Dragons FC Yaoundé U17 vs Union Douala U17 Part 2

The second goal gave Dragons FC Yaoundé newfound confidence, and for the next fifteen minutes, they dominated possession. Union Douala was pinned inside their own half, struggling to break out. Every time they managed to clear the ball, Dragons FC's midfield was there to press, winning it back almost immediately. Despite some misplaced passes, the pressure was relentless, and Union Douala looked increasingly desperate.

Marcel, full of energy, continued to torment his marker on the left flank. The right-back had already suffered through multiple nutmegs, and his frustration showed. His movements were hesitant now, his confidence shaken as Marcel toyed with him—quick bursts of acceleration, subtle feints, and well-placed crosses into the box. Even when the central defender came over to provide support, Marcel adjusted, dragging the ball into open space and escaping both defenders with clever footwork.

However, for all of Marcel's brilliance, Dragons FC struggled to score.

Union Douala had packed their penalty area, with nearly every player dropping deep to defend. The Dragons' striker fought hard, but each time he received the ball, he was immediately closed down, leaving him no time to get a clean shot away. It was a frustrating cycle—Marcel could beat defenders, but the final execution kept getting shut down.

On the sidelines, Union Douala's coach was fuming. He had seen enough of his players getting humiliated by Marcel's dribbling. He called over his right-back and center-back, his instructions clear and sharp:

"Stop giving him space. Don't let him adjust his dribble. If he tries to go past, use your body. Be physical. Make him uncomfortable."

When the match resumed, the change in Union Douala's defensive approach was immediate.

Marcel received the ball, expecting another one-on-one situation, but this time, the right-back was already on him—not with technique, but with force. A hard shoulder challenge sent Marcel stumbling, the ball bouncing away.

The referee blew his whistle. Foul.

Marcel got up, brushing himself off, but Union Douala's players didn't seem fazed.

A few minutes later, he got the ball again, but before he could even take his second touch, a late tackle sent him crashing onto the ground. Again, the referee blew for a foul, but no cards were shown.

On the sideline, Coach Emile's expression darkened. He quickly called out, "Marcel, move the ball faster! Don't give them time to hit you!"

Marcel nodded but internally, he still believed he could handle it. He had been dribbling past defenders all game—why should this be any different?

The ball came to him once more. This time, he ignored the coach's advice. He controlled it and immediately went for the dribble, skipping past one defender, then another—

BAM!

A Union Douala center-back slid in with a rough tackle, sending Marcel tumbling. As he sat on the ground, the defender tapped him lightly on the back and smirked.

"You think you're Ronaldinho?"

Marcel clenched his jaw, his frustration flaring. He wanted to prove them wrong. He wanted to humiliate them even more.

Ignoring Emile's instructions, Marcel kept trying to dribble through Union Douala's defense on his own. Every time, he got past one or two players—but another was always waiting. No matter how much skill he showed, they swarmed him, preventing him from breaking through completely.

Then, disaster nearly struck.

In the 65th minute, Marcel attempted to dribble past three players at once—but he lost the ball. Union Douala immediately launched a devastating counterattack, their striker racing through on goal. The shot flew past the goalkeeper—

Clang!

The ball smacked against the crossbar and bounced out.

Marcel exhaled sharply—he had nearly cost his team a goal.

From the touchline, Coach Emile's voice erupted across the field. "Marcel! What are you doing? Pass the ball! That's not how you played in the trial—why are you playing alone?"

Jean-Pierre rushed over, placing a firm hand on Marcel's shoulder. "Play collectively, Marcel. If you really want to make an impact, you won't do it alone. When you lose the ball, we suffer."

Marcel remained silent, staring at the ground. He knew they were right.

This wasn't just about him proving his skills—it was about winning the game.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded. It was time to adjust.

...

A few rows from the touchline, a spectator who had overheard Francine's earlier conversation couldn't help but smirk.

"Is this what you meant when you said your son would change the game?" he asked, his voice laced with skepticism.

Francine turned to him, unfazed. Her tone was sharp but composed.

"Why are you talking to me? Did I ask for your opinion?" she shot back, not even bothering to meet his gaze. "And didn't he already score? This is just a bad spell—when he refocuses, you'll see him dazzle again."

Despite her confident words, doubt flickered in her mind. What is Marcel doing? she wondered. This isn't like him.

