The trial match kicked off under the relentless midday sun, with the red team, composed of substitutes, squaring off nervously against the blue team, the clear starters. Though it was only a practice match, the tension was palpable—particularly for Marcel. This trial was his one opportunity to prove he belonged in the squad, and every moment on the pitch was critical.
From the opening whistle, the blue team pressed high, their organization and experience evident in the way they seamlessly moved up the pitch. Their passes were clean, their movements synchronized, a sharp contrast to the red team's tentative approach. The substitutes were struggling to string together any meaningful possession, clearly unsettled by the blue team's relentless pressure.
In the early minutes, the ball rarely left the red team's half. Every pass they attempted was met with immediate pressure, especially from the blue team's number 9 striker, whose relentless pressing forced the red defenders into hurried, sometimes clumsy, decisions. The red team's striker, number 19, dropped deep to try and relieve the pressure, but every time he received the ball, the blue team's central defenders swarmed him, cutting off his options.
Desperate to maintain possession, number 19 laid the ball off quickly to the central midfielder, number 15, who was already under pressure from the blue team's high line. With little time to think, number 15 directed the ball left to the red team's left-back. But as the blue team's right winger quickly closed in, the left-back had no choice but to send the ball across to the center-back. The red team's defense was now merely shuffling the ball across the backline, each pass becoming riskier and more frantic under the intense pressure.
Marcel, stationed on the left wing, sensed the growing danger. The nervous energy of the backline, combined with the increasing frequency of poor passes, made it clear that they were teetering on the edge of losing the ball. Recognizing the need for an outlet, Marcel dropped deeper into the defensive line, calling out for the ball. His voice cut through the tension, and the right-back, with no other options, passed the ball back to the goalkeeper in a last-ditch attempt to relieve the pressure.
But the blue team's forwards bore down on the goalkeeper, giving him no time to think. With a rushed swing of his leg, the goalkeeper launched a long ball down the left side, hoping to clear the danger. The pass, however, was far from perfect—too fast, and at an awkward height for Marcel to control easily.
Eyes locked on the ball as it descended, Marcel prepared himself. The blue team's right winger, closing in at speed, was determined to win the ball. Marcel let the ball bounce once before reacting. With the flick of the outside of his right foot, he lifted the ball over the onrushing winger's head, leaving his opponent flat-footed as he spun around to collect the ball on the other side.
Now free on the left flank, Marcel's pace shifted into high gear. The blue team, momentarily caught off guard, scrambled to reorganize. Their right-back, known for his aggressive defending, rushed toward Marcel, but Marcel remained composed. With a subtle roll of the ball beneath the sole of his foot, Marcel baited the defender into lunging in, waiting for the perfect moment. As soon as the right-back committed, Marcel deftly chipped the ball over his head and darted past him to collect it again.
With the ball now at his feet just outside the penalty area, Marcel scanned the field. He had space, but he could see the blue team's defenders closing in rapidly. For a split second, he considered taking a curling shot toward the far post—he had the skill, and the angle was there. But as he glanced up again, he saw the red team's right winger standing completely unmarked on the opposite side of the pitch.
The defenders had been so focused on Marcel's run that they had neglected to cover the far side. A smile tugged at the corner of Marcel's mouth as he realized the opportunity that lay before him.
With a calculated move, Marcel began a series of quick body feints, shifting his weight left and right, making the defenders hesitate. The tall center-back, the same player who had doubted Marcel's place on the team earlier in the locker room, grew impatient. Frustrated by Marcel's composure, the center-back lunged forward in an attempt to dispossess him.
Marcel, anticipating the challenge, calmly rolled the ball between the defender's legs in a perfectly executed nutmeg, leaving the tall defender scrambling to turn around. By the time the defender realized what had happened, Marcel had already slipped past him, with open space ahead.
With two more defenders rushing to close him down from either side, Marcel knew he had just a second to make his move. Without missing a beat, he angled his body and used the outside of his right foot to deliver a perfect trivela pass, the ball bending around the defenders and gliding smoothly across the grass toward the far side of the penalty box.
The pass found the red team's right winger, who had been waiting in acres of space. With one quick touch, he controlled the ball and then unleashed a low shot, driving it toward the far post. The blue team's goalkeeper, who had already shifted his weight to cover the near post, was caught off guard. The ball slipped past him and nestled into the back of the net.
Against all odds, the red team had taken the lead, much to the surprise of the onlookers.
The right winger, overjoyed by the goal, sprinted toward Marcel with a grin stretching across his face. "What a pass!" he shouted, throwing his arms around Marcel. "That was amazing!"
