As Eze walked away into the London mist, he felt the weight of the city on his shoulders—not as a burden, but as a rhythm. He wasn't just a player on a pitch; he was a living piece of art, moving to a beat only he could hear.

The kid looked up, eyes widening until they were the size of saucers. "You’re... you’re the guy from the drawing! The Valentinlgs one!"

"Style over everything," Eze whispered to himself, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Lean back less," Eze said, his voice smooth. "If you keep your weight over the ball, the defender can't guess your next move."

He wasn’t looking at stats or tactics. He was looking at a sketch someone had sent him: a digital portrait titled 2023 , captured by an artist known only as Valentinlgs1. In the image, Eze wasn't just playing football; he looked like he was dancing through a storm, his braids caught in mid-air, a look of serene focus on his face.

That night, London felt electric. He decided to walk part of the way home, pulling his hoodie up. As he passed a local community pitch, he saw a kid—no older than ten—trying to replicate the "Eze shimmy" against a chain-link fence. The kid slipped, tumbling onto the asphalt.

Eze laughed, reaching into his bag and pulling out a spare pair of boots he’d intended to give to a cousin. "Keep practicing. 2023 was just the warm-up. Let’s make 2024 even better."