The Next Big Thing
Chapter 137: First training with the team IV

Chapter 137: First training with the team IV

David had barely gotten the words out—barely expressed the burning need inside him to train—before Mohamed shut him down instantly.

"What are you talking about? Don’t you need your kit and boots?" Mohamed asked, giving him a deadpan look as if he couldn’t believe the nonsense coming out of David’s mouth.

It was like pouring cold water over David’s head—his excitement fizzled out immediately.

’Oh right. That’s why I was following him in the first place.’

Deflated, he let out a sigh and followed Mohamed to the kit room, his brief moment of pure enthusiasm now replaced with a quiet sense of embarrassment.

The room was surprisingly large, filled with shelves of neatly arranged boots, jerseys, socks, and training gear. The scent of new shoes mixed with the faint smell of fabric conditioner from freshly laundered kits.

Mohamed walked over to a workstation, grabbed a measuring tool, and motioned for David to sit.

"Alright, foot on here," Mohamed said, tapping the platform.

David placed his foot down as Mohamed carefully adjusted the tool, his expression turning serious for a moment as he took the measurement.

"Hmm... UK men’s size 9. Yeah, that sounds about right for a 16-year-old kid," he muttered to himself.

David smirked. "Kid? You do realize I’m taller than you, right?"

Mohamed rolled his eyes. "And? I’m older than you, that’s what matters. So, kid, put some respect on my name."

David snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever makes you sleep at night."

Mohamed finished measuring and walked over to the storage shelves, scanning the labels.

"Alright, what boots do you want? We have your size."

David didn’t even think twice. "Nike."

The moment the word left his mouth, Mohamed froze. Then, in a dramatic display, he turned to look at David like he had just confessed to committing a crime.

"Nike?!" he repeated, his voice filled with exaggerated horror. "Bro, what are you saying? It’s only Adidas here! They’re our sponsors!"

David blinked. "Ohhh..." he said slowly, realization dawning on him.

Mohamed shook his head. "You didn’t know that? Man, I didn’t know you were a Nike guy."

David shrugged. "Not really. I like whatever, honestly."

Mohamed clicked his tongue. "Fairs. Personally, I prefer Adidas."

He walked back to the shelves, pulling out a pair of boots before continuing. "I’ve been getting my dad to buy them for years, but he insists he doesn’t like the shoe business. Or sports in general."

David, who had been stretching his legs absentmindedly, stopped.

For a second, he thought he had misheard.

’Doesn’t like the shoe business?’

He frowned slightly, but then shook his head. ’He probably just means buying shoes for himself.’

Before he could ask, Mohamed returned and handed him a pair.

"Here, you can use these for now. But don’t worry, we should be able to get you a customized one soon, maybe in about two weeks."

David took them, nodding. "Thanks."

The moment he slid his foot into the boot, he could tell—this was different. It snugged around his foot perfectly, like it had been molded just for him. The support, the grip, the overall feel—it was leagues ahead of anything he had ever worn before.

"Damn," he muttered, flexing his toes inside the shoe.

Mohamed grinned. "Nice, huh? Told you Adidas was the way to go."

David chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. You win this round."

The clinic area was different from how he remembered it.

Before, it had just been a basic medical office, somewhere you went for minor injuries or check-ups. But now, as David walked in, he could tell—something had changed.

Everything looked more structured, more professional. The entire medical team was there, dressed in full protective gear. It was no longer just a simple doctor’s office; it felt like a full-scale operation.

David approached the reception desk, where a nurse glanced up.

"You here for testing?" she asked.

David nodded. "Yeah."

"Alright, take a seat. We’ll call you shortly."

A few minutes later, his name was called, and he was led to a testing station. A doctor in gloves and a face mask stood in front of him, holding a test swab.

"This will be a Rapid PCR test. We’ll take a sample from your nose and throat. It might feel a little uncomfortable, but it’ll be quick."

David nodded. "Got it."

The doctor tilted his chin up slightly. "Alright, stay still."

David barely had time to brace himself before the swab went up his nose. His eyes watered immediately, and he instinctively jerked back slightly.

"Whoa—"

"Almost done," the doctor assured him.

David clenched his fists, resisting the urge to move as the doctor finished up, then did the same for his throat.

"Alright, all done. Results should be ready in about 30 minutes. Wait outside."

David walked out, rubbing his nose slightly.

As he sat, waiting for the results, he found himself thinking about everything that had changed.

Something was different about Manchester United.

It wasn’t just the protocols, the increased professionalism, or the medical team’s seriousness.

It was the feeling.

It was like the entire club—the entire building—was waking up.

Like something big was coming.

Thirty minutes later, a staff member walked out with a clipboard.

"David Jones?"

David stood up.

"You’re all clear."

Relief washed over him, and immediately, he knew what he was going to do next.

Back to the weight room.

Return to the Weight Room

As David arrived, he spotted the same man from earlier.

The guy looked at him, waiting.

David simply said, "I’ve been tested. I’m clear."

The man glanced at him for a moment before giving a small nod and stepping aside, allowing him through.

David took a deep breath as he stepped into the weight room, taking it all in.

The equipment. The atmosphere. The faint echoes of clanking metal and heavy breathing from those who had been here earlier.

His lips curled into a grin.

’Now... it’s time to really begin.’

And for the first time in a long time, he felt ready.

I’m sorry this is rushed just wanted to get back to action.