The afternoon sun slanted low across the training complex, bathing the fields in warm, golden light.
The trial was over.
The adrenaline that had carried the boys through every sprint, every pass, every shot, was fading — leaving only exhaustion, raw nerves, and a single burning question in every heart:
Was it enough?
The players stood in three uneven rows in front of the coaching staff.
Some shuffled nervously, others tried to mask their tension by chatting casually.
But all of them —every single one —kept glancing toward the clipboard held tightly in the hands of the lead instructor.
The List.
On the sidelines, Coach Dietrich spoke quietly with his assistants, finalizing decisions.
They moved with cold efficiency — weighing performance, attitude, instinct, potential.
No emotion.No mercy.
Some boys had shown sparks, but not enough.
Some had crumbled under pressure.
A few had shone like flames in the darkness.
Now, the axe would fall.
Mateo stood in the middle row, his heart pounding so hard he could barely hear.
Sweat still clung to his forehead.His body ached from the match.
But none of that mattered now.
He clenched his fists tightly at his sides, forcing himself to stay calm.
"You gave everything," he reminded himself.
"Whatever happens, you didn't hold back."
But deep down, he knew:
He wanted this more than anything.
He needed it.
For himself.
For his family.
For the promise he had made years ago.
The lead instructor cleared his throat.
All conversation ceased instantly.
"First, we want to thank all of you for your effort today," he began, his voice formal, detached."You should be proud of reaching this stage."
A pause.
Then the clipboard was raised.
"The following players have been selected for final evaluation and enrollment into Bayern Munich's U17 program."
Mateo swallowed hard, sweat prickling at the back of his neck.
The names began.
"Nils Becker."
The tall defender from earlier stepped forward confidently, no surprise in his eyes.
"Leonhard Schmitt."
The nimble winger grinned and jogged forward.
The names continued.
One by one, boys were called — some Mateo recognized, others he barely remembered.
Each call felt like a drumbeat in his chest.
And then —
"Mateo González Schwarz."
For a second, he thought he had imagined it.
But then —the world snapped back into focus.
Heads turned.
Some boys looked surprised.Others nodded in quiet approval.
Mateo stepped forward, legs trembling slightly — but he held his head high.
Behind the coaches, Coach Dietrich's sharp gray eyes followed him silently, unreadable.
But there was a glint there —not approval yet.
Recognition.
The list finished quickly after that.
Only a fraction of the boys were chosen.
The rest — those who weren't called — were dismissed politely, some hiding tears, others walking away with stoic faces.
Dreams ended just like that.
Clean.Efficient.
German football didn't waste time.
The chosen players — Mateo among them — were instructed to stay for final paperwork, medical evaluations, and orientation into the academy program.
Tomorrow, their real journey would begin.
As the group was led toward the administrative offices, Mateo allowed himself a small smile.
He had made it.
Not because he was the strongest.
Not because he was the most polished.
But because, when it mattered, he had fought —for every inch, every breath, every second.
And he knew, deep inside, that his father was somewhere up there — smiling proudly.