She knew Marcel loved to dribble—Ronaldinho was his idol, after all—but never before had he done it at the expense of his team. This was reckless, something different from his usual style. Was he feeling the weight of expectation?

Beside her, Christina voiced what Francine was already thinking.

"I hope Marcel pulls himself together. This isn't how he usually plays. Do you think he's pressuring himself too much after scoring? Like he feels he has to be the decisive player now?"

Francine sighed, her gaze fixed on the pitch.

"That's exactly it," she admitted. "This is something he's wanted since childhood. It's normal for him to feel that pressure. But Marcel is not a selfish player. He'll realize it soon—he always does."

Christina nodded, though worry still clouded her features.

The two women turned their focus back to the field, their voices rising in encouragement.

"Come on, Marcel! Keep your head up!" Christina shouted.

Francine clapped her hands, her voice steady despite her inner worries. "Play smart, son! Show them who you are!"

At that moment, the ball came back to Marcel.

The crowd hushed slightly, sensing another moment of magic—or another mistake.

...

In the 71st minute, Marcel received the ball on the left flank once again. The moment it reached his feet, he instinctively began a series of subtle feints, shifting his weight left and right as if preparing to take on his marker. The Union Douala right-back, already tormented throughout the match, immediately raised his arm, signaling his center-back for help. He wasn't about to be humiliated again.

Seeing his teammate's call, the center-back abandoned his position and rushed toward Marcel, hoping to trap him before he could execute another dribble. But just as Marcel began to move, he hesitated. Midway through his dribble, he realized something—the defender had left space behind him.

Instead of forcing another one-on-one, Marcel abruptly changed his mind, quickly threading a pass into the gap left by the central defender. The Dragons FC striker reacted, making a run into the open space. But the moment of hesitation had cost Marcel a fraction of precision—the pass was hit slightly too hard, and though the striker managed to reach it, he couldn't control it cleanly. The ball bounced awkwardly off his foot, allowing the Union Douala goalkeeper to rush forward and smother it before a real chance could materialize.

Marcel ran his hands through his hair, frustration creeping in. Why didn't I make the pass sooner? He knew better than this. The space had been there earlier—if he had reacted quicker, that could have been the goal to kill the game.

From the sidelines, Coach Emile chose encouragement over reprimand.

"Good idea, Marcel!" he called out, his voice firm but supportive. "But you have to play it earlier! More precise next time!"

Emile exhaled, hands on his hips as he analyzed Marcel's decision-making.

This kid is special, but his first instinct is always to dribble when he gets the ball, he thought. That worked in the trial, but in a real match, he has to learn when to release it. If he masters that, he'll be miles ahead of his peers.

Still deep in thought, Emile clapped his hands loudly, refocusing his team.

"Faster! Play faster!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the tension. "Since when are we playing possession? Be more direct toward goal! A one-goal lead isn't safe—push forward!"

As if responding to his command, Jean, the defensive pillar of Dragons FC, stepped up. He anticipated a loose touch from Union Douala's striker and immediately pounced, cleanly dispossessing him before lifting his head for the next move. Wasting no time, he swung a pinpoint pass out to the right-back, who controlled it smoothly and carried it forward.

The right-back played a short pass into midfield, where Dragons FC's central midfielder found himself in acres of space. Union Douala had dropped deep, almost retreating into their defensive shell, reluctant to press high and risk conceding another goal.

Sensing an opportunity, the midfielder made a bold decision. Instead of waiting for support or threading a pass, he went for power, launching a ferocious strike from 25 meters out.

The ball soared through the air like a cannonball, its trajectory unstoppable. The Union Douala goalkeeper barely reacted in time as the shot smashed against the crossbar with a deafening crack!

For a split second, everyone froze. The ball rebounded downward, bouncing just in front of the goal line. A Union Douala defender, recovering quickest, scrambled to clear the ball—launching it desperately toward the left side of the pitch.

Marcel was already moving.

As the ball sailed toward him, he tracked its flight calmly, his body adjusting instinctively. He controlled it effortlessly with his chest, the ball settling at his feet with a single soft touch. He lifted his head, scanning the field.

Immediately, Union Douala's central defender charged toward him. The entire backline was shifting frantically, their eyes locked onto Marcel as if he were the only danger.

That was their mistake.

With a deceptive step-over, Marcel sold the illusion of another dribble, baiting the defenders into fully committing to stopping him. The goalkeeper, sensing the same threat, instinctively leaned toward the left, preparing for a possible shot.

