Ballon d’or or die [Slice of Life, sports litrpg]

I started training by cycling around the neighborhood, making sure to pedal hard for 2 minutes followed by a minute of coasting.

While enjoying the early morning sunshine, my lungs appreciated the supply of cool fresh air blowing on my face. 

Looking around, the World Cup seemed unavoidable as the decorations adorning the buildings and streets showcased the people's enthusiasm towards the event.

The Union Jack flying high surrounded by the white and blue colors of the England national team spoke volumes of their expectations. Even the billboards were not spared, with most advertising their product with a national team member as the model.

Bars had signs notifying being fully booked while most stores had notices of closure or reduced hours on their windows. The country seemed to hold its breath for the upcoming Round of 16 match today. 

My impromptu sightseeing ended at the hour mark and I entered a nearby park before catching my breath and setting up a few traffic cones I'd "borrowed" from the streets.

'It's not like they NEEDED all 20 of them. They'll be fine with 16.'

While cycling, I was finally able to put a finger on the sense of unease I'd felt during the match, recognising my abnormally bad limb-eye coordination.

I reasoned that the optimal method to fix this would be to rewire my perception and sense of scale, making the ball-lifting drill perfect.

Stepping into the 4ft*4ft marked square, I started lifting the ball using my feet, reducing the square side by an inch every time I succeeded in keeping it off of the ground for more than 5 minutes.

Although I struggled at the 1ft*1ft square, I soldiered on, as I slowly but steadily crept closer to the 5-minute mark until I finally achieved it at the 6th attempt.

Even though I had spent more time on the last stage than all the other stages combined, it felt worth it when I noticed my much-improved coordination.

Realizing that the park had started to fill up quite a bit, I was taken aback at my watch reading past 8:30. As if on cue, my stomach growled prompting me to hurry home after returning the traffic cones.

'Hmm, maybe I'll keep a few next time'

*****************************

Deciding to help myself to a hearty breakfast of apples, blueberries and yogurt, I switched TV channels while munching.

'Ah, the golden days of animated cartoons! I can't believe I get to watch these again!', I thought while nodding my head along to the Bob the Builder theme song.

I spotted my parents conversing in a hushed tone as I caught my mother sneaking a look at me. Sensing her approach, I turned towards her, "Good morning, Mom! Did you sleep well?"

"Good morning, sweetie. I slept like a rock. But why did you wake up so early? Did you have anything in particular to do today?", my mother questioned me with a concerned look.

"Not really, I just happened to wake up early today. Maybe because I slept pretty early last night?", I replied in a carefree tone, not picking up on my dad's look filled with suspicion.

"I see. Well, since you woke up early today, how about I cook you your favorite breakfast?"

"No need, mom. I already filled myself with some fruits and yogurt earlier", I answered with a proud smile.

Since both of my parents were lawyers, leading quite busy lives, I had to learn to enjoy fresh fruits and yogurt as part of my efforts to eat healthier.

My response led my parents to look at me like I had grown a second head, momentarily confusing me.

'Of course! I'm acting too mature. I didn't even like fruits back then. In fact, I think I hated yogurt'

'Should I start faking my preferences? No, that'll be too tiring. No choice left, I was going to wait until I got some scouring offers, but now's as good a time as any'

"Mom, Dad, please take a seat. I have something to tell you", I called out to them as I got up from the sofa and waited. Watching them take a seat with a puzzled expression, I planned a strategy to achieve what I needed.

Adopting a stern expression, purposely selected to appear serious while the viewer found it hilarious, I spoke in a serious tone, 

"Mom, Dad, I have decided to become a football player. Our coach said that good footballers practice hard every day and eat super healthy. That's why, I'm also going to wake up early every day, practice and eat healthy!"

Although I could feel my limbs attempting to shrink into themselves from the vast amount of cringe, I'd reasoned that appearing too serious might prove to be a hindrance, instead electing to go for a more child finding his next interest vibe.

Silence enveloped us as I could see the gears turning in my parents' heads, trying to gauge the level of my interest.

As the silence crept towards uncomfortable territory, my father broke it, "Son, is this going to be a repeat of the time you decided to become an astronaut?"

"No! That was when I was younger. I really want to become a football player! I'm going to tryout for a proper football academy, and I am also going to stop eating any candy or soda!", I protested loudly, inadvertently "spilling" why I had brought up this topic.

With a light of understanding, my father proceeded to give me a piercing stare, no doubt trying to sniff out any lies. While engaged in a staring contest with Dad, I observed the beginning of a small smile on Mom's face.

'Hehe, you can try to appear scary as much as you want, but Mom is already convinced, Dad. The skipping soda and candy must have done it for her'

"You're still a kid. Anyway, what made you interested in football all of a sudden?", my father interrogated in a stern tone.

"Playing football is the best! I want to face tougher opponents and score lots of goals!", I answered with a huge smile.

My internal rejoicing due to the small smile adorning my parents' faces was interrupted by my mother's cautious voice,

"Sweetie, being a player is super hard. You have to constantly practice for hours each and every day. And even with all that, someone else might perform better than you. Do you like football enough to work that hard? Enough to not play any games?"

'I see what you did there, Mom. Was giving up unhealthy food not enough?'

While chuckling inwardly at their absolute hate towards games, I replied in a high-pitched tone, after acting like I was in deep thought, "Yes! I'll practice every day! And I'll never ask you to buy a game for me again!"

My parents had a silent conversation between themselves as they looked at each other, before my father replied in a strict tone,

"Ok, son. Mom and Dad will set some rules. If you follow those while showing us that you really are serious about football for the next few months, we might allow you to attempt tryouts"

'*sigh* I miss the days when I couldn't spot the obvious caveat in that statement'

"Ok!"

"First of all, you have to maintain your current grades. Next, no skipping school and you can only practice after you've finished your homework"

"Ok!"

Perhaps perplexed by my immediate response, my mother repeatedly made sure I understood what I'd agreed to.

'Grades won't be a problem until year 10 anyway. By then, a lot of things would have changed. And I had to agree to these conditions in the past anyway'

"Wonderful! If you convince us of your passion for football while keeping up your grades, we will allow you to give it a shot", answered my now cheerful Dad, while Mom exclaimed after turning towards the wall clock.

///////Author's Notes:

This portion ballooned out of proportion. Believe it or not, I thought the entire conversation would be less than half a chapter. I suck at planning.

For anyone confused, football academies are quite expensive, so what he's asking for is not permission to play football but for joining an academy. 

Hope you enjoyed reading :)