The ink on your contract with your club was barely dry before reality set in: the pressure of top-flight football, and now that pressure was yours to carry too.
Your first training session left no room to ease in gently. The club's captain, a grizzled veteran who'd seen a dozen promising signings come and go, sized you up with the flat, appraising look of someone who'd learned not to get excited about potential until it proved itself on the pitch.
"Plenty of talent walks through that door," he said, tossing you a bib. "Not all of it works out. Depends what you do with it."
Beside him, a young winger your own age — clearly the dressing room's other rising talent, and just as clearly sizing you up as competition rather than a teammate — offered a handshake that felt more like a challenge than a welcome.
Twenty minutes into a small-sided training match, the moment arrived that would set the tone for how the rest of the squad read you. You collected the ball in space just outside the box, a teammate making a run in behind, completely unmarked. You also had a clear sight of goal yourself, tight but scoreable, exactly the kind of finish that would turn heads on your very first day.