The Called

The cool evening breeze slipped through the streets of Paris as Paolo walked home. His gym bag hung over his right shoulder, earbuds in, cutting off the world. The sun was already low, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that clashed with the city’s usual chaos. He had just finished an intense boxing session. His muscles ached, heavy and sore—but he felt alive.

Boxing had been his passion for as long as he could remember. It all started the day his father took him to watch a training session. Paolo never liked violence. He hated fights. But that day, as he watched two boxers trading blows in the ring, something lit up inside him.

It wasn’t just two guys punching each other. He saw something else. A silent language. A tense dance. Every movement had purpose. Every dodge, every strike had rhythm and logic. It was a brutal, beautiful ballet. And in that moment, he knew exactly what he wanted—that. The tension. The control. The fire. Boxing wasn’t just a sport. It was art.

After the match, he turned to his father, eyes wide with excitement.

— Dad, I want to be a boxer.

His father smiled, surprised, maybe even a little amused.

— I knew you’d love it. If your mother’s okay with it, I’ll take you to every training.

That night, Paolo was overflowing with joy. His father bought him his first pair of gloves. He put them on the second they stepped out of the store and spent the whole walk home throwing punches in the air. When they got back, he ran to show them off to his mother.

— He’s only six… Isn’t that a bit violent for his age? she asked, a little worried.

— Haha, his father laughed. I just wanted to show him, but he fell in love with it. And I think it loves him back.

— What? What do you mean, it loves him back?

He pointed at Paolo. The boy was already shadowboxing in the living room, focused, repeating the three moves his father had shown him just minutes earlier. And he was doing them well. Too well.

— See? Boxing chose him too, his father said with quiet pride.

His mother sighed.

— Well… he looks happy. I guess I’m okay with it. But no competitions. I want him to live a peaceful life, with a calm job. No boxing career, understood?

She had barely finished her sentence when her husband raised his hands to be his son’s target.

— Come on, Paolo! One from the right, one from the left…

— Are you even listening to me? she called, pretending to be annoyed.

Father and son froze and turned around like two guilty kids.

— Oops… Paolo, your mom looks mad… We better run before she knocks us out, his dad said, laughing.

— Wait, Mom knows how to box? Paolo asked, eyes wide.

— Of course! She’s the strongest in the world.

— So cool! I want to train with Mom now! You go cook or she’ll knock you out! he shouted, running toward her.

— Hey! That’s not fair! his father grumbled from the kitchen.

His mother burst out laughing.

— He’s definitely his father’s son…

It was one of Paolo’s most precious memories of his dad before he disappeared.

Paolo was no longer the little boy who slipped on his boxing gloves with stars in his eyes. At seventeen, he had grown into a young man—athletic, shaped by years of training. His brown hair, always a bit messy, fell over his forehead. His green eyes noticed everything: movement, people’s moods, the little details others missed when they weren’t paying attention. His face showed the marks of hard work, but there was a calmness to it too. He had that quiet strength—the kind of presence that draws people in without making a sound.

That evening, as he stepped into the lobby of his building, he ran into Mr. Konaté. As usual, he was out walking his dog, an old Labrador named Brutus.

— Well, well, Paolo. Another late training session? he said with a warm smile.

Mr. Konaté was a fixture in the neighborhood. Retired for years, he had once been a journalist. He had known Paolo’s father well. More than that—he’d been one of his best friends. Paolo adored him. He saw him as an uncle, a confidant, a guide.

There was one story Mr. Konaté loved to tell: how Paolo’s dad once sprained his ankle “falling down the stairs.” Instead of going to the hospital, he leaned on Konaté’s shoulder and limped home. Konaté had helped him up to the apartment, calmed Paolo’s panicked mother, and swore it was nothing serious. Paolo treasured memories like that.

When his father disappeared, it was Mr. Konaté who stayed. Who showed up. Who stood firm. He took Paolo to the boxing club, told him stories of his father—the quiet kind of hero. He never missed a birthday. For Luca, Paolo’s younger brother, he played the role of a gentle grandfather, always showing up with a story or a small gift.

To Paolo, he was like a second father. And for Luca, who’d never known theirs, Mr. Konaté’s stories of “before” were sacred.

— I know you love boxing, Konaté said, studying him. But have you thought about taking a break? Your mom’s starting to think you moved into the gym.

Paolo shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.

— I had the whole year to hang out with my friends. Right now, I’m training for the amateur tournament. If I want to get selected, I’ve got to be serious.

— With your level, I wouldn’t be surprised if you won. He raised an eyebrow. But have you thought about your mom? She’s still against competitions. Want me to remind you what she always says? “Boxing is a hobby, not a future.”

He squinted and mimicked her voice perfectly, and Paolo burst out laughing.

