Noah woke before dawn, long before the alarm was set to ring. The hotel room was silent except for Ali's light breathing from the other bed, the kind of calm that seemed impossible given what the day represented. Noah lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, his chest tight with a mix of nerves and anticipation.
Today was it—the first real test. Not just for him, but for the entire second-string squad. This wasn't the academy scrimmages or controlled training drills. This was a match that counted, against one of the toughest teams in the tournament, PSV Jong. The type of team that could expose every flaw, every hesitation, and make you regret stepping on the pitch unprepared.
He slid out of bed quietly, splashed cold water on his face, and leaned on the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. You asked for this, he reminded himself. You came here to grow. To stop hiding behind safe passes and safe decisions.
The console in his peripheral vision flickered faintly to life, as if it sensed his state of mind:
[Football Vision Console Activated]
Performance Context: High Stakes Match Detected
Motivation Surge: +2% Focus
It was a small boost, meaningless to anyone but him, but it felt like confirmation. He dried his face and stepped back into the room to change into his warm-up gear.
Downstairs, the team gathered in the dining hall for breakfast. It was quieter than usual; even the normally loud Ali barely said a word, chewing on toast with furrowed brows. Coach Vermeer walked between tables, calm but watchful. When he reached Noah, he placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes steady and deliberate.
"Good," Vermeer said. "Then hear me out—this match isn't about doubting yourself or hesitating. Trust your teammates, trust the work you've put in, and above all, trust yourself. You have what it takes, Noah. I wouldn't put you out there if I didn't believe it. Now go out and prove to yourself what I already know."
For a moment, Noah couldn't speak. His throat felt tight, the weight in his chest shifting into something else—not pressure, but belief. Someone trusted him, not just for his passing stats or training drills, but for who he was as a player and as a person.
"Thank you, coach," Noah finally managed, voice quieter than he intended.
Vermeer gave him a small, reassuring nod and moved on, but the words stayed with Noah long after.
The match venue was buzzing with energy. The Amsterdam Youth Cup logo was everywhere—on flags, on giant screens, on volunteers' shirts. Fans, scouts, and reporters crowded around entrances, some wearing PSV colors, others simply there to see the future of European football. Noah stepped off the bus and took a deep breath. The pitch stretched out like a green canvas, the stands already filling.
In the locker room, Vermeer went over the starting lineup. Noah would play as the central link in midfield, responsible for connecting the backline with the attack, but also tasked with something more subtle—setting the rhythm. "PSV presses hard," Vermeer said, pointing to the whiteboard. "Vos will come at you the moment you touch the ball. If you panic, they'll own the tempo. If you stay calm, if you trust what we've trained for, they'll overcommit and leave space behind."
Noah nodded silently, gripping the laces of his boots tighter. This wasn't just about playing safe or showing off a flashy pass. It was about trusting the people around him—and himself.
The warm-up felt like a blur. Passing drills, short sprints, rondos—everything was sharper, faster, filled with an edge that training never fully replicated. The PSV players warmed up on the opposite half, their red shirts popping against the green field. Daan Vos already looked locked in, shouting instructions during their rondo, while Sander Klein casually floated passes like it was nothing.
Noah jogged to the halfway line, glancing at the stands. Scouts were easy to spot—clipboard in hand, leaning forward, scanning every move like predators evaluating prey. His chest tightened for a moment, but he took one more deep breath and remembered Vermeer's words: Trust yourself. Trust them. Prove it to yourself.
The referee called both captains to the center circle for the coin toss. Noah wasn't captain, but he stood just behind Ajax's skipper, eyes locked on Vos. Their gazes met for just a moment, and Vos smirked—not arrogant, but confident, the kind of look that said welcome to real football.
The whistle blew.
Noah's first touch came within thirty seconds, a quick square pass from their defensive midfielder. Vos was on him immediately, charging like a predator sensing prey. Noah didn't retreat or pass backward—he rolled his foot over the ball, paused just enough for Vos to bite, and slid a weighted pass between two lines straight into Ali's feet.
The Console flickered again:
[Weighted Pass Execution – Speed: 39 km/h | Gap Clearance: 0.48m | Threat Level Reduced]
It wasn't flashy, but it felt right—controlled, intentional, confident. The crowd didn't cheer; it wasn't that kind of play. But inside, Noah felt the first crack in his nerves.
PSV, as expected, pressed high and hard. Vos covered ground like a machine, forcing hurried decisions from the backline. Klein dictated their possession, slowing things down when needed, speeding up when Ajax adjusted. It was chess at full speed, and Noah had to think two moves ahead with every touch.
By the 15th minute, sweat dripped down his neck, not from exhaustion but from focus. He intercepted a pass meant for Vos, spun away from a challenge, and delivered a perfectly timed ball down the flank to Ali. The attack ended with a blocked shot, but it was the first sign Ajax wasn't going to be bullied.
The half continued with back-and-forth battles, PSV trying to break through, Ajax holding firm, Noah gradually finding his rhythm. Every time he got the ball, the temptation to make the safe pass flickered—but he resisted, pushing forward instead, trusting his vision.
As the halftime whistle blew, the score remained 0–0, but Noah walked off with something he hadn't felt in a long time: belief.
He sat on the bench, sipping water, when Vermeer crouched in front of him again. "You feel it now, don't you?" the coach said quietly. "That's what happens when you trust yourself. Keep that belief. Keep it alive."
Noah nodded. It is mine, he thought. And I'm done playing scared.
The second half loomed, and so did opportunity.