Monday, 26 October 2015
The first thing Abdul Azim noticed when he woke up was that his legs hurt.
Not badly, but enough to remind him that yesterday's match had not been an ordinary afternoon at Anfield.
He shifted beneath the duvet, stretching his right leg before attempting to sit up. His calves felt tight, and there was a dull ache around his thighs. His shoulders were also a little sore, probably from the repeated physical challenges against Southampton's defenders.
He looked towards the bedside table.
His phone showed 8:17am.
There were already several notifications.
Messages from teammates, football news notifications and a few messages from people he had not spoken to in months. His social media accounts would probably be considerably busier than usual after yesterday's performance.
Liverpool had won 6-1.
He had scored a hat-trick.
He had also provided an assist and played an important role in the team's pressing structure before being substituted in the 77th minute.
It had been a satisfying afternoon.
But today was different.
Monday was a recovery day. There was no scheduled first-team training for him, and the club's medical staff had already given him instructions regarding recovery, hydration and rest.
For once, he did not have to think about Southampton's defensive shape, the next training session or how to escape another centre-back who decided to follow him around the pitch.
He could simply enjoy a day away from football.
A knock came from the bedroom door.
"Azim? Are you awake?"
His mother's voice.
"Yes, Mum."
The door opened slightly.
His mother peeked inside.
"Breakfast is ready. Your father wants to talk to you."
Azim rubbed his eyes.
"About what?"
"Something important, apparently."
She smiled.
"And don't take too long. Your breakfast is getting cold."
Azim raised an eyebrow.
"Is it bad?"
His mother gave him an amused look.
"Your father has been smiling since he woke up. I don't think it is bad."
That was reassuring.
Azim pushed the duvet aside.
"All right. I'll be down in 5 minutes."
"Good. And tell your father not to disturb me while I'm cooking later."
Azim laughed.
"Why?"
"Because he has already asked me 3 times what I am making for dinner."
She closed the door.
Azim shook his head, smiling.
Whatever his father wanted to discuss, it seemed the morning was going to be interesting.
The smell of freshly cooked breakfast greeted him when he entered the dining room.
His mother had prepared eggs, toast, sausages and grilled tomatoes. A pot of tea sat in the middle of the table, alongside a glass jug of orange juice.
Dad was already seated.
He wore a comfortable sweater and had several documents arranged neatly beside his breakfast plate. A laptop was open in front of him, displaying what appeared to be a financial statement.
The moment Azim entered, his father looked up.
"Good morning, son."
"Morning, Dad."
"Sleep well?"
"Quite well. My legs hurt, though."
His father laughed.
"That is what happens when you spend an afternoon running after 22 professional footballers."
"I wasn't running after all 22."
"Only most of them?"
Azim pulled out a chair.
"Something like that."
His mother placed another plate on the table.
"Eat first. Whatever important business you two have can wait until you finish breakfast."
Dad raised both hands.
"Of course."
Azim began eating.
His father waited until he had taken a few bites before turning the laptop towards him.
"Now, I have something to show you."
Azim swallowed.
"What is it?"
"Your first proper payment under the new contract."
Azim stopped eating.
His eyes moved towards the laptop.
Dad smiled.
"Remember what we discussed when you signed on Friday?"
Azim nodded.
The new Liverpool contract had been signed on 23 October.
His previous arrangement had been an academy wage of £700 per week. The new agreement had raised his basic salary to £50,000 per week, alongside the appearance, goal, assist and other performance-related bonuses.
There was also the initial signing-fee instalment.
His first payment was scheduled for 26 October.
Today.
Mr Malik clicked on a document.
"Everything has been processed. The payroll statement includes the outstanding amount from your previous arrangement, your new salary entitlement, the bonuses triggered by your performances and the first instalment of the signing fee."
He turned the laptop slightly further towards Azim.
"Have a look."
Azim leaned forward.
At first, he simply read the figure.
Then he blinked.
He read it again.
£189,171.43
Azim stared.
"One hundred and eighty-nine thousand?"
His father nodded.
"One hundred and eighty-nine thousand, one hundred and seventy-one pounds and 43 pence."
Azim leaned back.
"Bloody hell."
His mother looked towards him.
"Language."
"Sorry, Mum."
Dad laughed.
"Let him react. I think he has earned the right to be surprised."
