Matchday 2: VS Brasseries Academy

The referee blew the whistle, signaling the end of the first half. Brasseries Academy led 2-0, with both goals scored by their young star, Ignatius Ganago. Despite Dragons FC matching them in shot attempts with seven each, the difference was clear—Brasseries Academy had been clinical, while Dragons FC had yet to register a single shot on target.

Dragons FC had spent most of the half on the back foot, struggling to keep up with the relentless, well-coordinated attacks of their opponents. Jean had been a defensive rock on his side, shutting down every attack that came his way, but Brasseries had quickly adapted. Seeing they couldn't break through on his flank, they shifted their play to the left, relentlessly targeting Dragons FC's weaker side. Even when Jean tried to help, Brasseries moved the ball swiftly, switching flanks with precision, forcing Dragons FC to chase shadows.

Marcel had started the match, his dribbling causing constant problems for the Brasseries defenders. Every time he got the ball, he could break through, but something was missing. His crosses lacked precision—some were too wide, others too strong. And when he did manage to deliver a perfect ball into the box, the finishing let him down. His teammates sent shots flying over the bar or wide of the post, wasting every opportunity.

More than that, Marcel had played differently. He dribbled less, passed more, and never took a shot himself. He had multiple chances to go for goal, but each time, he chose to pass. He was trying to correct his mistakes from the last match, trying to follow the coach's instructions. But in doing so, he had held himself back, afraid of repeating his previous errors.

The locker room was silent. No one spoke, no one moved much. Sweat dripped from every player's face as they sat on the benches, heads down, processing the situation.

Marcel sat with his head down, sweat dripping from his forehead as he replayed the first half in his mind. Should he have taken more shots? Should he have trusted himself more? But in football, there were no ifs. All that mattered was what happened next.

The door creaked open. Coach Emile stepped inside, walking to the center of the room. His eyes scanned the players, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing. The silence was almost worse than yelling.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"What did I just witness, boys?" His voice was sharp, controlled—but filled with disappointment.

His gaze shifted to the striker. "Did you forget how to take a shot?" His tone was laced with frustration. "Seven shots—same as Brasseries Academy. And yet, not a single one on target. Do you think that's good enough?"

Marcel tensed as Coach Emile turned to him.

"And you, Marcel. Where was your flair today? Where was your confidence?" His voice wasn't angry, but it cut deep. "Last game, you tried to do too much on your own. Today, you did the complete opposite."

Marcel swallowed hard.

"I never told you to stop dribbling," Emile continued. "And shooting? You didn't even try. Not once. Are you going to tell me I asked you to stop shooting, too?" He shook his head. "You had chances, but you passed them away. Football isn't about overthinking—it's about balance. The best players know when to take responsibility and when to trust their teammates. Find that balance, and you'll have everything you need to be a pro."

He turned sharply toward the defenders. "And you guys… what was that?" His voice was colder now. "You're seventeen. Two years older than that kid Ganago, yet he made you look like children. He fooled you, outran you—like it was nothing."

The defenders remained silent, some looking at the floor.

"If you can't outrun him, play smart!" Emile snapped. "Anticipate! Position yourselves better! If it weren't for Jean, we'd be 4-0 down by now."

Jean, sitting on the bench, exhaled slightly. His hard work was recognized, but it wasn't enough.

"In this second half," Emile continued, "I want focus. I want more direct attacks. And I want more pressing. Don't give them time to breathe, don't let them pass freely. That first half? They played rondo with you like you were school kids. That ends now."

His sharp eyes locked onto Marcel again.

"Take them on more. Guy Kilama thinks he's comfortable now—make him uncomfortable. Humble him. Show him he's not untouchable. But that doesn't mean playing alone. Find the right moments. Find the balance."

He scanned the room one last time. "We're 2-0 down, but we can turn this around. I need more from you. You need more from yourselves."

A brief silence.

Then, Jean stood up.

"Let's go, boys!"

The team huddled together, one hand in the center.

"WE ARE?!" Jean shouted.

"DRAGONS!"

"DRAGONS!"

Their voices thundered through the room.

It was time for the second half.

...

...

The players stepped back onto the pitch, their faces unreadable, but their focus sharp—like lions stalking their prey. Brasseries Academy's players, on the other hand, were visibly relaxed, their confidence evident in their movements. Their striker, Ignatius Ganago, was all smiles, flashing his teeth as he clapped his hands.