— I know. I’m gonna talk to her tonight. And I was hoping maybe… you could help me convince her?

— Ahhh, Paolo… You know I can’t say no to you. But that’s not an easy mission you’ve chosen.

— I just want her to see that I’ve got a plan. I’m keeping my grades up, my teachers are backing me, and even if I win, I’m still finishing school. Nothing changes.

— Alright, Konaté said with a laugh. I’ll say a word or two to her tomorrow.

— Thanks, Uncle. You’re the best!

— Yeah, yeah, I know… Alright, I’m off. Brutus is starting to spin in circles.

He pushed the door open and called out:

— See you tomorrow, Mike Tyson!

— See you, king of the dog walks! Paolo called back with a grin.

Paolo walked toward the mailboxes with a smile on his face.

“If Monsieur Konaté is on board, then all is not lost,” he thought.

Opening the box, he found two letters. The first was a bill. The second, however, immediately caught his attention: it had his name on it.

“To Paolo Manfredi.”

He opened it, intrigued. At the top right was a logo of boxing gloves. He began to read:

⸻

Dear Mr. Paolo Manfredi,

The French Boxing Federation is pleased to invite you to an exclusive training camp in the United States during the month of July. This month-long camp will offer you the opportunity to train at a high level, participate in internal tournaments, meet boxing legends, and explore the country.

At the end of the camp, the most promising participants may receive a scholarship to continue their studies in France, in partnership with our federation.

We invite you to confirm your attendance by June 28th via the number at the bottom of this page.

We hope to count you among us. Best of luck with your preparation.

Sincerely,

Nicolas Tonas, President of the FFB.

⸻

Paolo stood frozen, the letter in his hands. He reread the words, his eyes wide, as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Then, suddenly, a bright smile spread across his face.

“What? An official invitation?!”

He read it again, his fingers slightly trembling.

A camp in the U.S… with boxing legends?!

His heart raced. Meeting champions. Training hard. Maybe even getting a scholarship… It was an incredible opportunity.

But then, a question arose.

Am I ready for this?

He thought of the hours of work, the sacrifices, the sweat left on the ring.

I’ll have to give everything .And then, another worry .How will I tell her?

He thought of his mother. She would definitely be worried. Hesitant. But if he really wanted to become a boxer, he had to go for it.

He took a deep breath, climbed the stairs, the letter still in his hand. When he reached the door, he paused for a moment.

Nothing is impossible for me, he reminded himself.

That was what his father had told him one day, right before his first fight, against an older opponent. He remembered it like it was yesterday.

He took a deep breath, turned the key, and entered.

Voices echoed from the living room. His mother’s… and two others he didn’t recognize.

He walked forward. In the living room, a woman and a man in black suits were sitting across from her. The woman, looking ordinary, spoke warmly. The man, a bit shorter, was making faces at Luca, his little brother, who was laughing out loud.

When Paolo entered, his mother smiled. Despite her forty years, she looked younger. Her blonde hair framed a soft, determined face, and her green eyes shone with a unique tenderness. To him, she was everything. With Luca, she was his family, his pillar.

She stood up:

— Ah, Paolo, you’re here. These people have some excellent news for you.

The woman in the suit turned her head toward him:

— Paolo Manfredi, that’s you, right?

He nodded.

— I’m from the French Boxing Federation. My name is Suzanne Couliot, and this is my colleague Alain Dupont.

She pointed to the letter in his hand:

— I see you’ve already received it. Perfect. Let’s get straight to the point. Alain, the documents.

The man pulled a stack of papers from a black briefcase and handed them to her. She placed them on the table with a pen.

— These are the necessary authorizations, including the one for leaving the country as a minor, she explained, speaking to his mother.

While his mother read, Paolo sat next to her.

— So? Do you agree? he asked, almost timidly.

She looked up:

— And what do you think?

— It’s crazy… but you always said you didn’t want me to compete. I thought you’d say no.

— That’s why you looked like that? she said, smiling.

The woman spoke up:

— Don’t worry, Paolo. We explained everything to her. This camp is for serious young people like you. And if you stand out, you could get a scholarship. A solid future, along with a passion.

His mother added:

— And you know what? Monsieur Konaté came to see me the other day. He talked about how committed you are, your late-night training. He told me how happy boxing makes you.

She paused:

— So yes, I hesitated. But when these two explained everything… I knew you’d be thrilled.

Paolo felt his heart warm. Once again, Monsieur Konaté had been looking out for him.

— So it’s a yes? he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

— Yes. But with a few conditions, she replied.

— What conditions?

— Have fun. Make friends. And most importantly, remember that boxing is a hobby. Don’t let your ranking define you.

Paolo smiled. Those conditions were perfect for him.