Azim looked at the figure again.
He knew his new salary was substantial. He understood the contract when they had negotiated it, and he had already seen the numbers written down in black and white.
But seeing the money appear as an actual payment was different.
It was no longer a figure in a contract.
It was real money.
Money that could buy a house, support his parents, pay for education and provide security for the future.
He looked at his father.
"How much do I actually receive?"
Mr Malik clicked to the next page.
"After the payroll deductions, including the tax and National Insurance withheld, your net payment is £108,071.54."
Azim slowly put down his fork.
£108,071.54
"More than 100 thousand."
"Yes."
"In 1 payment?"
"Yes, son."
Azim looked towards his mother.
She was smiling.
His father leaned back in his chair.
"Congratulations. You have officially moved a very long way from £700 per week."
Azim laughed.
"I remember that."
"I remember it very well too. When we first discussed the new contract, there were several people trying to convince us that you should accept less because you were still young."
Dad's expression became slightly more serious.
"But you earned the opportunity. We negotiated, Liverpool agreed, and now the first payment has arrived."
Azim looked at the document again.
He had thought about becoming a professional footballer for years. He had imagined scoring goals at Anfield, playing in Europe and representing Liverpool in front of thousands of supporters.
He had imagined the financial freedom too.
But the reality of seeing more than £100,000 become available to him was difficult to process.
His childhood circumstances had been different.
He had not grown up with the assumption that such money would eventually belong to him.
Now he was 18 years old, and a single payment from his profession was worth more than many people earned in several years.
It made him smile.
It also made him slightly uncomfortable.
"That's a lot of money, Dad."
His father nodded.
"It is. Which is why we must be careful."
Mr Malik moved to another document.
"Now, my side of the agreement."
Azim looked at him.
"Your agent fee?"
"Exactly."
The document showed the agency invoice.
Agent fee: £50,000, plus VAT.
"This is separate from your salary and bonuses," Mr Malik explained. "The club's payment to me is made against the agency invoice. It is not deducted from your £108,071.54."
Azim nodded.
"And the VAT?"
"That is accounted for separately. It is not something I should treat as personal income. It has to be reported and paid through the business."
He closed the document.
"Your money and my agency's money must be properly recorded. We are not going to mix everything together simply because we are family."
Azim looked at him.
"That's fine."
"Your earnings need their own records and proper protection. My company handles my professional work as your representative, and the accountant will make sure every payment is documented. You should also understand where your money is, how much is being spent and what belongs to you."
Dad's tone was firm, but not unfriendly.
He had no intention of turning his son's success into a family argument over money.
"I want you to understand something, Azim. Having money is one thing. Knowing how to keep it is another."
Azim nodded.
"I understand."
"Good. Because football can be unpredictable. An injury, a change of manager, a loss of form or a contract dispute can change your circumstances very quickly. We cannot assume that every month will be as generous as this one."
His father pointed towards the gross payment.
"This includes a signing-fee instalment and performance bonuses. It is not your ordinary monthly salary. Your basic salary is £50,000 per week, but that does not mean every month will produce this same combination of payments."
Azim smiled.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes, Dad."
His father gave him a suspicious look.
"Then tell me."
Azim put down his fork.
"The basic salary is guaranteed under the contract, subject to the contractual terms. Appearance and performance bonuses depend on what I actually achieve. The signing fee is a separate payment, and the second instalment is subject to the appearance condition."
Dad nodded.
"Good. At least somebody was listening during the negotiations."
Azim laughed.
His mother placed another piece of toast on his plate.
"Your father has been talking about money since early morning. Eat something before he starts calculating your retirement."
"Not a bad idea," Azim replied.
His father chuckled.
"Actually, that brings me to the next matter."
Azim looked at him.
"What?"
Dad closed the laptop.
"My work."
Dad leaned back in his chair.
"Azim, I have been thinking about this for quite some time."
He paused, choosing his words.
"Until now, I have been managing my regular work alongside your football matters. The contract negotiations, the meetings, the paperwork, the calls with the club and the arrangements with your representatives. I have been doing much of it in the evenings and whenever I have free time."
Azim listened.
His father continued.
"But things are changing. You are now under a long-term professional contract with Liverpool. Your responsibilities will increase, and there will be more decisions to make. You will have sponsorship discussions, commercial arrangements, contract reviews and other matters that need attention."
