Coach Anders Larsson's POV
Coach Anders Larsson was the coach of the Malmo FF U-17s and he hadn't expected much from this scrimmage. The age gap between the U15s and his U17s wasn't enormous on paper, but the difference in physicality, experience, and sheer presence on the pitch usually made these kinds of matches predictable. A comfortable win.
Maybe the U15s would nick a single goal if they caught his boys sleeping, but it would never affect the outcome. That was the whole point of this session anyway. To give the younger ones a taste of higher-intensity football and to see how they coped under pressure from a team clearly stronger than them.
But by halftime, with the scoreboard reading two nil in favor of the U15s, Anders knew something was very wrong.
And it all came down to one boy.
His gaze kept drifting to the midfielder with black hair and striking gray eyes, the one dictating almost every sequence of play. Who is that kid? Anders thought, watching the boy glide across the pitch with a composure his own players lacked.
His boys had already recognized him as the heartbeat of the U15s and started closing in on him in pairs whenever he received the ball.
But even double-teaming him hadn't been enough. The boy danced out of pressure as though the game were slowed down just for him. Triple-teaming was out of the question. It would have been not only embarrassing for three U17 players to be assigned to one U15 player, but it was also tactically suicidal, as it would open holes across the field for the other U15s to exploit.
Anders exhaled heavily, frustration simmering. He had seen enough.
He walked across toward the opposite touchline, where the U15 coach, Mikael Svensson, stood calmly with his arms folded.
"Who the hell is that kid?" Anders demanded.
Mikael turned his head, eyebrows raised. "Which kid?"
"Stop playing with me. You know exactly who I'm talking about."
A short laugh escaped Mikael, the kind that suggested he'd been waiting for this question. "Alright, alright. His name is Sebastian Falk."
Anders repeated it under his breath, twice, tasting the syllables. "Sebastian Falk... Sebastian Falk..."
"Nope, doesn't ring a bell."
"Of course not," Mikael said, his lips curving into the faintest smile. "He's new. Just joined us a little over a month ago from the trials we held."
Anders blinked, the disbelief sharp in his tone. "So what you're telling me right now is that a kid who just joined this academy a little over a month ago is wreaking havoc on my team?"
"Pretty much," Mikael replied, still calm. "He's extremely talented."
Anders gave him a look. "Anyone with eyes can see that."
As if to underline the point, Sebastian suddenly flicked the ball through the legs of Oliver Stojanovic Fredin, one of Anders' midfielders, before collecting it effortlessly on the other side. The crowd on the sidelines gave a collective gasp.
Anders nodded slowly, jaw tightening, his mind already racing ahead. "Alright," he muttered.
I'm definitely advocating for him to be moved up to the U17s, he thought.
His eyes stayed fixed on the boy, who was already turning out of pressure and threading another perfect pass between the lines.
Definitely.
**********
Sebastian bent forward slightly, hands resting on his knees as he panted, sweat dripping down his forehead. Playing possession football against the U17s was exhausting. For one, it wasn't their usual style, and secondly, the older boys were relentless.
They pressed in zones, cut off passing lanes, and closed down on whoever received the ball with frightening speed. More than once, they had forced turnovers and snatched the ball away, and each time Sebastian had sprinted, tackled, or tracked back to help recover it.
Yet in the last eight minutes, the U17s were unable to attack.
Seventy percent possession. That was what he roughly guessed they had managed to hold, and it was because he had never stopped moving. He darted into spaces, offering himself as an outlet. He shielded the ball under pressure, turned away from challenges, and distributed with purpose. Every run, every touch, every decision pulled the U15s into rhythm.
And it had taken a toll. His chest heaved as if a weight was pressing down on it, his legs burned, and his mind felt strained from constantly scanning, thinking, and anticipating. But when he glanced around the pitch and saw the change in his teammates, he knew it was worth it.
The panic they had shown earlier was gone. His teammates no longer played with the fear of conceding, no longer rushed their passes or lost their shape. They were calmer, more assured. Confidence spread through them, and suddenly they looked like a team that belonged here.
The U17s, on the other hand, were not as fresh as they had been. When the U15s first committed to possession, the older boys had charged in with full force, pressing furiously, desperate to win the ball back quickly and reassert dominance.
They had managed to steal it a few times, but they had not been able to sustain it. The longer the U15s moved the ball, the more the U17s ran, and now their legs were heavier, their pressing slower.
Sebastian straightened up, drew in a deep breath, and wiped his arm across his face. If they were dictating the tempo now, then this was the moment to push harder.
It was time to kick it into a higher gear.
Sebastian cupped his hands around his mouth and called out to Martin. His teammate immediately understood, dropping closer to the back line to give the defenders an option. Sebastian pushed higher up the pitch, dragging his marker with him, while Martin began calling for the ball.
The pass came. Isak Redzic, the U17 striker, tried to cut Martin off, but Martin let the ball roll across his body, nudging it left with a fluid touch before turning without stopping. He was past Isak in an instant, running forward with the ball at his feet.
Victor Kristiansson, sitting in defensive midfield, sprinted toward him while Isak tracked back, but Martin did not hesitate. He slipped the ball forward toward Sebastian's path.
Sebastian accelerated, but Mattias Svanberg and Oliver Stojanovic Fredin shadowed him tightly, ready to swarm him the moment he touched the ball. Instead of taking it, Sebastian spread his stance, let the ball glide through his legs, and pivoted sharply to the left. The two midfielders froze for half a second, confused, as Sebastian darted beyond the halfway line.
The ball had already reached Felix on the wing. Felix wasted no time, sliding a perfectly weighted pass into Sebastian's new run. Sebastian angled slightly left as he charged forward, while Felix cut inside through the middle, keeping pace with the attack.
The U15s were suddenly surging.
Sebastian controlled the ball on the move, the sound of boots pounding behind him as the U17 midfielders scrambled back to defend. He drove down the left, closing in on the penalty area. Now it was him against Aron Már Brynjarsson in a one-on-one duel.
He feinted wider to the left, pulling Aron with him, then with a snap of his ankle he cut the ball across with the outside of his right boot. It zipped across the face of the defender, straight into Felix's stride on the opposite side.
Felix barely broke stride. He cushioned the ball with his right foot, set it up, then unleashed a strike toward the top right corner of the goal. The shot looked destined to hit the net, but Tobias Kristensson, the U17 keeper, threw himself across with brilliant reflexes, fingertips pushing the ball wide.
The crowd gasped. It was a corner.