"Let's go, guys! We bag two or three more, and it's over!" he shouted.

His teammates responded with laughter and cheers, their energy almost mocking.

The Dragons FC players clenched their fists in frustration, but they didn't let their emotions take over. They would show them—on the pitch.

The referee's whistle pierced the air.

Fweeee!

The second half was underway.

Dragons FC started in possession. Their striker tapped the ball back to the defensive midfielder, who quickly assessed his options. Almost immediately, the two Brasseries forwards charged forward, pressing aggressively. With a single touch, the midfielder shifted the ball wide to the right-back before the press could close in.

The right-back, sensing the urgency, took a controlled touch forward before offloading it to the right-winger. As soon as he passed, he sprinted down the flank, executing a well-timed overlap. The right-winger recognized the movement and returned the ball, bypassing Brasseries' left-back entirely.

For a brief moment, space opened.

Instead of crossing into a crowded box, the right-back cleverly cut a low-driven lateral pass to the edge of the penalty area, aiming for Dragons FC's attacking midfielder.

But the pass wasn't strong enough.

The midfielder sprinted forward, stretching to meet the ball, but at the same time, Brasseries' center-back Guy Kilama lunged in. The two clashed—shoulder to shoulder—just as the midfielder struck the ball.

The shot flew high, well over the crossbar.

The Dragons FC right-back raised his hand in apology, frustrated with his misplaced pass.

"Good job, boys! Keep going! Next time, we bury it!" Coach Emile shouted, clapping his hands.

The match continued, with Brasseries looking to reassert control through possession. Dragons FC pressed high but lacked cohesion—often overcommitting, pressing at the wrong times, or leaving gaps in behind.

That played straight into Brasseries' hands.

Several times, they exploited the space, threading through balls into the box where Ganago lurked dangerously. The young striker timed his runs perfectly, but Dragons FC's defensive discipline had improved. Led by Jean's commanding presence, they stayed compact, blocking shots, making last-ditch tackles, and forcing Brasseries to take low-percentage chances.

Despite Brasseries' control, they weren't finding the net.

Yet Dragons FC struggled offensively. Every time they tried to transition forward, Brasseries intercepted their passes or forced them backward. Marcel, their biggest attacking threat, was completely shut out—a defender shadowed his every move, cutting off passing lanes before the ball could even reach him.

For nearly twenty minutes, Dragons FC were trapped in their own half.

As the game reached the 65th minute, Coach Emile called Marcel over during a brief stoppage for a foul.

"You're dangerous, Marcel. Your opponents know that—that's why they're sticking to you. But listen, if you just stay wide, you make it easier for them to mark you. Move more. Drop into midfield, ask for the ball, force them to follow you. If they track you deep, they leave space behind. If they don't, you'll have time to turn and run at them. Make them suffer."

The coach patted Marcel's back and sent him off with a firm nod.

The game resumed.

Marcel, instead of staying isolated on the left wing, drifted deeper into his own half, making himself available. Jean spotted him and fired a pass his way.

Ganago was already closing in, pressing aggressively.

Marcel anticipated him early. Just before receiving the ball, he faked an inside turn, as if he was about to cut into the middle.

Ganago took the bait.

At the last second, Marcel let the ball roll past his body, spinning the other way towards the left flank. Ganago lunged in, but by the time he realized the trick, Marcel was already gone—exploding forward down the wing.

A roar erupted from the Dragons FC bench.

Marcel sprinted down the left flank, his speed electric. Brasseries' right-back stepped up to intercept, but Marcel slowed down, throwing in rapid step-overs. He feinted inside, baiting the defender into shifting his balance.

Then—boom.

Marcel pushed the ball past him on the outside and burned past with a burst of acceleration.

He was free.

Charging into the final third, he spotted his striker making a run toward the box. Marcel cut a precise pass across the face of goal just as he himself darted toward the penalty area.

His teammate attempted a delicate chip back towards him, aiming for a one-two combination—but the ball was too heavy!

It turned into a high aerial duel between the goalkeeper and Marcel.

The keeper, already in motion, leapt up, reaching for the ball. Marcel, knowing he wasn't tall enough to challenge fairly, still made a desperate attempt to flick the ball on.

The ball slipped through the keeper's fingertips!

It bounced awkwardly right in front of Marcel—empty goal in front of him.

Without hesitation, he struck it cleanly into the net.

GOAL!