He looked directly at Azim.
"I cannot continue treating your career as something I manage only when I finish my other work."
Azim immediately understood.
"You want to quit your job?"
His father did not answer immediately.
"I have been considering it."
Azim placed his hands on the table.
"Then do it."
Dad raised his eyebrows.
"That quickly?"
"Yes."
"Son, it is not such a simple decision."
"I know."
Azim leaned forward.
"Dad, you have been helping me since the beginning. You manage my career, speak to the club, handle the negotiations and make sure I don't agree to something stupid. I want you to have the time to do it properly."
His father studied him.
Azim continued.
"Don't split your attention between 2 jobs. Make this your full-time work. Handle my career, arrange meetings, negotiate, check contracts and deal with the things I don't understand."
Dad smiled faintly.
"And how do you propose I pay my household bills?"
Azim looked at him.
"I'll pay you."
His father laughed.
"With what?"
Azim pointed towards the laptop.
"That."
His mother began laughing from the kitchen.
Dad shook his head.
"Very clever."
Azim remained serious.
"I'm not joking."
The laughter gradually faded.
"I want to give you £10,000 every month."
His father's expression changed.
"Azim."
"I'm serious, Dad. Every month. £10,000."
"That is a substantial commitment."
"I know."
"That is £120,000 across a year."
Azim nodded.
"Yes."
His father folded his arms.
"You're making this decision very quickly because you have received your first big payment."
Azim considered that.
Perhaps there was some truth in it.
Yesterday, he had scored a hat-trick at Anfield. Today, he had discovered that his first payment under the new contract exceeded £100,000 after deductions.
It would have been easy to become excited and promise everything.
But he had been thinking about his father's sacrifices for a long time.
His father had attended meetings, helped with his career and spent countless hours making sure his son could concentrate on football.
The new contract had changed what Azim could afford to give back.
"Dad, listen."
Dad looked at him.
"If I play well and trigger bonuses, a particularly good month might bring the gross amount close to £200,000. Obviously, not every month will be like that. I understand. But I have a guaranteed basic salary now. I'm not asking you to work for free."
His father remained quiet.
"I want you to receive £10,000 a month for the work you do for me. You will be handling my career full-time. You will be taking calls, travelling, negotiating and dealing with the club. I don't want you worrying about having to return to another job after spending the entire day managing mine."
Dad looked down at the table.
His son was no longer the boy who needed him to explain every financial decision.
He was beginning to understand that money came with responsibilities.
"Your agent fee is already being paid separately," Dad reminded him. "I do not want you confusing that with the monthly payment."
"I'm not. The £50,000 is for the work involved in the contract negotiations. The £10,000 is what I want to pay you for managing my career going forward."
His father nodded slowly.
"We would need to formalise that properly. The accountant will handle the arrangements, and we will make sure your income remains separate from the company's operating money."
"That's fine."
"And you will still have access to your own money. I am not going to make every financial decision without telling you."
Azim smiled.
"I know, Dad."
Dad was quiet for another moment.
Then he extended his hand across the table.
"All right. We will discuss the practical arrangements with the accountant. I will make the decision about leaving my other work properly, not simply walk out tomorrow."
Azim shook his hand.
"Deal."
His mother appeared at the dining-room entrance.
She had clearly heard most of the conversation.
"Well, congratulations to both of you."
Azim looked towards her.
"Why?"
"Apparently, I am now the mother of two employed men."
Dad laughed.
His wife pointed towards him.
"And remember, Malik, being a full-time agent does not mean you can spend the entire day sitting in front of your laptop."
He raised his hands.
"Of course not."
"You still have to come home for dinner."
"I know."
"And you still have to help me carry the shopping."
Dad looked towards Azim.
"Do you see what I have to deal with?"
Azim laughed.
"Welcome to full-time employment, Dad."
After breakfast, Azim returned upstairs to change.
He put on a comfortable sweatshirt, dark trousers and trainers before collecting his jacket.
His father was waiting near the entrance, holding a fishing bag.
Azim looked at it.
"Already prepared?"
Dad smiled.
"I made the arrangements yesterday."
"After the match?"
"Before the match. I thought you might appreciate a day away from football."
Azim looked at the bag.
