Fame in Romanian football was one thing. International attention was something else entirely.
By Monday morning,
Andrei's derby goal had been viewed three million times on social media.
European football accounts featured it in their highlight reels. Scouts from Serie A, Bundesliga, and Premier League clubs were suddenly regular visitors to FCSB training sessions.
Victor Becali, the agent, called again. "We need to talk, Andrei. Now. While you're hot."
Elena helped him research agents, spending hours going through contracts, reputation, client lists.
They settled on Cătălin Sarmale, a younger agent who specialized in helping Romanian players move abroad without getting exploited.
The meeting took place at a café in Herastrau Park.
Sarmale was forty, sharp-dressed, spoke five languages, and came with references from players Andrei actually trusted.
"Let me be direct," Sarmale said after ordering espresso. "You're having a moment. The derby goal put you on the map. But moments fade fast if you don't capitalize.
We need to think strategically."
"What does that mean?" Andrei asked.
"It means we position you correctly. You're too young for a huge move—going to Inter Milan's bench at eighteen would destroy your development. But we can start building relationships.
Get you in front of the right people. When the right offer comes at the right time, you'll be ready."
Elena, who'd come as an advisor, leaned forward. "What's your commission structure?"
"Ten percent on transfers and salary. Industry standard."
"Industry standard for agents who do actual work," Elena countered. "Some agents take fifteen or twenty and provide nothing. What value do you add?"
Sarmale smiled, appreciating the challenge. "I have relationships at clubs across Europe. I understand contract law in multiple jurisdictions.
And I'll never push you into a move that's wrong for your career just to get paid." He looked at Andrei. "I'll continue from where we left off:
I'll never push you into a move that's wrong for your career just to get paid." He looked at Andrei. "Your development comes first. Always. Because a successful client at 25 is worth more than a rushed transfer at 19."
Andrei glanced at Elena, who gave a slight nod.
"Okay," Andrei said. "Let's work together."
They signed papers. Andrei now had professional representation.
Another step into the world of big-time football.
Training intensity increased.
Dică knew European clubs were watching, and he pushed Andrei harder than ever. The system tracked everything:
Training Load: High
Fatigue: 73%
Injury Risk: Elevated
Recommendation: Rest required
But there was no rest. FCSB had league matches, cup matches, and a crucial Europa Conference League knockout round approaching.
In Romanian football, you played through exhaustion or someone else took your place.
The physical toll showed. In a league match against FC Argeș, Andrei's usually sharp first touch deserted him.
He misplaced passes, arrived late to challenges, looked a step slow.
Match Rating: 5.8/10
Pass Accuracy: 71% (well below average)
Duels Won: 3/9
FCSB won 2-0, but Andrei contributed little. After the match, his phone exploded with criticism on social media. One goal doesn't make you special. Overrated kid. Back to Iași.
Elena found him that evening at his apartment, staring at his phone.
"Stop reading that garbage," she said, taking the phone from his hands.
"They're right, though. I was terrible today."
"You were tired. There's a difference." She sat beside him. "Andrei, you're eighteen years old playing professional football at the highest Romanian level while clubs from Italy are watching. You're allowed to have an off day."
"The system says my injury risk is elevated."
Elena paused. "The system?"
Andrei froze. He'd never told her about it—the impossible display that tracked his every attribute, every improvement, every statistical change.
How could he explain something that sounded like madness?
"Just something I... track. My own stats." He recovered quickly. "Trying to be analytical about my performance."
Elena studied him for a long moment, journalist instincts clearly sensing something more. But she let it go.
"Whatever system you're using, it's right about one thing—you need rest. Real rest. Not just a day off, but actual recovery."
"I can't. We have Cluj away this weekend, then Conference League."
"You're going to break down, Andrei. Your body isn't a machine."
But he felt like one sometimes, caught between the system's tracking and the relentless demands of professional football.
The match against CFR Cluj was brutal. Cluj was the league powerhouse, the team everyone chased. Playing at their stadium in Cluj-Napoca meant facing hostile fans and a team that knew how to win.
CFR Cluj Starting XI (4-3-3):
GK: Simone Scuffet
DEF: Camora, Yuri, Karlo Muhar, Cristian Manea
MID: Bismarck Adjei-Boateng, Lovro Cvek, Ciprian Deac
ATT: Emmanuel Yeboah, Daniel Bîrligea, Jefte Betancor
FCSB Starting XI:
GK: Andrei Vlad
DEF: Valentin Crețu, Joyskim Dawa, Ionuț Panțîru, Risto Radunović
MID: Darius Olaru, Mihai Pintilii
ATT: Florinel Coman, Constantin Budescu, Andrei Luca
ST: Florin Tănase
From kickoff, Cluj dominated possession. Their Ghanaian midfielder Bismarck Adjei-Boateng controlled the tempo, while veteran winger Ciprian Deac created chance after chance.
FCSB defended desperately. Andrei tracked back constantly, helping Crețu deal with Cluj's dangerous left winger Jefte Betancor. The system flashed warnings:
Stamina: 45% (critically low)
Physical Performance: Degraded
Mental Sharpness: Declining
In the 34th minute, Cluj's striker Daniel Bîrligea beat Dawa for pace and slotted past Vlad. 1-0.
