Arrival in Enemy Territory

***

System Report – One-Year Progressive Overload Fitness Training Plan

User: Amani Hamadi

Status: Officially Registered FC Utrecht U17 Player

Progress Report: Completed with Perfection 

Final Training Grade: A+

***

Amani had endured, adapted, and dominated every mission the system had thrown at him. Over 365 days, he had pushed his body past its limits, refined his technique, and also sharpened his mind as he built an elite footballer's mentality. The system had provided the tools, but Amani had done the work.

The results?

They spoke for themselves.

***

Player Stats Update – Yearly Performance Review

USER STATS 

** Physical Fitness – A+

Effect of C-Grade Physical Conditioning Elixir:

✅ Height Growth: +6 cm (Now 1.80m / 5'10")

✅ Weight Increase (Muscle Mass): +10 kg (Now 67 kg / 148 lbs)

✅ Speed Rating: Significantly increased sprint endurance

** Football Technique – A

** Game Intelligence – A

** Mentality – A+

Legendary Skills (Progress Unlocked)

Visionary Pass 

Dipping Shot – Refined but still inconsistent under pressure (Needs further improvement)

New Skill Acquired: Weighted Through Pass - Ability to curve or bounce a pass perfectly into a teammate's stride, bypassing defenders.

****

Amani stared at the glowing blue screen in his vision in the cold with his heart pounding.

One year.

One full year of grinding, pushing, and suffering.

He felt it in his body. The extra muscle in his legs, the sharper turns, the strength in duels. He felt it in his mind. The way he saw passes before they happened, the way he understood space.

And now?

Now, he was officially an FC Utrecht U17 player.

The past year had been a test.

This year?

This year was about domination.

***

The winter air cut through Amani's tracksuit like a blade as he closed the system window, the kind of cold that clung to your skin no matter how many layers you wore. He exhaled sharply, watching his breath curl into the gray morning sky before vanishing.

The team stood scattered across Utrecht Centraal Station, some huddled together for warmth, others stretching stiff muscles. The station itself was a constant hum of life: commuters rushing to work, travelers rolling suitcases across the polished floors, and the occasional departure chime echoing overhead.

Amani stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Saturday. PSV Eindhoven.

Their first official away U17 match of the year.

The moment Coach Pronk had announced it, the mood in training had changed. No more light-hearted banter. No more casual drills. The past week had been a war of high-intensity pressing, match simulations, and finishing drills under pressure.

Today it was Saturday and it was time to see if all that work had paid off.

A sleek NS Intercity train waited at the platform, its yellow and blue exterior standing out against the dull winter backdrop. It looked futuristic compared to what Amani was used to.

Even in Kenya, where the Standard Gauge Railway (SGR) had been the pride of the country, but he had never actually ridden it. The only transport he had ever truly known was the chaotic, blaring matatus with music blasting, people crammed together, the conductor hanging halfway out of the door shouting for more passengers.

This? This was different.

The Dutch railway system was silent, orderly, and precise which was a reflection of the country itself.

As Amani hesitated, taking in the smooth metal and the digital departure boards overhead, a voice jolted him from his thoughts.

"Come on, Hamadi! Don't just stand there, man."

A shoulder bumped into his own it was Malik who was grinning as he adjusted his bag.

Amani huffed. "Relax, I'm coming."

Malik chuckled. "You look like a tourist. First time on a train?"

Amani shot him a look but didn't deny it.

As they stepped inside, the immediate wave of warmth was striking. It was like stepping from the dead of winter into a heated apartment. The floor was smooth beneath their sneakers, the seats were arranged in neat rows, and massive windows offered a perfect view of the passing world.

There was no pushing, no shoving. No one was yelling to sell snacks or demand fares. Just quiet efficiency.

Malik slid into the seat beside him, shaking his head. "Bro, this country is weird. Everything's too quiet."

Amani smirked but said nothing.

A gentle chime played through the speakers, followed by a calm, robotic announcement in Dutch:

"Dames en heren, welkom aan boord van de Intercity naar Eindhoven. De volgende stop is 's-Hertogenbosch."

Amani barely caught "Eindhoven" in the middle of all that Dutch. He was getting better, but some days the language still hit him like a two-footed tackle.

The train glided forward, smooth as silk. No jerking, no sudden lurch. Just a seamless acceleration as the city of Utrecht melted away outside the window.

They passed through the open countryside as they saw flat, endless fields stretching into the distance, broken only by canals and rows of bare winter trees. Occasionally, a lone windmill stood frozen in time, its massive blades unmoving in the still air.

Amani leaned against the glass, watching the world blur past.

Even after a year in the Netherlands, the efficiency of everything still caught him off guard. The roads were clean, the houses looked perfectly arranged, and everything just… worked.

It was the opposite of the chaotic, vibrant energy of Nairobi he was used to in his last life.

