The sun hung low over the pitch in Munich (Germany;Bavaria), casting long shadows that danced across the lush green field. The roar of the crowd was deafening, their voices a restless sea of chants, cheers, and nervous anticipation. With only seven minutes left on the clock, the scoreboard glowed with an even 2-2, and every pair of eyes in the stadium remained fixed on the players below, waiting to see who would emerge victorious and rise into the Bayernliga.

Alex stood near the center circle, panting. Sweat poured from his forehead, and the breath burned in his lungs. He looked up at the opposing goal and saw it as a distant fortress, guarded by a keeper that seemed invincible today. Two missed shots, and a perfect long pass he'd made—one that he had poured every ounce of hope into—had failed to bring them a goal. He always believed teamwork would see them through, that rising the ranks as a team was the greatest joy. But now, doubt gnawed at him, something new clawing to be heard from deep within.

"What if the way I played wasn't enough?" The thought throbbed in his mind, each repetition louder, more insistent. "Am I holding my friends and myself back? Do I have to play like a hungry striker—never having enough, never satisfied unless I devour every opportunity?"

The crowd seemed to fade away, and the noise became a distant hum. Suddenly, everything was clearer, sharper. He had to change. He had to become relentless.

He knew it now: if he wanted to be the best, he needed to tear through anything in his way, demolish the keeper, and take the goal for himself.

Alex's eyes narrowed as he focused on the ball, and he felt a surge of adrenaline. One of his teammates, Markus, received a loose pass and glanced up, finding Alex making a run, his arm raised. Markus sent the ball forward—a quick, low pass that skipped across the grass. It was all Alex needed.

He took off, his feet pounding against the pitch as he closed in on the defenders. They rushed towards him, two imposing figures in red jerseys, but Alex was no longer concerned about sharing the play or finding a safe pass. He was done with hesitation.

The first defender lunged, but Alex dipped his shoulder and nudged the ball through the guy's legs with a quick nutmeg, the crowd gasping in delight. Without breaking stride, he collected the ball on the other side, eyes already scanning the next obstacle—a second defender coming in hard from the left.

Alex shifted his weight, feinting left before dragging the ball sharply right with the outside of his boot, sending the defender stumbling, grasping at empty air. Alex's pace didn't falter; he was through, and now there was space—glorious, open space ahead.

The box loomed, the penalty arc a mere stride away. He could hear his teammates calling out, see a blur of blue jerseys to his right, but he ignored them. This was his moment, his chance to prove what he was capable of. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he drew closer, the opposing keeper now the only obstacle that remained.

The goalkeeper took a step forward, trying to cut the angle, his eyes locked onto Alex's feet. Alex kept his gaze forward, his mind racing through his options. He chopped in from the right, his right foot pulling the ball back, making it seem like he would shoot towards the far post. The keeper hesitated, shifting his weight left in anticipation.

'Got you.'

With a flick of his hips, Alex faked the shot left, and in the same breath, he shifted the ball to his right foot, drawing it back for the real strike. Time seemed to slow as he let loose, his right foot making perfect contact. He executed the knuckleball technique flawlessly—no spin, just raw power. The ball sailed forward, cutting through the air like a missile, swerving unpredictably before crashing into the top right corner of the net.

The net bulged with a satisfying swoosh, and for a split second, the entire stadium went silent.

Then came the eruption. The stands exploded in cheers, the noise echoing across the entire field. Alex stood still for a moment, the realization washing over him—he had done it. He had broken through. The sense of completeness, of utter satisfaction, filled him as the referee's whistle blew, signaling the end of the game.

Alex turned, his teammates rushing towards him, their faces alight with joy and disbelief. They piled onto him, ruffling his hair, shouting his name. But even amidst the celebration, a small, knowing smile tugged at his lips.

This wasn't just the end of the game—it was the beginning. He had awakened something within himself. The hunger, the drive, the unrelenting desire to push past every limit—this was what he needed. He knew now that to become the best, he had to be ruthless, to devour every opportunity, and to demolish every obstacle.

And today, that journey had truly begun.