— You can count on me, Mom! I’m going to give it everything I’ve got!

The woman in the suit added:

— With your profile, you could already aim for the finalists.

Paolo answered her with a confident look.

— Alright. I’ll finish reading these and sign, his mother concluded.

Once the papers were signed, Suzanne handed Paolo a large brown envelope.

— All the details are in there. Departure is in two days. Make sure you read everything carefully.

— Thank you so much, Paolo said.

— Goodbye! the two agents called out as they left.

Paolo turned to his mother and hugged her tightly.

— Thanks, Mom.

— Go on, take a shower. I’ll cook you a good meal.

— Got it!

As he dashed off, a little voice called out:

— Paaaooolooo!

He turned around with a sigh.

— Luca, not now. I’m going to shower.

— Pff… what’s the point if you’re just gonna get dirty again tomorrow? his little brother replied.

— It’s so I don’t stink. Unlike you, he said with a wink.

— Heyyy! Mom, tell him I smell good!

— Of course you do, Luca, she said, trying not to laugh. Paolo, enough. Go wash up.

— I’m going!

After a hot shower and a hearty meal, Paolo headed upstairs to bed, completely drained. Lying on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. Despite the exhaustion, his mind was still buzzing. The invitation. The trip. The United States. His dream had just knocked on the door. And this time, he planned to swing it wide open.

He closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep, but after a few minutes, he gave up. A sigh escaped his lips. He grabbed his phone and typed into the group chat with his friends.

Paolo: Who’s up for a match? Can’t sleep at all.

Replies came in immediately.

Léo: Always ready, bro !

Sam: You wanna lose again or what ?

Yanis: Let’s go, I’m starting the match !

Paolo smiled, put on his headset, and turned on his console. Within seconds, he was back in the game universe, surrounded by his friends. An hour later, while they were waiting for the next match, Yanis brought the conversation back.

-By the way, Paolo, who were those people at your place earlier

Paolo stretched, his voice calm.

-Some guys from the boxing federation. They want me to do a summer camp in the States.

Silence, then chaos.

-What ?!

-Man, that’s huge !

-You’re so lucky !

-You’re gonna meet American fighters, that’s next level !

Paolo smiled at his friends’ excitement. It was just a camp. But the idea was starting to grow on him.

-We’ll see. But yeah, it could be a good experience.

They talked for a few more minutes, then fell back into their game.

At one point, Paolo leaned back in his chair, arms stretched, eyes fixed on his bed.

The envelope. He raised an eyebrow. He’d completely forgotten to open it.

-Hold up, guys, I’ll be right back.

He took off his headset, stood up, and grabbed the envelope. The paper was thick. Official. He opened it and scanned the letter. Everything looked normal. The invitation, the camp details, mention of a possible scholarship… Nothing strange.

But as he put the letter down, he heard a soft sound behind him, something had fallen onto his bed, curious, he picked it up. It was a dark metallic disk, smooth, a little larger than a coin. He frowned and turned it in his fingers, then, without warning, a blue light shot out.

A hologram.

Paolo jumped, his heartbeat accelerating.

A man appeared. Well-dressed, serious face, but a calm, almost warm voice. He gave a slight smile.

-Good evening, Mr. Paolo Manfredi.

Paolo froze, too shocked to speak.

-I have bad news. And good news.

His body tensed instantly.

-The bad news is… the invitation to the boxing camp is fake.

His stomach twisted. Fake? Then what was the letter? A prank? A trap?

-But the good news… is way better than any camp. And far more suited to your talent.

Paolo swallowed. This wasn’t some scam.

The man kept going, leaving no time to react.

-Let me introduce myself. My codename is Alfred Marat.

Paolo narrowed his eyes. Alfed Marat?

-I represent the Secret Order of the Elite. And I’m in charge of the Called.

The Called? Secret Order? It all sounded like some cheap sci-fi flick.

But the man wasn’t joking.

-A Called is a teenager like you—with a potential that cannot be ignored. Potential that, once awakened and sharpened, can serve all humanity. You’re one of them. You’ve been invited to join the Order to help protect the world’s balance.

Paolo’s heart pounded harder. It was like being hit by lightning. But he didn’t know if it was awe—or fear.

The man’s tone turned serious.

-But before becoming one of us, you’ll have to pass a series of trials. Some will be brutal. Some will leave a mark for life. I’m being honest with you.

He gave a slight smile.

“And I’m giving you a choice. But be careful… If you say yes and fail, you won’t go back to your old life. A little surprise will be waiting for you.”

He chuckled. Not evil. Just… like he knew curiosity was enough. Then his stare sharpened.

-Oh, and one more thing. If you want to know what happened to your father—this is your shot.

Paolo’s heart stopped for a second. His father ?

