“We’re excited to see what you can do tomorrow,” the rep says as we finish the tour.
I nod, throwing on an easy, confident smile—the kind I use when I need to fake certainty. “Can’t wait,” I say. But my stomach tightens.
A few players linger near the entrance, their conversation halting as I approach. I recognize the moment—the subtle sizing up of a newcomer.
One of them, a tall woman with an easy, welcoming smile, steps forward first.
“Dylan, right? Welcome. I’m Ana.” She offers her hand, and I shake it, feeling some of the tension in my chest ease.
Not everyone is so quick to be friendly.
A second player, lean and sharp-eyed, watches me like she’s waiting to be impressed before she bothers saying much.
A third barely glances my way before muttering something to a teammate, her eyes flicking to my hair.
Awesome. Already standing out for the wrong reason.
One of them—a guy about my height, solid build, messy curls—grins as he nods toward my hair. “So, the hair—what’s the story?”
I knew this was coming.
I could play it off, say it was intentional. A statement. A power move.
But the truth?
It was an impulse. Something I did at home before I left, maybe to distract myself from nerves.
Instead of over-explaining, I shrug, keeping it casual. “Just felt like a change.”
No one pushes further, but I can tell some of them are already forming opinions.
Fine. Let them.
They’ll figure out soon enough—I’m not here to stand out for my hair. I’m here to win.
As I head toward my assigned locker, I glance back at the training field one more time.
Tomorrow, I prove I belong here.
No distractions.
No doubts.
No regrets.
That’s the plan, anyway.
But deep down, I have a feeling—this is just the beginning.