2026-06-03, 01:53 PM - Word count:
Kasak tosses and turns in his bed, sweating onto the crisp white sheets in his hotel room.
Strewn across the floor, notes and paperwork. We can see “So you’re getting drafted? No Face’s guide to being a good prospect?”, a colourful pamphlet that’s been well thumbed through, as well as various pros and cons lists for different organisations.
-Schwarzwalder – pros: cool badge, enjoy Black Forest Gateau, cons: can’t speak german, legs look weird in lederhosen
-Romana – pros: Rome is amazing, could live at home while playing in minors for London CHAMPIONS CHAMPIONS CHAMPIONS cons: Purple kits clash with my hair
The It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia themetune rings out from Nick’s phone and he leaps blearily for it, answering the unknown number as if his life depended on it.
“Hi, hey… hi… who is this?”
“Kasak?” a deep voice asks.
“Yep, thats me, I’m Kasak…”
“We’ve been watching you, we need to speak with you before the draft.” the mysterious voice continues.
“Er, yeah sure, er… did you already try with my agent, because I know he was snowed under…”
“We like to speak to our prospects… directly.”
There’s a pause an ominous as a thundercloud.
“...ok”
“Meet by the member’s bar, it’s still open…”
-----
Four and a half minutes later, Kasak, still wiping cold sweat from his brow, dressed awkwardly in an Adowa Accra training top and grey sweatpants, walks up to the member’s bar.
The usher at the door, dressed in a crisp dinner jacket and bow tie takes in Nick’s cumbersome appearance, and with an almost imperceptible eye roll, gestures towards a booth in the far corner.
Kasak keenly trots along the room, the darkness at the windows and the dim lit making it seem underground, and his destination was down at the very bottom. Moving past the bar, noting a small sign near the tills “Do not accept cheques from MCLumberjack”.
He makes out the dark silhouette of another suited gentleman, broad and muscular, even his hairline had gravitas.
“Sorry, to meet like this, Nick. Your agent had been… unwilling to co-operate with our organisation.”
“Oh yeah, that’s cool. I was thinking of changing agents anyway you know. My Dad put me onto him and he offered some cool things, but I was young and I-”
The seated man raises a hand demanding silence, then gestures Kasak to sit opposite him.
He had the uncanny appearance of someone whose face was so full of time and wisdom, yet so overly forgettable that even if you blinked you couldn’t capture the memory of it. A brooding familiarity when close, but could disappear into a crowd.
While Nick was busy trying to recognise the figure, he noticed a drink before that he was sure wasn’t there before.
“Rum and Fanta?”
“Your favourite drink, yes.” A slight sneer in the figure’s voice that Kasak failed to pick up on. “My… organisation are very keen on some of this year’s prospects.”
Kasak, sleep deprived and still sweating, was aware of the warmth of the surroundings, as if the dim interior of the hotel bar was inviting him further in.
“Oh?” Kasak’s brow showed his confusion.
“We look at the draft and try and cherry pick the best there is, and .. assist."
“Oh?” Kasak’s eyebrows raised.
“But we require a certain… devotion.”
“Oh?” Kasak’s brow re-furrowed.
“We’re confident we can get you in the end, but we would like to offer you a pre-contract…”
He smiles, presents a scroll and quill, both scarlet red, unfurling the handwritten calligraphy across the table to Kasak.
“You simply sign this… contract… and we can assure you, your future will be very bright indeed.”
“Oh, I’ve seen this font before, you’re with SFV, right? You’ve got first pick? And second? Why would you bother with this?”
“We are not from SFV.”
Kasak mouths “We?” back to him, but his eyes are heavy and he can’t stifle a yawn.
“So… who are you from?”
The figure drives his body across the table towards Kasak like a bullet, stopping inches before his face, Nick unable to look away from the burning eyes and grizzled features that he suddenly knows and recognises all too well from childhood nightmares and schoolboy sermons.
“SIGN YOUR NAME.”
“What?”
“SIGN YOUR NAME”
The quill is in Nick’s hand, did he pick it up? His hand already reaching for the bottom of the scroll, the phrases “Eternal servitude”, “fiery damnation” and “guaranteed hattricks” singing out from the shining red ink as he reaches his name, pre written.
“Signed, the damned
______________
Nick Kasak, Adowa Accra FC”
He grips the quill with both fists, as if steering a ship through a storm, the red feather punctured point piercing his left hand, blood starting to pour out as Kasak’s eyes close as the scene fades to dust.
------
Nick inhales suddenly, awake in his luxury hotel bed, morning sunlight drifting lazily in on the breeze. He laughs with relief, taking in his comfortable surroundings as if for the first time.
He checks his phone messages before getting out of bed, turning on the television as he goes and letting the morning news sooth him into the day.
AS he splashes wate ronto his face, he notices a sharp pain on his hand:
A small cut, still fresh, just behind his thumb.