Marcel, calm as ever, returned the smile. "Just keep finding the space," he replied, "and I'll keep feeding you the ball."
Despite the red team's sudden success, Marcel knew the game was far from over. The blue team wasn't going to let them hold onto the lead easily, and this was just the beginning of the challenge that lay ahead.
...
Despite the red team's surprising early goal, Marcel knew the blue team wouldn't let it slide. The starters, clearly rattled by the unexpected setback, quickly regrouped. They were a team full of experience and cohesion, and their response was swift and calculated. The blue team immediately cranked up the intensity, their midfielders pushing higher up the pitch, and the tempo of the game surged.
In the 12th minute, the blue team launched a dangerous attack. Their number 8, a composed and skillful playmaker, began to dictate the game from the middle, threading a perfectly weighted through ball between the red team's center-backs. The blue team's striker timed his run to perfection, bursting through on goal. For a brief moment, it looked like the equalizer was inevitable. The striker closed in, but the red team's goalkeeper reacted instantly, rushing off his line with cat-like reflexes to close down the angle. Throwing himself at the striker's feet in a brave dive, he managed to block the shot, deflecting the ball wide for a corner.
The blue team took the corner quickly, and the tall center-back, who had earlier been nutmegged by Marcel, rose high above the crowd to meet the ball. He powered a header toward goal, the force behind it clear to everyone watching. But once again, the red team's goalkeeper was equal to the task, pulling off a spectacular save, tipping the ball just over the bar. The blue team kept coming, relentless in their pursuit of an equalizer, and the red team found themselves pinned back, struggling to break out of their own half and maintain possession.
Despite the pressure, the red team managed to create moments of their own. In the 22nd minute, Marcel found himself in open space after receiving a well-aimed pass from the goalkeeper. Without hesitation, Marcel sprinted down the left flank, his pace leaving the blue team's right-back trailing. He cut inside with a deft touch, linking up with the central midfielder in a slick one-two combination. The striker, positioned just outside the box, received the final pass and unleashed a powerful shot. The ball swerved dangerously in the air, but narrowly missed the far post, leaving the red team wondering what could have been.
The blue team, undeterred by the close call, retaliated immediately. Their full-backs pushed high up the pitch, joining the attack and creating dangerous overlaps on both wings. The right-back, combining smoothly with his winger, whipped a low and fast cross into the penalty area. The blue team's striker, already lurking near the six-yard box, made a darting run to the near post. Just as he looked set to score, the red team's center-back made a heroic sliding block, sending the ball out for another corner, preventing a near-certain goal.
The resulting corner came in high and fast. Once again, the tall blue team center-back rose above everyone, his header thundering toward the goal. But the red team's goalkeeper was in the form of his life, making yet another acrobatic save to keep the scoreline at 1-0. His reflexes and timing were keeping the red team in the game, despite the mounting pressure.
In the 25th minute, however, the blue team's persistence finally bore fruit. Spotting a gap in the red team's defensive line, the blue team's defensive midfielder launched a precise long ball over the top. The striker, timing his run perfectly, slipped past the center-backs and raced toward goal. One-on-one with the goalkeeper, the striker calmly slotted the ball into the bottom corner, leveling the score at 1-1.
The red team, though shaken by the equalizer, refused to give in. Marcel, now growing into the game, took on more defensive duties, dropping deeper to support his teammates. His work rate was immense—he tracked back to make crucial interceptions and covered the left flank, ensuring the blue team couldn't find an easy route through their defense. Each time the blue team attacked, Marcel was quick to transition, leading counterattacks down the wing when the opportunity arose.
As the first half neared its conclusion, the blue team pressed even harder for a second goal. They dominated possession, their playmaker orchestrating every move with precision, switching the play from wing to wing, stretching the red team's defense. The red team, visibly fatigued from chasing the ball, hung on desperately, defending with all they had.
In the 40th minute, the red team managed to launch one final attack before the halftime whistle. A long diagonal pass from the right flank found Marcel in open space on the left. He controlled the ball effortlessly, facing off against the blue team's right-back, who was clearly fatigued from the high-intensity match. Sensing his moment, Marcel played a quick one-two with the central midfielder, darting past the right-back and receiving the return pass in stride.
With the ball at his feet and time running out in the first half, Marcel lined up a first-time volley. His eyes locked onto the top corner of the net, and he struck the ball cleanly, sending it rocketing toward goal. The stadium seemed to hold its breath as the ball soared through the air, only to crash against the crossbar with a resounding thud. It rebounded back into the penalty area, but before Marcel could react, the blue team's center-back cleared it long, setting up a rapid counterattack.
