The VIP box sat high above the pitch, offering a perfect view of the entire stadium.
Twelve scouts occupied the premium section, spread across different seating areas. Some worked alone with their laptops and notepads. Others sat in pairs, discussing what they'd just witnessed in the first half.
Five were from Brazil's top-tier clubs. Gremio, Santos FC, Cruzeiro, Sport Recife, and Internacional. They were all big names in Brazil. Serie A giants looking for the next breakout talent before the competition gets too expensive.
Two represented MLS clubs from the United States. LA Galaxy and New York Red Bulls. They sat together near the back, reviewing footage on a tablet.
The last five were RB Leipzig, Vitesse, Molde, Rosenborg, and Standard Liege. All of them were European clubs. That was where the big money was, and where most players built their careers.
In one corner of the VIP section, two men sat with German efficiency stamped on them. Neat clothes, organized notebooks, and tablets with detailed spreadsheets open.
Benjamin Ehresmann was the older of the two, in his mid-forties. He had greying hair and sharp eyes from years of experience. He'd been scouting for RB Leipzig for eight years now. He had seen hundreds of players and signed maybe ten that actually made it at the professional level.
Beside him sat Sebastian Buttkus. He was younger, in his early thirties, and more relaxed, but just as sharp. He handled the data side of things like numbers, stats, and metrics. They were a good team.
"So," Sebastian said, clicking his pen repeatedly. "What are your first half thoughts?"
Benjamin leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. "Mixed bag, honestly."
"That's generous."
Benjamin almost smiled. "Atlético's right winger looks decent. He has a good pace, smart positioning, and is unselfish in creating their first goal. And while those are nothing spectacular, they're solid compared to most."
Sebastian nodded and made a note. "He's on our list. Just turned 20 last month, November. His contract expires next year. Could be affordable."
"Their central midfielder is interesting too," Benjamin continued. "Good in the middle of the park and reads the game well, with a decent passing range."
"Vitesse was looking at him last month," Sebastian said. "Might have competition there."
"And their right-back." Benjamin pointed toward the pitch. "The one who kept Gustavo quiet for half. He's very physical and has good one-on-one defending."
Sebastian wrote that down. "Would his height be an issue as a right-back in the long run?"
"No, it shouldn't be. He's only one-eighty-five, maybe one-eighty-seven. That's not too tall to affect his development in the future."
They both fell silent for a moment. Then Sebastian said what they were both thinking.
"What about Vila Nova's players?"
Benjamin sighed. "Bernardo looks good. The attacking midfielder is mature and well composed. He's also creative and actively seeks out passes others don't."
"Twenty-one years old," Sebastian added, checking his notes. "A bit old for our usual profile, but quality is quality."
"João, the right-back, has potential. He's quick with good crosses and actively supports the attack. Only issue is he needs to work on his defensive abilities, but that can be coached."
Sebastian made another note. Then he stopped and looked at Benjamin.
"And Gustavo?"
The name hung in the air uncomfortably.
Benjamin didn't answer immediately. He just stared at the empty pitch below.
Gustavo had been their primary target today. The whole reason they'd made the trip. A nineteen-year-old left winger with ridiculous highlight reels. He had everything, be it speed, skill, goals, and assists. The stats looked incredible for a reserve league player.
Leipzig liked wingers. Fast, direct wingers who could hurt teams in transition. That was their system.
Gustavo seemed to fit the profile perfectly on paper.
"That was..." Sebastian trailed off.
"A disaster," Benjamin finished. "Complete collapse under pressure."
Sebastian tapped his pen against his notepad. "The talent is there. You could see it in moments. The run where he beat his man and got to the byline. That threat he showed in the 32nd minute."
"And then he tried to dribble past three players and lost it," Benjamin said flatly. "Which led directly to a counter-attack."
"And the penalty miss?"
"Don't even start with the penalty." Benjamin shook his head. "He shouldn't have taken it in the first place. Bernardo is their taker. Gustavo begged for it like a child asking for candy."
Sebastian leaned back. "So, mentality issue?"
"Big one." Benjamin made a note in his book. "He crumbles under pressure, makes emotional decisions, and can't handle mistakes."
"These are Red Flag qualities."
"Red flags everywhere."
They sat in silence again. Around them, other scouts were having similar conversations. The Vitesse scout was on his phone, probably reporting back to his club. The two MLS scouts were laughing about something, clearly not impressed with what they'd seen.
Sebastian finally spoke. "So we cross him off the list?"
Benjamin hesitated. That was the question, wasn't it?
Gustavo's stats were too good to ignore completely. Twenty-three goals and fifteen assists in thirty reserve league games this season. Those were first-team numbers.
But stats didn't show mental strength. They didn't show decision-making under pressure or character.
"Not yet," Benjamin said slowly. "We wait until the final whistle. See if he can bounce back in the second half. That tells us more than anything."
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "You think he'll bounce back?"
"Probably not. Hell, I wouldn't even be shocked if he was benched at half-time. But we need to be thorough. If we're writing a report back to Leipzig, we need to see the full ninety minutes."
"Fair enough." Sebastian made another note. Then he glanced at his watch. "Twelve minutes until the second half. Want to grab a coffee?"
"No. I'll stay here and watch who comes out for Vila Nova."
"You think they'll make changes?"
"I would, if I were the coach." Benjamin leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "That first half was a mess. If their coach has any sense, he'll shake things up."
Sebastian nodded. He opened a new page in his notepad and wrote: Second Half - Tactical Changes?
Below, on the pitch, groundskeepers were jogging around checking the grass. Making sure everything was ready.
About ten minutes later, the bench players walked back out. Benjamin settled back into his seat and watched the field with a shake of his head. The team talk had been fiercely hot. Coach hadn't held back at all.
The scout's job was simple: find talent that Leipzig could develop and either use or sell for profit. Find players who were young, fast, hungry, and who fit the system.
But most importantly, find players with the mentality to succeed at the highest level. Everything else could be coached.
Mental strength? That either existed, or it didn't. Gustavo's first half suggested it didn't.
"Second half should be interesting," Sebastian said, breaking the silence.
"Let's hope so," Benjamin replied. "Long trip for nothing if it isn't."
Down in the tunnel, the teams were getting ready.
Sebastian checked something on his tablet. "Vila Nova's coach usually makes subs around the sixty-minute mark. Sometimes earlier if things aren't working."
"Who's on their bench?"
Sebastian scrolled through his notes. "Three defenders: Gabriel, Murilo, and Martinez. Two midfielders: Bruno and Renan Lodi. Three forwards: Pedro, Otávio, and a seventeen-year-old left winger named Leandro Silver, if I remember right."
"You have stats on him?"
"Not many cause he barely plays. He's got a couple of appearances this season. No goals. One assist."
Benjamin filed that information away and said nothing. Bench players rarely mattered unless they were young prospects being slowly brought along. This Silver kid was probably just depth. Someone to fill numbers.
Still, you never knew. Football was full of surprises. Sometimes the best discoveries came from places you weren't looking.
Sebastian closed his tablet and set it aside. "Alright. Second half. Let's see if anyone can actually impress us."
Benjamin didn't respond. He just kept his eyes on the pitch.