Football singularity-Chapter 722 Apex
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[2021-04-11, | Hahnwald Estate, Cologne | 13:30]
The home gym on the ground floor of the Hahnwald villa had seen plenty of use over the past twenty-four hours. Following the recovery session at the training ground, Rakim had come home with Simba and put himself through an additional private workout. They checked in with the club’s medical professionals every week, which allowed the trainer to tailor the training program more accurately.
The club was more than happy to carry the extra expense, which was reflected in tangible results. Forty minutes of resistance work, thirty of core, and a final fifteen on the stationary bike just to flush the lactic acid out completely. The man knew no mercy, demanding 120% in each exercise and adding punishment and rewards for each segment.
Though if one asked Rakim if he considered a plank or a wall sit a reward, he would likely punch you in the face. That was still better than press-ups, burpees, and battle rope exercises. Still, the muscular man could whip up a mean post-workout smoothie, which made all the exercises worth it.
By the time he stepped out of the ensuite shower adjoining the master bedroom, the afternoon sun was cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows in long golden strips across the hardwood floor. Steam trailed behind him as he crossed from the bathroom, a white towel knotted low around his waist, water still beading across his shoulders and running down the defined lines of his torso.
He grabbed the blow dryer from the vanity, leaning forward slightly as he worked it through his hair. The natural texture responded quickly—his tight curls lifting and separating as the warm air moved through them, forming the signature high shape that sat above his fade. Dark and dense at the roots, his hair had recovered from the dreadlocks and dyes of his early years.
The curls tightened toward the crown as the moisture left them. He worked a small amount of Jamaican black castor oil between his palms, pressing it through from root to tip before shaking the shape out loosely with his fingers. He was reaching for the edge oil along the vanity shelf when the bedroom door swung open without so much as a knock.
"Rakim, the Apex people are—" May stopped dead in the doorway.
She had clearly been moving in her own world, phone in one hand, answering a text, and, with the other, looking through a Christmas catalogue for an upcoming photoshoot. All of that momentum died the instant her deep green eyes landed on him—standing at the vanity in nothing but the towel, water still catching the light across the sharp outline of his abdomen, the V of his obliques disappearing beneath the white cotton.
A full two seconds passed before either of them found the right words to speak. "The—" she started, then stopped again, her eyes dropping involuntarily to the defined ridges of his core before snapping back up, hoping he hadn’t noticed. "The Apex representatives are downstairs. Professor Clara and her team. They’ve been here about ten minutes."
"Alright," Rakim said simply, reaching for the edge oil without breaking eye contact in the mirror.
May turned on her heel, pretending that the last four seconds had not occurred. She was almost through the door when she caught the slight curve of his lips in the mirror’s reflection. "I’ll tell them you’ll be down shortly," she said crisply, and then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her with just slightly more force than was necessary. Rakim set the edge oil down and allowed himself a quiet laugh before opening the wardrobe.
~~~
He chose a pair of Titan-Fit joggers in charcoal grey from the newer technical cut, tapered from the knee down. A fitted white tank top went over his shoulders, the fabric sitting close enough that the cut of his biceps and the breadth of his shoulders were evident without being performative. A pair of white socks and black Crocs finished the outfit as he resisted the urge to dive into his jewellery safe.
He ran a final hand through his curls to settle the shape before heading out of the room. The main staircase of the Hahnwald villa overlooked the living room below, ending just at the foyer. The living room consisted mainly of the wall-mounted TV and the sofa, as the open floor plan connected to the Kitchen.
At the kitchen Island three people, along with May, sat looking over the document the team had brought. Professor Clara Michle was a woman in her mid-forties, compact in stature, with sharp grey-blue eyes behind thin-framed glasses and her hair pulled into a practical knot at the back of her head. She wore a fitted Apex technical jacket over dark trousers, a lanyard with her credentials resting against her chest.
Flanking her were two younger members of her team—one holding a laptop, the other standing near the aluminium cases, both in attentive postures. Despite May trying to have a conversation with the two of them to loosen them up, they were wound up too tight. "Hello, guys, sorry for keeping you waiting," Rakim said the moment he reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Oh, not at all, Rakim. I know just how dedicated you are to training." Professor Clara responded, extending an elbow as he approached, her smile warm. "Thank you for having us. I know your schedule is demanding at the moment."
"Not a problem," he said, shaking it. "I’ve been looking forward to this."
"As have we." She gestured toward the table. "Shall we begin?"
He pulled out the chair across from her, next to May, and sat down, resting his forearms on the table. "Can I offer you guys a refill on your drink or something different. I think we also have snacks right in May?" He asked upon noticing the two assistants’ half-drunk cups.
"Uh, no, we’re fine, thank you," One of them barely managed to cough out, not at all expecting to suddenly be asked something. "yeah wer fine."
"Calm down, guys, it’s not a job interview, we’re all on the same side," Rakim said with a disarming smile as May stood up, heading for the fridge, not accepting their refusal. The two of them hardly hosted at their house, so when they did, she did her best.
Usually, it would entail her getting Rakim to help her set up or clean, bust and polish things, but since it was his moment, she seemed intent on making him comfortable as well. It took her but a moment to bring out a tray of snacks containing cut-up fruits with toothpicks and biscuits, placing them at the end of the table. Everyone’s cup was forcibly refilled before she settled back in her chair, handing Rakim a glass of lemon water.
Professor Clara waited until everyone had settled before nodding to the assistant with the laptop. "Alright, Mark," she said, businesslike now, though her tone still carried warmth. "Let’s get into why we’re here."
The assistant flipped the screen around, and the Apex interface bloomed to life—sleek black backgrounds, rotating 3D renders, data overlays sliding smoothly into place. Even from a distance, Rakim could tell this wasn’t a rushed mock-up.
"This," Clara continued, tapping the table lightly, "is the first functional prototype of your signature boot. The Titan-1." The screen zoomed in on the silhouette as the second assistant moved, playing two shoes in sholuxuriously packaged boxes on the table.
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To be Continued...