But Marcel never intended to shoot.

At the very last second, just as the defense collapsed on him, he chipped the ball toward the right side of the box with his weaker left foot. The pass was exquisite—perfectly weighted, curling into open space.

Union Douala's backline realized the danger a second too late. The goalkeeper shifted his weight, but it was pointless. Their entire defense had been pulled toward Marcel, leaving Dragons FC's right-winger wide open.

Without breaking stride, the winger took one touch to control before calmly slotting the ball into the empty net.

GOAL! 3-1!

The Dragons FC bench erupted. The players on the field rushed toward the right-winger, mobbing him in celebration. Marcel, standing a few meters away, clenched his fists, a satisfied grin forming on his lips. He had baited the entire defense into focusing on him, only to set up the simplest goal of the match.

Coach Emile couldn't hide his smile on the sidelines. That's more like it, Marcel.

...

The final minutes of the game saw Dragons FC Yaoundé in complete control, asserting their dominance over Union Douala. Marcel, having adjusted his approach after Coach Emile's words, played a pivotal role in ensuring his team continued their relentless offensive display. His sharp movement and refined decision-making led to two more goals that sealed the victory.

The first came from a beautiful combination between Marcel and the striker. They exchanged a quick one-two on the edge of the box, slicing through the defense. With one touch, Marcel set himself up before curling the ball beautifully into the top corner, leaving the goalkeeper with no chance.

The second was a testament to his growing tactical awareness. Instead of taking an extra touch or attempting to dribble, Marcel played an instinctive first-time pass directly to his striker the moment he received the ball. The Union Douala defenders, expecting him to hold onto it longer, were caught off guard. The striker capitalized on the opening, bursting into the box and slotting the ball home clinically.

With the score now at 5-1, the final whistle blew.

Dragons FC had won emphatically.

The players erupted into celebration, embracing each other on the pitch, their voices echoing with triumphant cheers. The energy was infectious, the joy of victory radiating through the team.

Jean, the team captain, stepped forward, rallying his teammates.

"WE ARE?!" he roared.

"DRAGONS!!!" the players shouted back in unison.

"WE ARE?!"

"DRAGONS!!!"

The team clapped their hands in rhythm, their voices filling the stadium with pride and unity.

For Marcel, this was a new experience—a moment he would never forget. It was his first official victory with a team, and even though it was at the youth level, it felt like the beginning of something greater. A taste of success, a glimpse into the dream he had chased since childhood. He wanted to keep winning, to keep feeling this rush, to one day do this on the biggest stage of all.

As they made their way back to the locker room, the excitement lingered in the air. Marcel took it all in—the chatter, the smiles, the camaraderie. It felt different from the solitude of training alone. This was football at its purest.

As he walked toward his locker, Jean suddenly wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him in playfully.

"Well played, man. Two goals and two assists—not bad at all," Jean said with a grin. "But you had us worried for a bit when you started playing solo."

Marcel scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed. "Yeah… Sorry about that."

Jean chuckled and gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "It's fine. We won, and you were the best player on the pitch. But next time, don't put all the pressure on yourself. We're a team. If we want to win this tournament, we need everyone to be at their best—not just you."

Marcel nodded. "Got it."

The lively locker room atmosphere suddenly quieted as Coach Emile entered, his presence commanding respect.

"Alright, boys, listen up," Emile began, his voice steady but filled with authority. "That was a solid performance, and most importantly, we got the win. This first victory was crucial because our next two games will be much tougher. But thanks to this result, we've given ourselves some breathing room."

A few players exchanged glances, listening intently.

"Coton Sport and Brasseries Academy drew 2-2," Emile continued. "That means we're leading the group, but don't get comfortable. We still have work to do."

His expression grew serious as he looked at the defensive players. "That goal we conceded in the first half? We can't afford mistakes like that against stronger teams. The next two opponents are miles ahead of Union Douala in attacking power. We need to tighten up defensively—no cheap goals."

Then, his gaze settled on Marcel.

"And Marcel, I don't want to see what happened after your first goal again," Emile said firmly. "We all know you're talented, and your dribbling is one of your biggest strengths. But if you want to become a professional—if you want to go even further than that—you need to learn when to dribble and when to pass. It's not about taking away your creativity. It's about making you a complete player. You showed that in the second half. Keep playing like that."

