gillingham’s midfield maestro—tightly.

  The moment Kyler hesitated, Harry sneaked in from behind, stole the ball, and sprinted at full speed!

  [Commentator 1]:"Oh no! Harry’s stolen the ball from Kyler! He’s darting down the right fnk!"

  Harry lowered his head and ran like the wind.

  One, two pyers tried to chase him, but none could match his speed.

  As he neared the penalty box, he lifted his head and delivered a cross to the left.

  There—Matias Alves was waiting.

  Matias controlled the ball calmly. Now, it was just him and the keeper—Daryl Vokes.

  Matias aimed for the far corner—BOOM!

  But Vokes stretched his leg and… SAVED IT!

  The ball rebounded to the right. Gillingham’s pyers rushed to clear it.

  Jovan Kruk arrived first, ready to boot the ball away—

  But from the shadows of the defense, someone emerged…

  Lucien Ito.

  [Commentator 2]:"LUCIEN?! WHERE DID HE COME FROM?!"

  Lucien headed the ball sharply toward the far post.

  [Commentator 1]:"GOOOOOAAALLLLLLL!!! LUCIEN ITOOO!!!"

  [Commentator 2]:"Bradford… they’re no longer the same team from the first minute. They’re not just alive—they’re building a legend."

  The stadium fell silent for the second time.

  The camera cut to Gillingham’s coach, Mateo.

  His forehead creased in frustration. His hands gripped his hair. His face was pale as he gnced at the bench, as if wanting to rip up his entire strategy and burn it.

  "Lucien… this kid is rarely seen, like a shadow… but when he appears, he’s already in the deadliest position." His annoyed voice was audible as he watched Lucien.

  [Long whistle—FIRST HALF ENDS.]