A pair of fishing rods protruded from it, accompanied by a tackle box and a smaller bag containing the equipment they would need.
"Where are we going?"
"Otterspool Promenade."
Azim smiled.
"The Mersey?"
"Where else?"
"Let's go."
His mother appeared from the kitchen.
"Where are you two going?"
"Fishing," Dad answered.
She looked towards Azim.
"You have only just recovered from yesterday's match."
"I'll be sitting down, Mum."
"Good. And don't stay out too long. I'm preparing something special for dinner."
Azim smiled.
"What are you cooking?"
"That is a surprise."
Dad picked up the fishing bag.
"Let's leave before she starts giving us instructions for the entire day."
His wife shook her head.
"Malik, I heard that."
"Love you!"
He opened the door.
Azim laughed as he followed his father outside.
The journey to Otterspool Promenade was peaceful.
The roads were quieter than they would have been during the weekday rush, and the autumn sky carried the familiar grey softness of north-west England.
Azim sat in the passenger seat, looking through the window.
There was something refreshing about being away from Melwood, Anfield and the constant movement surrounding professional football.
Yesterday, he had been the centre of attention.
Today, he was simply sitting in a car with his father, travelling towards the River Mersey with 2 fishing rods in the boot.
His father glanced at him.
"You're quiet."
"Just enjoying the morning."
"Thinking about yesterday?"
"A little."
Dad smiled.
"You scored 3 goals. I imagine you will be thinking about it for a while."
Azim laughed.
"Not just the goals."
"What else?"
"Van Dijk."
His father gave him a curious look.
"The Southampton defender?"
"Yes. He followed me everywhere."
Dad chuckled.
"Well, that is what defenders are supposed to do."
"Not like that. He was practically attached to me."
"And you scored 3 goals anyway."
Azim looked out of the window.
"At first, I kept trying to beat him. Every time I received the ball, I wanted to turn and run at him. But he was always there. Eventually, I realised I could use his movement against him."
His father nodded.
"Sounds like you learned something."
"I think so."
"What?"
Azim considered the question.
"If an opponent spends the entire match trying to stop me, I shouldn't spend the entire match trying to beat him. I can make him move somewhere else."
Dad smiled.
"That sounds like a useful lesson."
"More useful than trying to dribble past 2 centre-backs every time."
His father laughed.
"Probably."
The car continued along the road.
After a while, Dad spoke again.
"Do you know what I liked most about yesterday?"
"The goals?"
"Of course, the goals were wonderful. Your mother nearly jumped out of her chair when you scored the second."
Azim laughed.
"But that wasn't what I liked most."
"What was it?"
"Seeing you enjoy playing with your teammates. You passed the ball, created space and trusted them to finish. That is something I want you to keep."
Azim looked towards him.
His father kept his eyes on the road.
"You don't need to carry everybody. You are part of a team. Let other people help you."
Azim nodded.
It was the same lesson Klopp had tried to explain at half-time.
Hearing it from his father made it feel different.
Perhaps because his father had watched him grow up, long before Liverpool had offered him a professional contract.
"You're right," Azim said.
Dad smiled.
"Good. Now, enough football. Today we are fishermen."
Otterspool Promenade was quieter than the streets surrounding Anfield.
The broad stretch of riverside walkway followed the bank of the Mersey, with a metal railing separating the promenade from the water. The river extended into the distance beneath a cloudy autumn sky, its surface moving restlessly with the tide.
A few walkers passed along the path.
Further down, several anglers had settled along the river wall, their fishing rods positioned towards the water.
The air was cold enough to make Azim pull his jacket tighter.
He looked out across the river.
"Beautiful."
Dad nodded.
"Not bad, is it?"
The Mersey appeared enormous from their position. The far bank was visible through the grey light, and the occasional vessel moved across the water in the distance.
There was no spectacular seaside view, no tropical blue water or golden sand.
Just the wide river, the breeze and the sound of water moving against the wall.
Azim liked it.
His father carried the fishing bag towards a suitable section of the promenade where they could set up without disturbing other anglers.
They laid out their equipment.
Dad inspected the lines, checked the hooks and prepared the bait.
Azim watched him work.
"Still remember how to do this?"
Azim looked at the rod.
"How difficult can it be?"
His father laughed.
"Those are famous last words."
He showed Azim how to prepare the line and attach the bait securely.