Halftime came as a relief. Andrei could barely walk, his legs cramping.
The medical staff worked on him frantically.
"Can you continue?" Dică asked.
"Yes," Andrei lied.
The second half was agony. Every run felt like moving through mud. In the 67th minute, Dică finally substituted him for fresh legs.
Andrei limped off to scattered applause from FCSB's traveling fans. He collapsed on the bench, chest heaving, stars dancing in his vision.
Final score: CFR Cluj 3-0 FCSB.
A humbling defeat.
Match Rating: 5.1/10
Distance Covered: 8.7km (well below average)
Warning: Physical breakdown imminent without rest
In the away dressing room, silence reigned. Dică didn't shout—the performance spoke for itself.
"We have three days until our next match," the coach said quietly.
"Rest, recover, and remember what it feels like to lose. Let it fuel you."
On the bus back to Bucharest,
Andrei slept fitfully, his body aching everywhere. His phone buzzed with messages, but he ignored them all except one from Elena:
I watched. You pushed yourself too hard. Please rest. I'll come over tomorrow.
I love you.
The words made something in his chest tighten.
She loved him. This brilliant, complicated woman loved him despite all his flaws and limitations.
He typed back: I love you too.
The next morning, team doctors examined him thoroughly. Muscle fatigue, minor strains, early signs of overtraining. They prescribed rest—three days, no training.
Dică called him into his office. "You're not playing this weekend. Europa Conference League match next week is more important. I need you fresh."
"I can play—"
"That wasn't a request." Dică's expression softened. "Andrei, I've seen a hundred talented kids burn out because they didn't know when to rest. You're special, but you're not invincible. Take the time. Recover properly."
Andrei nodded, knowing the coach was right.
That evening, Elena arrived with groceries—ingredients for ciorbă de burtă, traditional tripe soup that her grandmother swore could cure anything.
"You're cooking for me?" Andrei asked from the couch where he'd been ordered to stay.
"Don't get used to it. I'm a terrible cook." She moved around his tiny kitchen with determined inefficiency. "But my grandma taught me this recipe, and it's supposed to restore your strength."
They ate together, the soup actually decent despite Elena's disclaimers. Afterward, she curled up beside him on the couch, her head on his shoulder.
"Can I ask you something?" Elena said quietly.
"Always."
"What happens when a big club comes for you? Really comes for you, with an offer you can't refuse?"
Andrei was quiet for a moment. "I don't know. Why?"
"Because it's going to happen. Maybe this summer, maybe next year, but it's coming. You're too good to stay in Romania forever." She lifted her head to look at him. "And I need to know if I'm part of those plans, or if I'm just... the girl you knew when you were starting out."
"Elena—"
"I'm not asking you to promise forever. We're both too young for that. But I need to know if this is real to you, or if I'm convenient."
Andrei took her face in his hands. "You're the most real thing in my life. Football is what I do. You're who I am when I'm not doing it." He kissed her forehead.
"If I go somewhere, I want you with me. If you'll come."
"That's complicated. My career is here. My family is here."
"I know. So we figure it out. Together."
Elena kissed him then, and they made love slowly on his couch, neither of them thinking about the future or the complications.
Just existing in this moment, this small apartment in Bucharest, two young people trying to build something real in a world that wanted to pull them apart.
Afterward, lying tangled in blankets, Elena traced patterns on his chest.
"Tell me about the system," she said.
Andrei tensed. "What?"
"The system you mentioned. The one tracking your injury risk. You said it like it was more than just personal stats." Her journalist instincts were sharp as ever. "I've watched you play. Sometimes you react to things before they happen. Like you're seeing the game differently than everyone else."
Andrei debated lying, but she'd already seen through him.
"If I tell you, you'll think I'm crazy."
"Try me."
So he did. He told her about the system that appeared that first night, about the ratings and attributes, about how it tracked every aspect of his football development. He expected skepticism, mockery, disbelief.
Instead,
Elena just listened.
When he finished, she was quiet for a long moment.
"Do you think it's real?" she finally asked. "Or psychological?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'm just visualizing my progress in a structured way.
Maybe it's my brain coping with the pressure."
"Or maybe," Elena said slowly, "it doesn't matter. Real or not, it's helping you improve. It's giving you feedback and structure." She smiled. "We all have our ways of processing the world. Yours just happens to look like a video game."
"You believe me?"
"I believe you're experiencing something. Whether it's supernatural or psychological or some combination—who cares? It works." She kissed him. "Just don't let it control you. You're more than numbers on a screen, Andrei. Remember that."
He held her close, grateful beyond words.
Relationship Development: Elena Dumitru
Status: Deep emotional bond
Trust Level: Maximum
Impact: All mental attributes +0.2 (emotional stability)
For once, the system got something exactly right.
Three days later, rested and recovered, Andrei returned to training.
The Europa Conference League knockout round was days away—FCSB against Gent, a Belgian club with European pedigree.
This was FCSB's chance to prove they belonged on the continental stage. And Andrei's chance to show the scouts from Inter Milan and other big clubs that his derby goal wasn't a fluke.
The beautiful game was about to get even more beautiful.
And even more complicated.
Overall Rating: 69.4/99
Physical Status: Recovered
Mental State: Focused
Next Challenge: European Knockout Match
Stakes: Career-defining