The crowd exploded into cheers, the excitement spreading like a wave across the stands. Eric beamed, his heart swelling with pride as he watched his son, Franck, execute a flawless defensive maneuver. For a moment, the usual composed, dignified demeanor he maintained as a father and corporate executive disappeared. In this instant, he was just another proud fan. He leaped to his feet, clapping wildly, his voice booming with pride. "Yes! That's my boy!"
Beside him, Lena Weissbach chuckled softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement. She leaned over and gently said, "Uncle, pace yourself. The game has barely begun. You haven't watched him play in a while, but trust me, for Franck, this is just business as usual."
Eric, still basking in the thrill of the moment, laughed heartily. "Haha! If this is normal, Lena, I can't wait to see what's next!"
Anyone nearby, overhearing their conversation, might have been baffled by Lena's calm tone. Normal? To the crowd, what Franck had just done seemed nothing short of extraordinary, a superhuman effort, and the match had barely kicked off.
It wasn't just the students who were left in awe. Even the seasoned football journalists from German national television—veterans who had seen countless games—were momentarily stunned. Franck's standout moment in the game had them scribbling furiously in their notebooks, already crafting headlines.
Standing tall at over 1.9 meters, Franck had reacted in a flash, covering ground in seconds to intercept the opposing forward's shot. His timing was impeccable—he extended his leg with precision, cleanly blocking the strike and sending the ball flying clear of danger.
But it wasn't just his physicality that caught everyone's attention. It was the effortless way Franck moved, like he was always one step ahead, reading the play before it even unfolded. His calm, composed approach, coupled with his ability to deliver under pressure, made it clear—this was no fluke. It was the kind of defensive play that professionals would study on replay.
A cameraman positioned on the sideline zoomed in, eager to capture every frame in crisp, slow motion, hoping to immortalize Franck's impeccable timing and positioning. Meanwhile, the reporters exchanged excited remarks amongst themselves. One younger journalist, clearly impressed, couldn't hold back. "If Nesta had made that block, no one would think twice."
He paused after speaking, glancing up to gauge the reaction of his colleagues. To his surprise, many were staring back at him with raised eyebrows. Had he gone too far with the comparison?
Some of the older reporters rolled their eyes, exchanging knowing glances. Throwing in a legendary name like Nesta this early in the game? There was no topping that.
...
Elsewhere in the stands, two men had been closely observing Franck's every move. When they saw him execute that brilliant defensive play, they exchanged a brief glance, one that conveyed both understanding and quiet admiration.
One of them, an older man dressed in a casual blue jacket, adjusted his glasses and asked his companion, "This is your area of expertise. What's your take on him?"
The middle-aged man beside him chuckled, as if the answer was obvious. "You already know, don't you?"
The older man nodded thoughtfully, adjusting his glasses again, his gaze never leaving the field. "Albert's instincts are as sharp as ever. No surprise he recommended this kid. Franck is something special."
The older man in question was Albert Fischer, a renowned scout with a reputation for discovering top football talent. His companion, clearly comfortable in his presence, joked, "And your eye for talent isn't too bad either. Do you think people would stick with you for ten years if it wasn't? And if Franck hadn't chosen this path, the club wouldn't even think about letting him slip away."
Meanwhile, Franck's stunning defensive play had reinvigorated his entire team. Westphalian's defense felt rock solid, and that newfound confidence had quickly spread to their attacking players, who now surged forward with renewed purpose. It was clear the momentum had shifted, and Westphalian was seizing every opportunity to press their advantage.
As the match wore on, the coaches and players from the University of Hannover grew increasingly anxious. Coming into the game, they had planned to focus their efforts on Samuel Ndi Ebogo, expecting to target his weaker areas. But now, they found themselves completely overwhelmed by Westphalian University of Applied Sciences' relentless pressure. Their full-field press was suffocating, and Hannover had been pinned in their own half for over twenty minutes.
The defenders of the University of Hannover were becoming more desperate with each passing minute, glancing repeatedly at their coach for guidance. But even he seemed at a loss, visibly baffled by how quickly the game had slipped out of his control. His mind raced with doubts, Did I completely misread this team?