Across from him, Sofyan Amrabat sat with his arms crossed, eyes shut, mentally preparing. His headphones weren't even in — he was just visualizing the match, replaying scenarios in his head.

Beside him, Tijmen scrolled through his phone, headphones in, mouthing along to the lyrics of whatever song he was listening to.

Malik, as always, couldn't sit still. He tapped his fingers on his knees, his body buzzing with nervous energy.

"You ready for this, bro?" he asked suddenly, glancing at Amani.

Amani blinked, then nodded slowly. "Yeah. You?"

Malik exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I dunno, man. First official U17 game. Feels real now."

Amani understood what he meant.

They had both fought to get here.

But this? This was a new level.

And there was no turning back now.

An hour later, the soft chime sounded again.

"Dames en heren, wij naderen Eindhoven Centraal. Vergeet niet uw bagage mee te nemen bij het verlaten van de trein."

Amani glanced at Tijmen, raising an eyebrow. "What'd she say?"

Tijmen smirked. "She said we're about to enter enemy territory."

The train slowed smoothly, the city of Eindhoven unfolding outside the window.

Amani had expected something like Utrecht; charming, structured, historic.

But Eindhoven was different.

It was modern and industrial, the skyline filled with glass buildings and construction cranes. The streets were busier, the roads wider, the entire city buzzing with a different kind of energy.

This wasn't just any city.

This was PSV's city. The moment they stepped off the train, the air felt different.It wasn't just the cold anymore.

It was tension.

Expectations were high. They weren't in friendly territory.

This was a club that had dominated Dutch football for decades. A club that had produced legends. And in a few hours, they were walking onto PSV's pitch to face them.

Amani adjusted the strap of his bag, inhaling deeply.

The train ride was over.

The real battle was about to begin.

The team swiftly moved through Eindhoven Centraal, their FC Utrecht tracksuits standing out among the sea of commuters. The station was bigger and more industrial than Utrecht's, with long glass panels reflecting the cold morning light. People moved with purpose: travelers dragging suitcases, businessmen in thick coats rushing toward the exits, and students chatting in fast Dutch.

Amani barely paid attention.

His mind was already on the match.

PSV Eindhoven U17.

One of the best academy teams in the Netherlands. They would be organized, aggressive, and disciplined. They played with Total Football principles, pressing in swarms, and their midfielders drilled to choke time and space from their opponents.

It was the kind of test that could define their season and his future.

And Amani lived for it.

The team filed out of the station, the cold slapping them in the face as they stepped onto the street. Snow from the night before had settled in thin layers along the sidewalks, crunching under their shoes. The city felt different as it felt sharper, and more electric.

This wasn't home.

This was the lion's den.

A sleek white bus waited for them at the curb, PSV Campus De Herdgang glowing in red on the digital route sign.

Coach Pronk stood at the front, checking his watch. "Move it, boys. We don't have all day."

The engine hummed softly as the team filed onto the bus, tossing their bags into the overhead compartments before settling into the dark blue seats.

Amani slid into a window seat, Malik dropping down beside him with a sigh.

"Bro," Malik muttered, stretching his legs. "These Dutch buses are too quiet."

He wasn't wrong.

Back in Kenya, a bus ride meant blaring music, loud conversations, and a conductor shouting for more passengers. Here?

Silence.

Only the soft murmur of teammates talking in low voices, the occasional beep of a card scanner, and the steady hum of the road beneath them.

Amani pulled his hood up, leaning his head against the window. Outside, Eindhoven rolled past. It was gray, cold, and and unfamiliar. The streets were wide, lined with modern office buildings and old brick houses with large windows. Cyclists zipped past, unbothered by the cold, weaving between cars with ease.

Then, the landscape shifted.

The city thinned out, buildings giving way to tall trees and open fields. The road curved, leading them toward the outskirts.

Malik nudged him. "We're almost there."

Amani nodded, already seeing the first red and white PSV banners hanging from lampposts along the road.

The air inside the bus felt heavier.

No one was laughing anymore. No more casual conversations.

Everyone knew what was coming.

The bus slowed as they approached the PSV Campus De Herdgang, the academy training ground of one of the biggest clubs in the Netherlands.

The facility loomed ahead with pristine pitches, modern buildings, and the PSV logo standing bold against the winter sky. Everything about it screamed elite.

Amani sat up straighter, taking in the sight.

This was where future professionals were built.

The bus came to a stop, the doors hissing open.

"Let's go," Pronk called out, stepping off first.

The team grabbed their bags and filed out, their boots crunching against the pavement as they took their first steps onto enemy soil.

Amani adjusted the strap of his bag, inhaling deeply.

He could feel it.

The moment. The challenge. The weight of expectation.

This wasn't just another match.

This was a statement game.

And they were ready.

*****

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