The clearance ignited a dangerous break for the blue team. Their striker, receiving the long ball on the run, muscled his way past the red team's last defender, leaving him sprawled on the ground. With the goalkeeper caught off his line, the striker remained composed and slotted the ball into the net, giving the blue team a 2-1 lead just moments before the halftime whistle.
Marcel stood in disbelief, hands on his hips, replaying the missed opportunity over and over in his mind. His perfectly executed volley had come so close to finding the back of the net, a goal that could have put the red team ahead. But now, instead of celebrating, they were trailing. The frustration gnawed at him as he walked back toward the center of the pitch, head hanging low. Every step felt heavier, weighed down by the pressure of the trial.
The whistle blew, signaling halftime. It was a momentary reprieve from the intensity of the first half, and Coach Emile called the players together, addressing both the red and blue teams. His voice was steady, cutting through the hum of conversation.
"Alright, listen up!" he started, his tone encouraging despite the red team's 2-1 deficit. "You're all doing well out there, but remember, this is about more than just the score. Marcel, you've been impressive. You've made great runs, got yourself an assist, and almost scored a fantastic goal. Don't beat yourself up about that last chance."
The coach's words were aimed at everyone, but his eyes rested on Marcel for a moment, offering reassurance. "Marcel, you did everything right. That volley was nearly perfect, and you combined well with your teammates. Inches away from leveling the score—that's football. Now shake it off, because the second half is yours to make a real impact."
Marcel nodded, the coach's confidence fueling his determination. "Yes, Coach," he replied, more resolute this time. The weight of that near miss still lingered, but Coach Emile's words had eased the sting.
As the players dispersed to rest briefly before the second half, Marcel swapped his red jersey for a blue one. This wasn't just about the change in colors—it was his move from playing with the substitutes to now joining the starters. The blue jersey represented a step up, but Marcel felt ready for it. He welcomed the challenge. After all, he knew that his ability was more than enough to handle playing with the U17 team's top players.
He was confident, not in an overbearing way, but because he understood the level of football he was capable of. This wasn't just about proving he could fit in; it was about showing why he could stand out.
As the whistle approached to signal the start of the second half, Marcel took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline surge through him. This was no time for hesitation. With the blue jersey on his back and a renewed sense of purpose, he knew exactly what needed to be done.
This was his moment to shine.
...
...
The second half kicked off with a palpable sense of anticipation. Marcel now donned the blue jersey, having made the switch from the substitutes' red team to the starters' blue team. The change felt symbolic—no longer the underdog, he was stepping up to prove he belonged among the elite. His heart thumped with excitement, his mind laser-focused on the opportunity ahead. Playing alongside the starters was more than just a privilege; it was his moment to shine, to dominate the pitch, and to cement his place in the team.
The scoreboard showed 2-1 in favor of the blue team as they returned to the field. Marcel had been the standout for the red team in the first half, delivering a crucial assist that kept them competitive. Now, surrounded by more skilled teammates, his ambitions sharpened. He wasn't just here to participate; he was here to lead, to control the game, and to ensure the blue team's victory was undeniable.
From the moment the whistle blew, the blue team imposed their rhythm on the match. Their play was fluid and confident, a stark contrast to the red team's frantic attempts to close down space. The central midfielder for the blue team—a composed, tactical genius—took command of the tempo. With graceful efficiency, he orchestrated the flow of the game, pinging the ball across the pitch, from left to right, probing for weaknesses in the red team's defense. His passes were crisp and precise, like the stroke of a master painter adding the final touches to a masterpiece.
Then came the 48th minute. The ball was swiftly switched to Marcel, who had positioned himself out wide on the left wing. A subtle murmur stirred from the sidelines, as those watching sensed something was about to unfold. Marcel now faced a familiar figure—the red team's right-back—who had been his teammate in the first half but was now an opponent. The defender, well aware of Marcel's skill, approached cautiously, uncertainty etched across his face as he braced for the duel that was about to begin.
Marcel slowed his pace, eyes locked on the defender. It was a game of patience, of reading his opponent's body language. The right-back hesitated, waiting for a move. Marcel, sensing his opportunity, executed a rapid step-over, followed by a sudden body feint. It was subtle, but enough. The defender blinked—just for a moment—but in that split second, Marcel exploded into action, darting past him with a burst of speed that left the defender flat-footed.