That moment of hesitation from Hannover's coach proved fatal. As doubt crept into the minds of his players, their physical responses lagged, and the once sturdy defensive line began to falter. Westphalian's relentless pressure was breaking them down, exposing gaps that had not existed earlier. It was only a matter of time before those cracks turned into opportunities.
Westphalian, on the other hand, was thriving on their momentum. Their players were fully energized, their sharp awareness of space and timing creating constant danger. It wasn't long before the right-back spotted a chance. Hannover's center-backs, stretched thin in their attempts to cover the width of the field, left just enough space in the center. Samuel Ndi Ebogo, Westphalian's lethal forward, timed his run to perfection, darting into the box at just the right moment.
The cross, low and curling with just enough spin, bypassed the first defender's outstretched leg and found Samuel, completely unmarked. The split-second hesitation from the defenders had cost them dearly. Samuel, seizing the moment, leaped powerfully and connected with the ball, sending it hurtling into the back of the net with precision and force.
It was Samuel's 15th goal of the season, and the roar from the stands was deafening. Westphalian University of Applied Sciences had taken the lead.
Off the field, the middle-aged man turned to his older companion, his expression thoughtful. "How about this striker? If you're interested, we could bring him in too."
The older man in glasses simply smiled, a knowing look on his face, but remained silent.
After Samuel Ndi Ebogo's goal, Westphalian did not let up. If anything, they pressed even harder, pushing Hannover University further onto the back foot. The opposition coach, now visibly frantic, barked orders from the touchline, urging his team to press forward in search of an equalizer. His instructions were sharp, but there was an air of desperation in his tone that his players couldn't ignore.
Despite their coach's demands, Hannover's forwards found themselves repeatedly thwarted by Franck Ndongo. One of the strikers, still shaken after missing his previous chance, approached Franck cautiously, unsure of his next move. Instead of attacking Franck directly, he tried a series of fake movements, hoping to throw Franck off balance.
But Franck didn't even flinch. The striker's flashy footwork was met with an air of calm indifference. With a single calculated step, Franck closed the gap, snatching the ball cleanly from his opponent's feet. The striker stumbled, caught off guard, and tumbled to the ground as Franck swiftly moved the ball forward.
Hannover's players scrambled to recover, but Westphalian was already transitioning into another attack. The ball moved upfield rapidly, and both of Hannover's center-backs knew they couldn't afford to give Samuel another chance. They rushed toward him, trying to close down his space before he could make another run.
But Franck, reading the game like a seasoned professional, spotted an even better option. Though Samuel had the speed and skill to break through, Franck saw the right flank wide open. No defender was within five meters of the winger.
Without hesitation, Franck launched a 30-meter pass, a perfectly placed ball that sailed over Hannover's defense and landed at the feet of the right-winger, bypassing all the chaos in the middle.
The older man in glasses, watching intently from the stands, couldn't hide his approval. A slow smile spread across his face as he turned to his companion. "Did you get that recorded?"
The middle-aged man nodded, clearly impressed. "Every second."
"Good," the older man said, nodding. "Let them know this young man is exactly what we're looking for. He's worth investing in."
The middle-aged man raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you coming with me to speak to the club directly? It would carry more weight if you told them yourself."
The older man chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Who said I'm just here to scout? This young man is talented, yes, but my main reason for being here is to catch up with old friends. You go on ahead—they'll know what I think soon enough."
As the game edged closer to half-time, Westphalian University of Applied Sciences held on to their 1-0 lead. Their coach, Norbert Elgert, had taken a pragmatic approach after gaining the advantage. His instructions were clear: slow down the pace, control possession, and force Hannover to make the first move. It was a strategic gamble, relying on patience and discipline to keep their opponents at bay.
The University of Hannover, sensing their vulnerability, returned from the break with a renewed sense of purpose. Their coach made several key adjustments, switching from a more balanced 4-4-2 to an attacking 4-3-3. The centerpiece of this change was a towering forward, nearly as tall as Franck, stationed upfront. He was flanked by two pacey wingers, both intent on exploiting Westphalian's flanks.
Their intentions were clear: they aimed to overwhelm Westphalian with speed and physicality, turning the match into a battle of pace and power. Their coach had come to a stark realization during the first half: a purely counterattacking approach wouldn't suffice against Westphalian's well-organized defense. This tactical shift was a sign of desperation, but also of hope.
