The letter arrived on a Tuesday morning.
Ethan was eating breakfast before school when his mother placed the envelope in front of him. The seal was unmistakable—the French Football Federation logo embossed in blue.
"Open it," Aminata said, her voice trembling slightly with excitement.
Ethan's hands shook as he tore the envelope. Inside was an official letter, typed in formal French:
Dear Ethan Loki,
You have been selected to participate in a talent identification camp for the France U-16 National Team, to be held at Clairefontaine from February 10-15, 2014. This camp will assess players for potential inclusion in the national youth program.
Congratulations on this achievement.
Sincerely,Francis SmereckiTechnical Director, Youth National Teams
Ethan read it twice, then a third time to make sure it was real.
"I'm... I'm going to Clairefontaine," he whispered.
Moussa, who had been reading the newspaper, looked up. "The national training center?"
"They want me for the U-16 team." Ethan looked up at his parents. "I'm only fourteen. I won't even be fifteen until March."
"And yet they want you there," Aminata said, her eyes glistening with pride. "My son, playing for France."
Moussa stood and walked over, placing both hands on Ethan's shoulders. "This is a great honor. But remember—"
"I know, Papa. Stay humble. Work hard. Represent the family well."
"Exactly." Moussa smiled. "Now eat your breakfast. You still have school."
The news spread quickly through Monaco's academy.
"Clairefontaine!" Mbappé said when Ethan told him at training. "That's huge! I went there for the first time when I was thirteen. You're going at fourteen?"
"U-16 camp," Ethan explained. "Five days. They're evaluating players for the national youth setup."
"You're going to dominate," Mbappé said confidently. "Those kids won't know what hit them." He paused, his expression becoming more serious. "But listen, Clairefontaine is different from Monaco. It's not just about talent. They're looking at character, leadership, how you represent France. Be yourself, but be the best version of yourself."
A Monaco teammate who was training nearby joined the conversation. "Also, watch out for the politics. Some coaches have favorites from their regions. Some players have academy connections. You're an outsider in some ways—the Monaco prodigy everyone's heard about. People will either love you or want to see you fail."
"That's encouraging," Ethan said dryly.
"I'm serious," the teammate insisted. "Just stay focused on your game. Show them why you deserve to be there."
February 10th arrived faster than Ethan expected.
Clairefontaine was located about fifty kilometers southwest of Paris, nestled in forests and fields. The facility was legendary in French football—a place where players like Thierry Henry, Zinedine Zidane, and now Kylian Mbappé had honed their skills.
Aminata drove Ethan to the camp, the journey from Beausoleil filled with a mixture of excitement and nervous energy.
"Remember to call every night," she said as they pulled up to the entrance. "And eat properly. And—"
"Maman, I'll be fine," Ethan said, though he was grateful for her concern.
She cupped his face in her hands. "I know you will. You're special, mon fils. Not just because of your talent, but because of your heart. Show them both."
The U-16 camp had forty-five players from across France. They came from prestigious academies—Paris Saint-Germain, Lyon, Marseille, Lille, Bordeaux, Rennes—and represented the best young talent the country had to offer.
Ethan walked into the dormitory, carrying his bag, and immediately felt the stares.
"That's him," someone whispered. "The Monaco kid."
"He's small for fifteen."
"He's not even fifteen yet. Turns fifteen next month."
"Haven't you seen the videos? He's supposed to be unreal."
A stocky boy with sandy brown hair approached. "Ethan Loki?"
"Yeah."
"I'm Baptiste. PSG academy. Forward." He extended his hand, and Ethan shook it. "I've watched your highlights. You're really good."
"Thanks. You too." Ethan had done his research—Baptiste Renard was PSG's top U-16 scorer.
"Fair warning," Baptiste said, lowering his voice. "Some of the older kids—the ones who'll turn sixteen soon—are annoyed you're here. They think you're getting special treatment because of the hype."
"I'm just here to play football."
"Good answer." Baptiste grinned. "Want to room together? Might be good to have an ally."
Ethan agreed, relieved to have found at least one friendly face.
The coaching staff was led by Guy Ferrier, a former professional player known for his tactical intelligence and no-nonsense approach.