As Marcel charged down the left flank, the penalty box loomed closer. The red team's defense scrambled to close him down, but Marcel remained calm under pressure. Instead of going for a shot, he opted for a more calculated approach, whipping in a driven cross with the outside of his right foot. The ball curled wickedly, bypassing the defenders and finding the blue team's striker, who had anticipated the delivery perfectly. Timing his run with precision, the striker lunged forward, sliding in to meet the ball with a thunderous strike that left the goalkeeper helpless. The net bulged—3-1.
A brief smile curled Marcel's lips as his teammates rushed to celebrate the goal. He knew he had made the difference, had shifted the game further in the blue team's favor. On the sidelines, his mother, Francine, clapped enthusiastically, her face radiant with pride. She might not understand every technical aspect of football, but she didn't need to—her son was dazzling, and that was all that mattered.
The blue team, now riding the wave of momentum, pressed their advantage. The red team, desperate to fight back, found themselves overrun by the relentless skill and pace of the blue team. Each time the red team tried to push forward, their efforts were stifled as the blue team swiftly regained possession. Their midfield, controlled by the same central maestro, was a fortress, dictating every movement, every phase of the game.
By the 55th minute, Marcel was fully locked into the rhythm of the match. His every touch seemed more confident, his decisions more instinctive. Receiving a pass from the blue team's midfield general, he found himself facing the same right-back once again. This time, Marcel opted for a different approach. With a quick double touch, he nudged the ball past the defender's right foot, his body moving in sync with the ball's momentum. The defender barely had time to react before Marcel was gone, accelerating away with effortless grace.
Cutting inside, Marcel glided past another defender with a slick drag-back, creating just enough space for a shot. He unleashed a vicious strike, aiming for the far post. The red team's goalkeeper sprang into action, diving acrobatically to his left. At full stretch, his fingertips managed to graze the ball, tipping it just over the bar. The crowd buzzed with appreciation, acknowledging the brilliance of Marcel's play.
As the game intensified, the red team fought desperately to regain control. In the 60th minute, they managed to break free on a counterattack, winning the ball in midfield and launching a swift offensive. Their striker latched onto a perfectly weighted through ball and tore toward the blue team's goal, his eyes fixed on the target. Marcel, tracking back with relentless determination, sprinted across the pitch. Just as the striker pulled back to shoot, Marcel slid in with a perfectly timed tackle, cleanly taking the ball and thwarting the attack. The crowd roared in approval, impressed by his defensive commitment.
The match continued to escalate in intensity, but the blue team remained composed, their dominance growing with each passing minute.
In the 68th minute, the blue team executed a spellbinding sequence of passes, moving the ball with speed and precision. The red team could do little more than chase shadows, struggling to get a touch on the ball. The sequence ended when the ball found its way to Marcel once again on the left wing. Two defenders converged on him, determined not to be beaten again. But Marcel had other ideas.
With a deft flick of his foot, Marcel expertly slipped the ball between the legs of the first defender—a cheeky nutmeg that left his opponent off-balance and grasping at thin air. The crowd gasped, sensing the brilliance in that moment. The second defender, desperate to stop him, lunged in recklessly. But Marcel, always a step ahead, performed a flawless Marseille turn, spinning gracefully as if the ball was an extension of himself, evading the challenge with ease. Now clear of both defenders, he found himself one-on-one with the goalkeeper. Eyes locked on the target, Marcel stayed composed, his movements precise and measured. With an effortless stroke, he calmly placed the ball into the bottom corner, the net rippling as the blue team surged to a commanding 4-1 lead.
From the sidelines, Francine waved excitedly, her heart swelling with pride. She might not know every football term, but she knew brilliance when she saw it—her son had just scored a goal that would be talked about long after the final whistle.
…
…
On the sidelines, Coach Emile and his assistants watched intently, their eyes following Marcel's every move. Emile leaned in toward his staff, his gaze never wavering from the young player.
"The kid's a genius," Emile remarked, his voice filled with admiration. "He's got the vision, the dribbling, the decision-making. He's reading the game better than players a couple of years older than him. It's like the game slows down for him."
One of the assistants, arms crossed, nodded in agreement. "We can use him as our main outlet in the wide areas during the Brasseries Tournament. His ability to play on both wings gives us a serious edge. Defenders won't know what to expect—he can cut in or go wide. His unpredictability makes him a real weapon."
Emile allowed himself a satisfied smile. "He's definitely in the squad. With him, we've got a real shot at going deep in the tournament. His creativity could be the difference-maker."
The assistants exchanged knowing glances, each of them recognizing the potential Marcel had to elevate the team. The Brasseries Tournament was just around the corner, and with Marcel in their ranks, the possibilities seemed limitless.