The man let a few seconds pass, then ended:

-You have until tomorrow to decide. If you accept, show up in two days. If you refuse, press the button on the disk. We’ll take care of the rest.

He paused, one last time.

-Goodbye… or farewell, Mr. Manfredi.

The hologram faded. Paolo sat alone in the dark, the disk still trembling in his hand. He didn’t move. The man’s words echoed again and again.

Called. Trials. The truth about his father.

It all felt impossible. And yet the weight in his stomach, the sweat on his neck, said otherwise. Nervous, Paolo put the disk and letter away in his drawer. The one where he kept the few things that mattered. Then he forced a laugh, slipped his headset back on, and said:

-Haha, nice one guys. You got me good.

But the voice in his headset was confused.

-What ? Paolo, what are you talking about ?

-We didn’t do anything, bro…

-What’s going on ?

The chill returned. Heavy. Real. He ripped off his headset, pulse racing.

This wasn’t a joke.

He stared at the open envelope on the floor. Something nagged at him. He bent down and felt inside. His fingers found a thin slip of paper ,two lines ,handwritten :

“Those who look at the surface miss the abyss.Meeting tomorrow. 6 p.m.”

And just below:

“Called are forbidden from speaking of their Calling to anyone—not parents, not friends. No exceptions.”

No signature. No explanation.

He read the message three more times, hoping to find some meaning.

There was none. Just a door. Open or shut.

He tucked the note and disk away and dropped onto his bed. Then he stood, grabbed a hoodie, and left the apartment quietly.

The night air hit like a slap. Cold. Sharp. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked. Paris wasn’t the same city it used to be. The buildings were taller now. Glass that drank sunlight. Walls covered in greenery. Ads floated in the air—bright, 3D, silent. Drones hummed above the Seine like lazy mosquitoes. The streets were too clean. Too quiet. The cars didn’t make a sound. Controlled by AIs. Only the ultra-rich or top-tier officials could still have human drivers. For the rest—automatic was law.

His grandfather told him all that. The old man was over 130 years old. One of the last to survive the War of Wars. A soldier sent abroad in the Marlis—the elite French forces. In exchange, he got the best postwar medical treatments. A reward given to a chosen few. He often talked about the world before.

“Louder, messier, better,” he said.

“You could get on a plane and see the world, son.”

Not anymore. Travel required clearance. Strict. Mostly for doctors, diplomats, or vital work. Tourism was dead. Paolo had always wanted to see more. Not just filtered images on State channels. So when he saw that camp invitation, he saw a way out. Even if tiny. His “athlete” status gave him special clearance. A small window to the outside. He stopped near a bridge. Watched the water. Silent.

Before the war, Paris had noise. Cars. Shouting. Life. Now the silence felt… enforced, like the city had been taught to whisper.

And him? Just a teenager? Not anymore.

He thought of the hologram. The man’s eyes. His father’s name.

There were answers out there. Maybe. But at what cost ? He clenched his jaw. Everything would change in two days. If he refused?

No. That question didn’t deserve to be asked. Not with his father in the balance.

He looked up at the sky. No clouds. Just the city lights, rising like they were trying to pierce whatever came next. He took a deep breath.

Tomorrow, he would answer.

After a restless night, Paolo opened his eyes, still clouded with doubt. He stayed in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. Maybe all of it had just been a dream, a hallucination. But no — on his desk, still there, the paper marked “ESO” stared back at him, a silent proof that everything had been real.He got up slowly. His decision was made. He was going to accept. Not because he trusted them, but because those people knew something about his father. And that — no one else in the world could offer him.

He packed his things calmly, without saying a word to his mother. She still believed it was just a boxing tournament, and that was for the best. She would’ve never accepted this story, she would’ve tried to stop him — and he didn’t have the strength to resist. Not this time.

That afternoon, he met up with his friends and told them he’d be away for a long tournament. They cheered him on, joked around, not suspecting a thing. Then he went home, headed to his room, and took out the sphere. The meeting was set for 6 p.m. It was 5:58.

Exactly at 6, a hologram appeared. It wasn’t the man from the day before — just a cold, simple interface: “Do you accept the invitation? ” Two icons at the bottom: « NO » on the left, «YES » on the right.

He took a breath, hesitated for a final second, then tapped «YES ».

The interface instantly changed: “Congratulations. You are now officially a Called. Tomorrow morning at 8 a.m., a vehicle will come pick you up. Take only the essentials. You might come back very soon… or not at all.”

A logo appeared: a diamond-shaped eye crossed by thin lines, with the letters ESO underneath. Then everything went dark.

He put the sphere in his bag, went downstairs, and had dinner with his mother and little brother, like nothing had happened. A normal conversation, a few laughs, a meal like any other. But he knew — tomorrow, everything would change.