The morning of the match arrived wrapped in golden light.
In Munich, at his family's small apartment, the television flickered to life early.
Helena, Mateo's mother, was already seated in front of it, a steaming mug of coffee between her hands.His grandparents hovered nearby, anxious but smiling, all wearing small Bayern Munich scarves proudly.
The pre-match commentators spoke excitedly:
"Today, Bayern's U17 faces Ajax's promising academy squad in an international friendly.""Keep an eye on newcomer Mateo González Schwarz, who's been making waves since his recovery."
Helena's heart swelled with pride — and worry.
"Go, mi amor," she whispered.
"We're with you."
Elsewhere, in a quiet, sunlit room in Munich, Klara leaned forward on her bed, tablet in hand, earbuds in place.
Her green eyes were locked on the live stream.
As the camera panned over the Bayern players warming up, her breath caught when she spotted Mateo.
Focused.Sharp.Ready.
"You're going to shine today," she thought, smiling softly.
"I know it."
In the Netherlands, the stadium buzzed with electric energy.
Fans filled the seats, a sea of red and white for Ajax, sprinkled with patches of Bayern support.
Banners waved.Chants echoed.The scent of fresh turf and excitement was thick in the air.
Mateo stood in the tunnel with his teammates, heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.
Beside him, Lukas nudged him lightly.
"Nervous?" he asked with a grin.
Mateo smiled back, adrenaline lighting up his veins.
"A little.But mostly ready."
Ahead of them, the Ajax players shifted, bouncing on their toes, serious and sharp.
This was no casual game.
Both sides knew it.
Both sides craved it.
The referee gave the signal.
Slowly, the teams began their walk onto the field.
Bright lights.Cameras flashing.Thousands of eyes locked onto them.
Mateo inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of it —the stage he had dreamed of.
He walked forward, boots touching sacred ground, the roar of the crowd crashing like waves around him.
Above the stadium, the sun broke through the clouds, painting the field in dazzling gold.
It felt like a blessing.
It felt like a beginning.
The teams moved into their formations near the center circle.
There was no anthem, no ceremonial speeches —just the hum of expectation thick in the air.
Each player shook hands briefly with their opponents.
Quick, focused, professional.
Then, they took their positions.
The referee checked his watch.
The whistle hovered at his lips.
The ball rested perfectly still at the center spot.
And then —
The match began.