Marcel met his coach's eyes and nodded. "Yes, Coach."

Emile clapped his hands together. "Good. Now, rest up. We're back to training this weekend. Next Wednesday, we face Coton Sport. Let's be ready."

The players let out a collective "Yes, Coach!" before breaking off, some high-fiving, others stretching out their sore muscles.

...

After the match, Francine and Christina were waiting for Marcel outside the stadium, their faces lit with pride. As he approached, Christina was the first to rush toward him, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

"You were amazing out there!" she said excitedly. "Two goals and two assists in your first official match? I knew you'd shine!"

Marcel smiled, still buzzing from the victory. "Thanks, but it was a team effort."

Francine, standing behind with a warm expression, placed a hand on his shoulder. "You made me proud today, Marcel. Seeing you out there, playing with so much passion... I don't think I've ever enjoyed a football match as much as I did today."

Marcel chuckled. "You say that because I played well."

"Of course!" Francine said with a smirk. "But don't let it get to your head. You have bigger things ahead of you."

To celebrate, they decided to eat out—not at Francine's restaurant this time, but at a place Marcel had never been to before. It was a modest local spot, packed with people enjoying their evening, the air filled with the scent of grilled fish and spicy sauces.

For once, Marcel allowed himself to relax and enjoy the moment. The joy of winning his first official match, the laughter with his mother and Christina—it was a simple yet perfect evening.

By the time they returned home, the excitement had settled into quiet satisfaction. Marcel went straight to his room, closing the door behind him. With the game finally over and some privacy at last, he could check his system without interruptions.

He took a deep breath and summoned the interface.

[Elite Boost System Activated]

A series of notifications immediately appeared before him.

Congratulations! You won your first official game! Reward: 5 points, 1 XP

Congratulations! You won against Union Douala, an average-ranked team in the tournament. Reward: 5 points, 2 XP

Congratulations! You scored two goals in this match! Reward: 4 points, 2 XP

Congratulations! You provided two assists in this match! Reward: 2 points, 2 XP

Marcel quickly scanned the notifications. The rewards were decent, but not as much as he had expected. He had played one of the best games of his life, yet the system treated it as just another step forward.

Summoning his full interface, he checked his progress.

[Elite Boost System]

Level: 1 (7/500 XP)

Name: Marcel Ndonga

Date of Birth: 17 May 2000 (14 years old)

Height: 168 cm

Weight: 64 kg

Position: Left Winger / Right Winger

Special Boosts:

Bronze Boost: Defensive Cohesion +5%(One slot available)

Lottery Tickets: 0

Player Attributes

Market: Locked

Points: 16

Marcel frowned slightly. 16 points wasn't bad, but without the Market unlocked, he couldn't use them. He had assumed that if the Market were open, he could start purchasing small upgrades. Curious, he decided to ask.

"Tricera, if I had the Market unlocked, could I buy a Bronze Boost with my current points?"

The system's AI responded instantly.

"With your current points, you wouldn't even be close. The cheapest Bronze Boost costs 150 points, while the boost you obtained through the lottery would have cost 200 points."

Marcel's eyes widened in shock. 150 points?! He hadn't expected it to be that expensive. If Bronze Boosts were this costly, how much would Silver, Gold, or even Platinum Boosts be?

"What?! That's way too much!" he muttered.

"That's why I told you," Tricera continued in its neutral tone. "Playing in youth leagues in Cameroon won't be enough for your development. Unless you participate in major youth national team tournaments or play in MTN Elite One, your growth will be slow."

Marcel exhaled slowly. The system was making one thing clear—winning normal U17 matches wouldn't be enough. He needed to compete at the highest youth level to accelerate his progress.

"What about lottery tickets?" he asked.

"Lottery tickets can be obtained randomly, but there's no guarantee of earning one. However, playing in major youth tournaments or competing at the top level increases your chances."

Marcel clenched his fists. The answer was the same—if he wanted to improve, he needed to stand out in the Brasseries Tournament and earn a call-up to the 2015 African U-17 Championship qualification against Ghana in September. If he couldn't make that, then at the very least, he needed to push for a spot in the main tournament.

With that thought, he closed the system interface and lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

His path was clear.

He needed to dominate the Brasseries Tournament and earn recognition. That was his next step.

As his eyes grew heavy, exhaustion finally taking over, he drifted into sleep with a newfound determination.

This was just the beginning.