The explanation was practical, patient and familiar. Dad had no intention of rushing him simply because his son was now a professional footballer.
Here, Azim was not Liverpool's #36.
He was simply his son.
When the equipment was ready, his father demonstrated the casting technique.
"Don't use too much force. Let the rod do the work. If you swing it too aggressively, you'll lose control of the line."
Azim raised the rod.
Dad watched him.
"Relax your shoulders."
Azim adjusted his grip.
"Like this?"
"Better."
He cast.
The line travelled across the water before the tackle settled.
His father nodded.
"Not bad."
Azim smiled.
"See?"
"Beginner's luck."
"Jealous?"
"Absolutely."
They both laughed.
For a while, they concentrated on fishing.
The rods remained positioned towards the river, and the men watched their lines for movement.
The conversation was occasional.
Sometimes Mr Malik gave Azim a small instruction. Sometimes Azim asked questions about the equipment. Between those moments, they simply enjoyed the quiet.
There was something calming about waiting for a fish.
Football rewarded urgency. A forward had to react in fractions of a second, recognise a movement and execute before the opponent could respond.
Fishing was different.
The river moved at its own pace.
No amount of impatience could make a fish bite sooner.
Azim leaned back slightly.
"I think I needed this."
His father glanced at him.
"Needed what?"
"Doing nothing."
Dad smiled.
"Doing nothing is harder than people think."
Azim looked at the river.
"Yesterday was exciting. The crowd, the goals, the celebrations. Everything happened so quickly."
"And today?"
"Today nobody cares whether I score."
His father laughed softly.
"Today, you just need to catch something."
Azim looked towards the water.
"That might be more difficult."
After some time, Dad broke the silence.
"Have you thought about what you want to do with your money?"
Azim turned towards him.
"We already discussed it."
"We discussed your payment to me. I am asking about the rest."
Azim considered the question.
"Save most of it."
"Good."
"I don't need expensive cars or watches. I have everything I need."
"That's sensible."
Azim looked across the water.
"I want to buy a house."
His father raised his eyebrows.
"Already?"
"Not tomorrow."
"Where?"
"Formby."
Dad looked towards him.
"Formby?"
"Near the seaside."
His father smiled.
"Why there?"
Azim took a moment to answer.
He had thought about the idea before, although he had never seriously discussed it with anyone.
"I like the idea of living near the sea. Somewhere quiet. A house where I can wake up and see the water or at least know it is only a short distance away."
Dad listened.
Azim continued.
"Football is noisy. Training, matches, interviews, supporters, the media. Everything is always moving. I want somewhere I can come home and feel like the world has slowed down."
His father looked towards the river.
"That is understandable."
"And Formby is close enough to Liverpool without being right in the middle of everything."
Dad nodded.
"Formby is a good area to consider. But you should look carefully before buying anything. A house is not just the purchase price. There are maintenance costs, insurance, security, taxes and other responsibilities."
Azim smiled.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes, Dad."
Dad laughed.
"Everybody says that until they have to pay for a leaking roof."
Azim chuckled.
"Then I'll buy a house without a leaking roof."
"That is not how houses work."
They both laughed.
His father returned his attention to the fishing line.
"Do not rush. You are 18. You have plenty of time to decide where you want to live. We can look at properties, speak to an independent solicitor and surveyor, and make sure you understand what you are buying."
Azim nodded.
"I don't want something enormous."
"What do you want?"
"A comfortable house. A few bedrooms. A garden. A garage. Somewhere I can relax."
"And near the sea?"
"Preferably."
His father smiled.
"Then we will find something suitable when the time comes."
Azim looked towards the river.
For a moment, he imagined waking up in a house near the coast, opening the curtains and seeing the sea beneath an overcast morning sky.
No training schedule.
No press conference.
No opponent trying to mark him out of a match.
Just the sound of the water and the freedom to decide what to do with the day.
It was an appealing thought.
His father suddenly lifted his rod.
"Wait."
Azim looked towards him.
"What?"
"Something is pulling."
Dad carefully raised the rod, maintaining tension on the line.
The tip bent slightly.
He adjusted his position and began retrieving.
Azim watched with interest as the line moved through the water.
"Got one?"
"Possibly."
The rod bent again.
Dad smiled.
"Come on..."