…
…
By the 75th minute, the blue team was in complete control, executing a blistering attacking move that epitomized their dominance. The ball moved fluidly from the back, passed with precision through the midfield, before finding its way to Marcel on the edge of the box. Marcel, with his head up, scanned the field and quickly spotted the blue team's right winger making a perfectly timed late run into the penalty area.
Rather than opting for glory and shooting himself, Marcel showcased his unselfishness and vision. With a deft touch, he sent a low, driven cross skimming across the face of goal, cutting through the red team's defense. The winger, arriving at full speed, met the ball perfectly with a one-touch finish, slotting it neatly beyond the goalkeeper's reach. The scoreline now stood at 5-1, and the blue team's dominance was undeniable.
From the sidelines, Francine's applause rang out once more, her pride swelling with every contribution Marcel made. She might not grasp every technical detail of the game, but she could feel the brilliance her son was displaying.
As the match wound down, the intensity hadn't diminished, especially for Marcel. In the 89th minute, deep within his own half, he seized an opportunity to turn defense into attack. Picking up the ball near the touchline, Marcel launched forward with a burst of energy, driving through the red team's midfield. His feet moved in a mesmerizing blur, executing a series of stepovers that left the opposition flustered. One defender, desperate to halt his progress, lunged in recklessly. But Marcel was already a step ahead, lifting the ball gracefully over the defender's outstretched leg with a delicate flick, leaving him behind in a cloud of dust.
With the penalty area now in sight, only one defender stood between Marcel and another moment of brilliance. The defender braced himself, but Marcel was too clever, selling him a shoulder drop before cutting inside with precision. He now found himself one-on-one with the goalkeeper, who rushed out to close him down. Calm under pressure, Marcel responded with pure class, chipping the ball gently over the onrushing keeper, watching as it sailed into the net to make it 6-1.
As the final whistle blew, the blue team erupted in celebration. Marcel was quickly surrounded by his teammates, their hands clapping him on the back, congratulating him for an extraordinary performance that had turned the match into a showcase of his talent.
…
…
As the players gathered in the center of the field, even Jean-Pierre Mvondo, the tall defender who had been skeptical earlier, approached Marcel with an unexpected smile. The defender extended his hand, his previous doubts clearly dispelled.
"You're good, Marcel. With you on the team, we can do some real damage in the tournament," Jean-Pierre admitted, his voice filled with newfound respect. "Sorry for doubting you earlier."
Marcel grinned and shook his hand firmly. "No worries, Jean-Pierre. We'll make a great team."
The air of camaraderie settled over the group, and as Coach Emile gathered all the players together, the tone became more official. His voice was firm but full of praise. "Great job today, everyone. I'm proud of the effort you put in, but special mention has to go to Marcel. Welcome to Dragons FC Yaoundé, Marcel. You've earned your place."
The team cheered lightly, and Marcel couldn't help but feel a wave of pride wash over him. This was his moment, but Emile wasn't finished.
"We'll be training hard this week," the coach continued, his tone now more serious, "because we've got the Brasseries Football Academy Tournament coming up, and we've drawn a tough group. We're in Group A with Brasseries Football Academy, Canon Yaoundé U17, and Union Douala U17. These are no small teams, so we'll need to be at our best."
The players nodded in agreement, their expressions reflecting a mix of excitement and determination. The challenge of facing some of the top U17 teams was not lost on any of them.
Coach Emile then added, "And one last thing. Marcel here is only 14, making him the youngest player in the squad. The rest of you are 16 or 17, so don't let him outshine you in training!"
The players burst into laughter, but there was no mistaking the respect they now held for the younger player. Marcel had proven himself, and his age had become just another badge of honor rather than a limitation.
After the match, Coach Emile made his way to the sidelines where Francine stood, beaming with pride.
"Mrs. Ndonga," Emile said, smiling warmly, "your son is something special. We're bringing him into the team immediately. He'll start training with us this week. I have no doubt that he's got a bright future ahead of him."
Francine, her heart full, returned the smile. "Thank you, Coach. I'm so proud of him. I know he's been waiting for this."
As Marcel and Francine left the field together, she couldn't contain her pride any longer. She pulled her son into a tight hug. "You were incredible today, Marcel. I might not have understood everything that happened on the field, but I knew when you made things happen. I'm so proud of you."
Marcel smiled, the warmth of his mother's embrace making the moment even sweeter. He had taken a huge step toward his dream. "Thanks, Mom," he said, hugging her back. "Let's go home and celebrate."
And with that, they walked off the field together, the sun setting on a day that had brought Marcel one step closer to his future.