Aston Villa had done it. Fourth place. Champions League qualification secured. Leon Fischer, the Premier League's top assist provider, should have felt nothing but pure, unadulterated peace.

Yet, as he sat alone in his spacious new garden, staring up at the vast, star-dusted sky, peace felt elusive.

He tried to quiet his mind, to simply breathe in the cool evening air, but it was impossible.

The media. His phone, usually a source of friendly banter from Byon or proud messages from his mom, was now a relentless torrent of notifications. Fan messages, hundreds of thousands of them, praising him, demanding more, analyzing his every move.

Pundits debated his future, his potential, his ability to sustain this level.

Miracle or Mirage? The headline from a sports column he'd glimpsed earlier echoed in his mind.

Can a teenager lead Aston Villa to glory against Europe's giants?

He recalled his mother's words, spoken just before the final match:

"One day, Mom, I will be the best player in the world. And I'm going to win the Champions League."

Then, those words had felt like a powerful, inspiring mantra. Now, they weighed him down, heavy with the burden of expectation.

He had achieved so much, so fast, that the bar had been raised impossibly high.

Could he truly do it? Could he become the best in the world? The creeping self-doubt, a new, unwelcome guest, began to whisper in his mind.

The memory of the final, desperate push for Champions League qualification, particularly the week leading up to the Chelsea match, was still vivid in Leon's mind. It had been a crucible, a true test of their resolve.

He remembered the tactical meeting with Coach Emery.

The air in the room had been thick with tension, a palpable sense of the immense stakes. Emery, usually calm, had been a figure of steely resolve, his eyes piercing each player.

"Lads," Emery's voice had cut through the silence, sharp and unyielding. "We are five points behind Tottenham. Chelsea are directly below us. They won't hand us fourth place. They will fight. They will scratch. They will claw. If we want the Champions League, if we want that anthem, that stage, you have to kill every ounce of doubt inside you."

Leon's 'sight' had been working overtime, picking up the internal thoughts of his teammates, the subtle shifts in their 'Current' ratings under pressure.

John McGinn (Current: 84), ever the joker, had tried to lighten the mood, a nervous chuckle escaping him.

"So, no easy ride then, gaffer? No chance they just... forfeit?" His thoughts, Leon saw, were a mix of 'nervous energy' and 'fierce determination'.

Ollie Watkins (Current: 86) sat rigidly, his usual predatory focus now tinged with a visible tremor. His thoughts were a frantic loop of 'goal-scoring opportunities missed', 'pressure to perform'. He was desperate to make the difference.

Emiliano Martínez (Current: 85), their goalkeeper, remained silent and stone-faced, his 'Current' radiating a quiet, almost cold resolve. His thoughts were a solid block of 'concentration', 'no mistakes'.

Leon had felt their gazes, subtle but undeniable, turning towards him. They looked at him as if he were their savior, the one with the magic touch, the one who could see the future. The weight of that expectation had pressed harder on his chest than any defender's tackle.

He was the 'Current: 84' player, the one who had unlocked impossible passes, scored audacious goals. They believed in him implicitly. And that belief, while inspiring, was also a crushing weight. He had to deliver. For them. For Villa. For the Champions League dream.

The media coverage during that period had been a relentless, suffocating blanket.

Every news channel, every newspaper, every social media feed was dominated by the race for fourth place. And Leon Fischer was at the center of it all.

TV Sports News - Pundit Debate:

"Leon Fischer: Miracle or Mirage?" the headline blared, flashing across the screen. "Can a teenager lead Aston Villa to glory against Chelsea's giants?"

The pundits debated heatedly. "He's phenomenal, no doubt," one argued. "But he's still a kid! Can he handle this kind of pressure? This is where the big boys play!"

Another countered, " He's already a big boy! His vision, his composure... he's built for this!"

"..."

"Villa's going to do it! Leon's going to take us there! I've never believed like this!" A young man, his face alight with fervent hope.

"Don't get your hopes up, mate. It's Chelsea. At Stamford Bridge. And a sixteen-year-old" An older, cynical voice, fueled by years of footballing disappointment.

"Fischer's good, but he's just one player! It's a team game! If the rest of them don't step up, it's over!" A woman, her brows furrowed with concern.

"He's got that something special though, hasn't he? That spark! You can just see it!" A hopeful voice, clinging to the magic.

Leon remembered seeing those clips, hearing those debates. The hope, the doubt, the division. It had all added to the immense pressure.

Now, sitting in his quiet garden, the Champions League dream was a reality. But the memory of that intense pressure, that creeping self-doubt, lingered. He had faced it, and he had conquered it.

But the "best in the world" quest felt even heavier. He had proven he could lead Villa to Europe. Now, he had to prove he could lead himself, and them, to the very top of the world.

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A/N: What did you think of this chapter? Let me know!