Had Hannover approached the game this way from the start, they might have caused more problems for Westphalian. But now, it felt like they were playing catch-up, and Westphalian had already settled into their rhythm. Their calm, methodical passing, combined with intelligent ball circulation, made it difficult for Hannover to mount any sustained pressure. Small gaps began to appear in Hannover's defense, and Franck was quick to exploit those weaknesses.
Franck, ever aware of the changing dynamics, remained composed. He didn't rush into risky decisions. Instead of forcing a long pass to Samuel, he carefully spread the ball across the field, involving every player in the offensive build-up. His decision-making was precise, ensuring Westphalian kept control of the game, leaving Hannover with little chance to regain possession.
As the minutes ticked away, the clock became Westphalian's greatest ally. With Franck orchestrating every significant play, his calm influence was palpable. Hannover, growing more desperate with each passing second, couldn't find a way through. Their frustration mounted as Franck's presence in the game loomed large, forcing hesitation and mistakes. The pressure he applied on Hannover's defense was unmistakable—they knew that at any moment, he could deliver the killer pass.
The crowd, sensing the inevitability of Westphalian's victory, began to beat their drums in unison, the noise rising with every passing minute. Excitement rippled through the stands, as the final whistle approached.
And then, after four tense minutes of stoppage time, the referee blew his whistle. It was over. Westphalian University of Applied Sciences had won the National University Championship, showcasing an inspirational display of resilience, tactical brilliance, and sheer determination.
...
The entire school erupted into a wave of celebration. Students, professors, and supporters flooded onto the field, embracing the players with unrestrained joy. Franck's teammates were quick to lift him onto their shoulders, chanting his name with an energy that filled the stadium. His stellar performance had been the backbone of their victory, and now he stood at the center of their admiration.
Franck, trying to deflect the attention, laughed and called out, "Come on, guys, let me down! Throw Samuel up instead—he's the top scorer! He'll be mad if you don't give him his moment!"
Samuel, grinning from ear to ear, waded through the crowd and grabbed Franck's arm. "Bro, I wouldn't be top scorer without your assists. You're not getting down that easy!"
The laughter and cheers continued as Franck was hoisted into the air again, his teammates tossing him higher with each shout. The whole moment felt dreamlike—a culmination of the sweat and toil, the late nights spent honing his craft, and the relentless pursuit of excellence. Franck soaked in the moment, a sense of fulfillment washing over him as his teammates celebrated their triumph.
After the raucous celebration calmed, the award ceremony began. As team captain, Franck took his place at the front, standing proudly as the spotlight shifted toward him. A representative from the German Football Association's youth division stepped forward, handing him the gleaming championship trophy. The weight of the silver trophy in his hands felt solid and real, yet the moment still felt surreal.
He raised it high above his head, and the crowd erupted once more, their cheers echoing across the stadium. Cameras flashed in rapid succession, capturing the moment from every possible angle. German national television broadcasted the event live, and Franck's face was sure to be etched in the minds of viewers across the country. His performance had gone beyond mere defending—it was his leadership, his sharp decision-making, and his command over the game's tempo that had left an impression on everyone watching. Franck had shown that he was ready for the next level of competition.
Amid the noise and chaos, Franck remained grounded. He had always understood that this tournament was more than just a title—it was a gateway. Yet, despite all the accolades, he didn't fully grasp just how close he was to a life-altering opportunity.
As his teammates posed for photos and gave post-match interviews, Franck felt the weight of a gaze on him. Glancing toward the sidelines, he spotted the older man in glasses who had been observing him throughout the game. The man wasn't just any spectator—there was an undeniable sense of authority in the way he carried himself. Albert Fischer, whose reputation as a football scout was well-known, had clearly been watching Franck with great interest.
But before Franck could dwell on it, he was pulled back into the moment by his teammates. "Franck, come on! We're still celebrating!" Alain called out, wrapping his arm around Franck's shoulders and pulling him back into the heart of the team's festivities.
Franck smiled and allowed himself to enjoy the victory, the camaraderie, and the joy shared with his team. There would be time later to think about what came next.
But even in the midst of the celebration, in the back of his mind, Franck knew that this was just the beginning. The eyes of influential people were on him, and with his exceptional performance, bigger opportunities were bound to follow. He could feel it—something significant was on the horizon, and Franck was more than ready.