Strewn across the floor, notes and paperwork. We can see “So you’re getting drafted? No Face’s guide to being a good prospect?”, a colourful pamphlet that’s been well thumbed through, as well as various pros and cons lists for different organisations.
-Schwarzwalder – pros: cool badge, enjoy Black Forest Gateau, cons: can’t speak german, legs look weird in lederhosen
-Romana – pros: Rome is amazing, could live at home while playing in minors for London CHAMPIONS CHAMPIONS CHAMPIONS cons: Purple kits clash with my hair
The It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia themetune rings out from Nick’s phone and he leaps blearily for it, answering the unknown number as if his life depended on it.
“Hi, hey… hi… who is this?”
“Kasak?” a deep voice asks.
“Yep, thats me, I’m Kasak…”
“We’ve been watching you, we need to speak with you before the draft.” the mysterious voice continues.
“Er, yeah sure, er… did you already try with my agent, because I know he was snowed under…”
“We like to speak to our prospects… directly.”
There’s a pause an ominous as a thundercloud.
“...ok”
“Meet by the member’s bar, it’s still open…”
-----
Four and a half minutes later, Kasak, still wiping cold sweat from his brow, dressed awkwardly in an Adowa Accra training top and grey sweatpants, walks up to the member’s bar.
The usher at the door, dressed in a crisp dinner jacket and bow tie takes in Nick’s cumbersome appearance, and with an almost imperceptible eye roll, gestures towards a booth in the far corner.
Kasak keenly trots along the room, the darkness at the windows and the dim lit making it seem underground, and his destination was down at the very bottom. Moving past the bar, noting a small sign near the tills “Do not accept cheques from MCLumberjack”.
He makes out the dark silhouette of another suited gentleman, broad and muscular, even his hairline had gravitas.
“Sorry, to meet like this, Nick. Your agent had been… unwilling to co-operate with our organisation.”
“Oh yeah, that’s cool. I was thinking of changing agents anyway you know. My Dad put me onto him and he offered some cool things, but I was young and I-”
The seated man raises a hand demanding silence, then gestures Kasak to sit opposite him.
He had the uncanny appearance of someone whose face was so full of time and wisdom, yet so overly forgettable that even if you blinked you couldn’t capture the memory of it. A brooding familiarity when close, but could disappear into a crowd.
While Nick was busy trying to recognise the figure, he noticed a drink before that he was sure wasn’t there before.
“Rum and Fanta?”
“Your favourite drink, yes.” A slight sneer in the figure’s voice that Kasak failed to pick up on. “My… organisation are very keen on some of this year’s prospects.”
Kasak, sleep deprived and still sweating, was aware of the warmth of the surroundings, as if the dim interior of the hotel bar was inviting him further in.
“Oh?” Kasak’s brow showed his confusion.
“We look at the draft and try and cherry pick the best there is, and .. assist."
“Oh?” Kasak’s eyebrows raised.
“But we require a certain… devotion.”
“Oh?” Kasak’s brow re-furrowed.
“We’re confident we can get you in the end, but we would like to offer you a pre-contract…”
He smiles, presents a scroll and quill, both scarlet red, unfurling the handwritten calligraphy across the table to Kasak.
“You simply sign this… contract… and we can assure you, your future will be very bright indeed.”
“Oh, I’ve seen this font before, you’re with SFV, right? You’ve got first pick? And second? Why would you bother with this?”
“We are not from SFV.”
Kasak mouths “We?” back to him, but his eyes are heavy and he can’t stifle a yawn.
“So… who are you from?”
The figure drives his body across the table towards Kasak like a bullet, stopping inches before his face, Nick unable to look away from the burning eyes and grizzled features that he suddenly knows and recognises all too well from childhood nightmares and schoolboy sermons.
“SIGN YOUR NAME.”
“What?”
“SIGN YOUR NAME”
The quill is in Nick’s hand, did he pick it up? His hand already reaching for the bottom of the scroll, the phrases “Eternal servitude”, “fiery damnation” and “guaranteed hattricks” singing out from the shining red ink as he reaches his name, pre written.
“Signed, the damned
______________
Nick Kasak, Adowa Accra FC”
He grips the quill with both fists, as if steering a ship through a storm, the red feather punctured point piercing his left hand, blood starting to pour out as Kasak’s eyes close as the scene fades to dust.
------
Nick inhales suddenly, awake in his luxury hotel bed, morning sunlight drifting lazily in on the breeze. He laughs with relief, taking in his comfortable surroundings as if for the first time.
He checks his phone messages before getting out of bed, turning on the television as he goes and letting the morning news sooth him into the day.
AS he splashes wate ronto his face, he notices a sharp pain on his hand:
A small cut, still fresh, just behind his thumb.
![[Image: BPZ3GXn.png]](https://iili.io/BPZ3GXn.png)
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