A few moments later, a small fish appeared near the surface.
Azim leaned forward.
"What is it?"
"Whiting, I think."
His father brought it closer and carefully removed the hook.
The fish was not particularly large, but Dad looked pleased.
"Not bad for the 1st catch."
Azim laughed.
"Congratulations."
"Thank you. Try to catch one yourself."
His father returned the fish to the water after checking it.
Azim watched it disappear beneath the surface.
Then he looked at his own fishing rod.
"All right. My turn."
He waited.
And waited.
Nothing happened.
His father sat beside him, enjoying the view.
After several minutes, Azim glanced towards him.
"Do you think there are any fish around my line?"
Dad did not look away from the water.
"Probably."
"Probably?"
"Could be."
Azim stared at him.
"That's helpful."
His father laughed.
"Patience, son."
Azim returned his attention to the line.
He could have used Observation Haki to understand more about his surroundings, but he resisted the temptation to turn a peaceful fishing trip into an opportunity to practise his abilities.
There was no need.
He did not need to know where every fish was.
He did not need to manipulate the water or use telekinesis to pull a fish towards the hook.
He wanted to catch one properly.
With a fishing rod.
Like everyone else.
The afternoon progressed quietly.
They talked about ordinary things.
His father's plans for leaving his regular work. His mother's dinner preparations. The possibility of looking at houses in Formby. The importance of keeping some money aside rather than spending everything as soon as it arrived.
At one point, Dad asked whether Azim wanted to continue his education alongside football.
Azim nodded.
"I still want to study."
"Sport science?"
"Something related to sport, fitness and coaching. Maybe through distance learning."
His father smiled.
"Then we should arrange it properly. You cannot be expected to attend university every day when you have football commitments."
"That's why I was thinking about part-time study."
"Good. You can speak to the club's education staff."
Azim looked towards the river.
"I don't want football to be the only thing I know."
Dad turned towards him.
"That is a good way to think."
Azim smiled.
He knew professional football could provide him with financial security, but he also understood how quickly a career could change.
An injury could take away months.
A change of manager could alter his playing time.
A club could decide to sell him.
He wanted something beyond the pitch.
Something that remained his, regardless of whether he was selected on Saturday.
His father seemed pleased with the answer.
"Keep that mindset."
A sudden movement disturbed Azim's fishing line.
He straightened.
"Dad."
Dad looked towards him.
"Yes?"
"My rod."
The line began moving.
Azim took the rod and carefully lifted it, feeling the tension through his hands.
His father smiled.
"Now. Don't rush it."
Azim adjusted his grip and began retrieving.
The fish resisted briefly before moving towards the surface.
A moment later, a whiting appeared.
Azim laughed.
"Got one!"
His father leaned over to help.
"Not bad."
Azim looked at the fish with satisfaction.
"Better than yours?"
"Don't get carried away."
They both laughed.
His father carefully removed the hook and returned the fish to the water.
Azim watched it disappear.
For a moment, he felt an unexpected sense of happiness.
It was such a small achievement.
No crowd.
No commentator.
No scoreboard.
Nobody knew he had caught anything.
And that was precisely what made it enjoyable.
Later, while his father prepared another line, Azim leaned back and glanced towards the river.
The conversation about money had settled something in his mind.
He had been thinking about the future, but perhaps he had been thinking about it in terms that were too simple.
He wanted to help his parents.
He wanted to buy a house.
He wanted financial security.
He wanted to become one of the best footballers in the world.
But none of those ambitions required him to spend money recklessly or rush into decisions.
He needed patience.
The same quality his father had been asking him to develop while fishing.
His attention drifted towards the system notification that had remained in the background of his thoughts since the previous evening.
He opened the One Piece System discreetly.
A familiar interface appeared before his eyes.
----
[One Piece System]
Host: Abdul Azim
Age: 18
Height: 190 cm
Weight: 90 kg
Title: Pirate
Pirate Crew Name: Liverpool Pirate
Current Fame: 41,935,845 / 10,000
Fame Conversion Rate: 10,000 Fame Points = 1 System Point
Total Spin: 9/100
Available Spin: 0
Daily Spin: +1 per day
System Points: 3,701
Status Window - Available Stat Points: 0
Strength: 5
Speed: 5
Endurance: 11
Constitution: 6
Control: 7
Willpower: 10
Skills - Available Skill Points: 0
Observation Haki: Level 5/100 - Awareness Range: 25 metres
Tere Tere no Mi: Level 6/100 - Effective Control Range: 60 metres
Multilingual Mastery: Level 1/10
Languages: English, Spanish, French, Portuguese, German
System Shop: Available
Inventory: Available
----
Azim looked at the Fame value.
