Project Mbappe

---

Jerry heaved a sigh as he collapsed on his bed. His body ached all over from the match he had played. The others might have been happy about getting a day off training, but to him, it just meant training with a different coach—his dad.

"Fucking hell," Jerry muttered under his breath as he grappled with the thought of another training session with his dad. He turned on his bed and groaned as the pain in his body flared up.

After a few minutes of lying down, Jerry sat up again. He pulled out his phone and started fiddling with it. He couldn't sleep knowing he hadn't spoken to his dad after the match, especially since his dad had watched him play.

While this ritual might sound like a cute bonding experience to some, for Jerry, it was the opposite. It usually involved his dad criticizing him after matches. Either he hadn't scored enough goals, hadn't made enough dribbles, or had done something else his dad considered inadequate. Jerry had mostly gotten used to it, but now that his dad had actually attended the match, he wasn't excited about the conversation that was bound to happen.

After about an hour, the moment Jerry dreaded finally arrived. He heard noise outside his room, and after a few minutes, there was a knock at his door.

"Oi! Open the door, I want to speak with you," Jeremiah's voice called from outside.

(Now what comes next may or may not be confusing for a lot of people [won't lie, it confuses me quite a bit] but I just want to put this out there just to be safe. Remember:

Jerry --> our cool MC

Jeremiah---> boo, deadbeat dad)

"Chill, man, I'm coming," Jerry said as he slowly got up from his bed. He walked over to the door, fiddled with the lock for a few seconds, and finally opened it.

"Go and sit," Jeremiah barked without even looking at Jerry. He walked into the room and stood a few feet away from the bed before ordering Jerry to sit down.

Jerry avoided looking at his dad, his head bowed the entire time. He walked over to his bed and sat as instructed, still keeping his head down.

"Now I don't even know where to start," Jeremiah said with a small laugh. "I fucking thought I raised a striker, but I didn't see him out there today. I saw some shoddy, cheap version of an attacking midfielder. What kind of shitty tactics is Victor using? I think I'll sack him—that'll teach him to play my fucking son as a fucking midfielder."

Jeremiah waved his arms around as he spoke, his agitation evident. The more he gestured, the more it made sense why he kept some distance from Jerry.

"But even so, you should've played better than you did. Please fucking tell me why you passed the ball so much. If you weren't so obsessed with trying to be a team player, you'd have gotten a fucking hat trick today. And those wasteful fucking wingers—I think I need to fire whoever recruited them."

Jeremiah's last statement made Jerry chuckle, which further agitated him.

"What's so fucking funny, eh?" Jeremiah said, stepping closer to Jerry. "Are you laughing at me?"

"No, I'm laughing at what you said," Jerry replied, surprisingly calm despite Jeremiah's behavior. "You said you wanted to sack the person who recruited Zach and James, but, from what I hear, you were the one who invited the two of them to trial for Manchester Red."

For the first time in the conversation, Jerry looked up and met his father's eyes. "And that brings me to another point—why didn't you fucking tell me that you're the manager of Manchester Red's under-eighteens?"

"I'm the manager of Manchester Red's under-eighteens," Jeremiah replied instantly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you said I didn't tell you. I'm telling you now," Jeremiah said with a shrug. "We're leaving early tomorrow for training. It seems that because I've left your training solely to the academy, you've been slacking off."

With that, Jeremiah turned to leave. But as he reached the door, Jerry spoke.

"I wanted to play as a ten. Victor didn't force me," Jerry said firmly. "I prefer playing as a ten rather than as a striker."

Jeremiah went silent for a few moments, before bursting into a fit of laughter. "That's a good joke—you almost had me there for a second." He opened the door, pausing briefly. "I was a striker, and since you're my son, you'll be a striker too."

With those parting words, he stepped outside of Jerry's room, bit forgetting to slam the door behind him.

"Fucking hell," Jerry muttered, running his hands through his hair as he stared at the door. "That was better than usual."

Imagine if I told him I don't want to play for Manchester Red, Jerry thought.

After Jeremiah left, Jerry cleared his bed and lay down, trying to sleep. He guessed he'd need to be up by six in the morning. Knowing Jeremiah, the next day wasn't going to be very kind to him.

**

"Oi! Fucking get up," Jeremiah said, nudging Jerry's sleeping body.

"What? What's going on?" Jerry was a bit confused as he mumbled a few words groggily, rubbing his eyes. He glanced at the window and saw that it was still dark outside. "What time is it? And how'd you get in?"

"I have a spare key. I only knock because I have basic manners," Jeremiah said with a smirk. "It's just past three. Get up—we're going for a short jog around the estate."

Hearing this, Jerry's eyes widened. He slumped back into his bed, pulling the duvet over his face to stifle a very loud scream.

"Fuckkk!"

A/N:

How do you like the book so far?

If you like it please vote and leave a comment or a review. Things might develop a bit fast from here on so please bear with me.

I've seen a couple of reviews on this book already and he feedback is so encouraging.