"Welcome to Clairefontaine," he announced as the forty-five players assembled in the main meeting room. "Over the next five days, we'll evaluate your technical ability, tactical understanding, physical attributes, and mental strength. Some of you will be invited to join the U-16 national squad. Most of you won't. That's the reality."
His eyes swept across the room. "We don't care about your club reputation. We don't care about your social media followers. We care about one thing: can you represent France at the highest level?"
Ethan felt the weight of those words. This wasn't just about being talented. This was about being worthy.
The first training session was a revelation.
The pace was blistering. Every player was technically gifted, fast, intelligent. This wasn't like dominating at Monaco's academy. Here, everyone was special.
During a possession drill—six versus six in a tight space—Ethan found himself challenged in ways he hadn't experienced before. Defenders anticipated his moves. Midfielders closed passing lanes quickly. The space he usually exploited simply didn't exist.
For the first fifteen minutes, he struggled.
Then he adjusted.
Think three moves ahead. Not just where the ball will be, but where the defenders think it will be.
He started playing simpler—one-touch passes, constant movement, using his vision to facilitate rather than dominate. And gradually, the game opened up for him.
In the thirty-second minute, he received the ball under pressure, flicked it around a defender with the outside of his boot—pure Lavinho—and created space for a teammate who finished clinically.
"Beautiful!" Coach Ferrier shouted. "That's intelligent play!"
By the end of the session, Ethan had found his rhythm. Two assists, one goal, and multiple key passes that broke defensive lines.
The evening brought the first real test of character.
In the dining hall, Ethan sat with Baptiste and a few other players. At a nearby table, a group of older boys were talking loudly, clearly trying to be overheard.
"Fourteen years old at a U-16 camp. What a joke."
"Probably has connections. Rich Monaco family pulling strings."
"Wait till tomorrow's physical tests. He'll get exposed."
Baptiste leaned toward Ethan. "Ignore them. They're just intimidated."
But one of the boys—a tall defender from Marseille named Julien—stood up and approached their table.
"Hey, Loki. Question for you."
Ethan looked up. "Yeah?"
"Why are you here? Seriously. You're fourteen. This is for sixteen-year-olds. Don't you think it's unfair that you're taking a spot from someone who's actually the right age?"
The dining hall quieted. Everyone was watching now.
Ethan thought about what Mbappé and Jardim had taught him. Stay calm. Stay confident. Let your football do the talking.
"I didn't ask to be invited," Ethan said evenly. "The FFF selected me. If you have a problem with that, talk to them. As for taking someone's spot—there are forty-five players here and they'll probably select twenty. If you're good enough, you'll make it. If not, that's on you, not me."
Julien's face reddened. "You think you're better than us?"
"I think I'm here for the same reason everyone else is—to represent France. If you want to compete, let's do it on the pitch. That's where it matters."
For a moment, tension hung in the air. Then Julien nodded slowly. "Alright. Fair enough. We'll see tomorrow."
He walked back to his table, and conversations gradually resumed.
Baptiste whistled low. "Handled like a pro."
"I'm just tired of the politics," Ethan said. "I want to play football."
"Then you're in the right place."
That night, Ethan called his mother as promised.
"How was the first day?" she asked.
"Challenging. Good. Intense." He paused. "Some kids don't think I should be here."
"And what do you think?"
"I think I earned my spot. And I'll prove it."
"That's my son." He could hear the pride in her voice. "Your father wants to talk to you."
Moussa came on the line. "Ethan. How are you holding up?"
"Good, Papa. It's harder than I expected, but I'm adjusting."
"Good. Remember what I always tell you—"
"Talent opens doors, character keeps them open."
"Exactly. Show them both." Moussa's voice was warm. "We're proud of you. Marie sends her love. Now get some rest. Big day tomorrow."
After hanging up, Ethan lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Through the window, he could see stars scattered across the dark sky.
Tomorrow would bring physical tests, tactical sessions, and more small-sided games. More opportunities to prove himself. More chances to show he belonged.
He thought three moves ahead.
First move: survive the camp without being overwhelmed.
Second move: impress enough to be selected for the U-16 national team.
Third move: become one of the youngest players ever to represent France at youth level.
Ambitious. Difficult. But possible.
Because Ethan Loki didn't just see the future.
He created it.
End of Chapter 11