41,935,845.
Yesterday's performance had attracted considerable attention. His 3 goals, the long-range strike, his movement against Van Dijk and the Liverpool victory had spread across football discussions.
The number was substantially higher than before.
He opened the conversion function.
Fame Conversion
41,935,845 Available Fame Points
System Points Received +4,193
Remaining Fame 5,845
System Points 3,701 -> 7,894
---
Azim smiled.
Almost 4,200 System Points from the conversion alone.
He had been saving his points for a while, and now he finally had enough to make a meaningful improvement.
He opened the System Shop.
His eyes moved towards the stat upgrades.
Speed.
He had spent much of yesterday moving across the pitch, pressing centre-backs, recovering towards midfield and accelerating into the channels.
His Endurance was already 11.
His Speed, however, remained at 5.
The difference was becoming noticeable.
He could maintain his work rate for a long period, but when he needed to accelerate over the first few metres, especially when attacking a defender's blind side, he wanted more.
He selected the speed upgrade.
A confirmation window appeared.
System Shop
+1 Available Stat Point
Purchase cost: 6,000 System Points
Current Balance 7,894 SP
Purchase Cost -6,000 SP
Remaining Balance 1,894 SP
Purchase Successful
+1 Stat Point
Available Stat Points: 1
---
He returned to the Status Window.
His eyes settled on Speed.
5.
He selected the stat and allocated his newly purchased point.
Stat Allocation
Speed
5 → 6
Available Stat Points: 1 -> 0
Azim studied the updated number.
Speed: 6.
It was only an increase of 1 point, but he felt satisfied.
Perhaps his first few steps would become more effective.
Perhaps his acceleration when making blind-side runs would improve.
Perhaps it would help him recover a loose ball before an opponent reached it.
There was only 1 way to find out.
He closed the Status Window.
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Azim?"
He looked up.
His father was holding a fishing rod.
"What?"
"You're supposed to be fishing, not staring at the river."
Azim blinked, then laughed.
"Sorry. I was thinking."
"About football?"
"Something like that."
Mr Malik shook his head.
"Come on, then. Let's see whether you can catch another one."
Azim picked up his rod.
"Challenge accepted."
By the time they packed their equipment, the afternoon had begun to grow colder.
The fishing had produced a few small catches, nothing extraordinary, but enough to make the trip worthwhile. His father seemed satisfied, particularly because Azim had managed to catch something himself.
They packed the rods and tackle into the bag before starting towards the car.
Azim glanced once more at the river.
The water continued moving beneath the grey sky.
He found himself imagining the house in Formby again.
A quiet place near the sea.
A home where his parents could visit whenever they wanted.
A garden where he could sit after training.
A place that belonged to him, not because of the football club, a contract or a sponsorship agreement, but because he had worked for it.
His father opened the car door.
"Coming?"
Azim smiled.
"Yes."
He climbed inside.
The return journey was filled with conversation about dinner.
His mother had promised something special, and Dad was already trying to guess what she had prepared.
Azim laughed as his father made several incorrect suggestions.
For once, there was no tactical board, no training schedule and no pressure to become better before the next match.
There was only the journey home.
Dinner that evening was warmer than usual.
His mother had prepared a generous meal, and the table was arranged with several dishes. She had clearly made an effort to turn an ordinary Monday into a small family celebration.
Mr Malik looked around as everybody settled.
"Before we eat, I want to say something."
Azim glanced at him.
His father raised his glass.
"Yesterday was a wonderful day for you. You scored 3 goals, Liverpool won and you received a very good response from the supporters. Today, you have received your first payment under the new contract."
He looked towards Azim.
"But I want you to remember something. Money is useful. Football is wonderful. Success is something to be proud of. But none of those things changes the fact that you are our son."
His mother nodded.
"And you still have to listen when I tell you to clean your room."
Azim laughed.
Dad smiled.
"Exactly."
Azim leaned back in his chair, smiling.