2-1!

The stadium erupted.

But Marcel didn't stop to celebrate.

He ran straight into the goal, snatching the ball and sprinting back toward the center circle, motioning for his teammates to hurry.

"One more! We just need one more!" he shouted, his voice carrying over the cheers.

As he placed the ball at the center spot, he clapped hands with his teammates, urging them on.

Marcel glanced at the scoreboard. 2-1. They had closed the gap, but there was still work to do.

Despite conceding, Brasseries Academy remained in control, dominating possession and dictating the tempo. However, they struggled to create clear-cut chances, as Dragons FC's defensive shape had improved. Jean, commanding at the back, orchestrated a compact defense, cutting out dangerous through balls and making life difficult for Ganago. The young striker, though electric in the first half, now found himself constantly challenged, unable to break free as easily.

On the other hand, Dragons FC, while still under pressure, looked far more threatening when they countered. Every attack carried intent, and their transitions were becoming sharper.

In the 70th minute, Marcel found himself in a rare one-on-one against Kilama on the left flank. Feinting towards the sideline, he suddenly cut inside onto his right foot, opening up space at the edge of the box. With a quick glance at goal, he curled the ball towards the far top corner.

The execution wasn't perfect.

He didn't wrap his foot around the ball enough, meaning the shot lacked the necessary bend. Instead of curling away from the keeper, it floated more centrally, making it an easy catch for Brasseries' goalkeeper, who calmly plucked it out of the air.

Marcel clicked his tongue in frustration. That was a wasted chance.

In the 73rd minute, Brasseries threatened again.

Ganago, receiving the ball just outside the box, turned sharply and fired a low-driven shot toward the bottom corner. Dragons FC's goalkeeper reacted instinctively, diving at full stretch to parry it away.

Before anyone could blink, he was already on his feet.

Seeing Jean in space, he threw the ball out quickly, sparking an immediate counterattack.

Jean calmly controlled and scanned the field. Dragons FC moved the ball swiftly from defense to midfield, patiently pulling Brasseries from side to side. The ball eventually came to Marcel.

This time, he drove centrally, advancing just outside the penalty area. With defenders stepping up, he slid a delicate through ball into the box, threading it perfectly between two defenders to find his striker.

The angle was tight.

Instead of forcing a shot, the striker smartly cut the ball back across the six-yard box to a late-arriving midfielder.

The midfielder struck first time. Low, clean connection.

The entire Dragons FC bench jumped in anticipation.

But Brasseries' goalkeeper exploded to his right, reacting in a flash to claw the ball away.

Coach Emile threw his hands in the air, half-celebrating before slamming his palm on the ground. "Why is this keeper suddenly so good?!"

On the field, Dragons FC players stood frozen in disbelief, hands on their heads.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

Brasseries' keeper wasted no time—he stood up instantly and launched a long throw to midfield. His teammate took one touch and played a direct through ball to Ganago.

It was a perfect transition.

Ganago sprinted through the pitch arriving outside the box, ready to strike.

Jean, the only one who had stayed back, timed his tackle to perfection.

Sliding in cleanly, he hooked the ball away at the last moment, sending it out for a corner as Ganago tumbled over him.

"No foul!" the referee signaled.

Jean sprang to his feet, standing face-to-face with Ganago, who was still on the ground.

He let out a defiant roar.

Brasseries might have been leading, but Dragons FC were fighting back with everything they had.

The game remained a tense back-and-forth battle, but Brasseries had shifted their approach. Instead of forcing attacks, they started to hold possession, moving the ball around the back to kill time.

The 82nd minute changed everything.

A Dragons FC midfielder intercepted a loose pass, instantly igniting a counterattack.

Quick passes moved the ball through midfield before it reached the striker, who turned and played it out wide to the left—straight to Marcel.

Marcel, one-on-one against Kilama once more, paused.

He started small feints, left... right... left again—keeping Kilama guessing.

Then, in a flash, he executed a brilliant elastico—the ball snapping right before flicking left, nutmegging Kilama in the process.

He was through.

The goalkeeper rushed out aggressively to close the angle.

Marcel, instead of shooting, simply rolled the ball laterally into the six-yard box.

The striker was already there.

A simple tap-in was all it took.

GOAL!!! 2-2!

Marcel turned and embraced his striker teammate, and soon the entire team swarmed together, shouting in unison:

"GOOOOOAAAAALLLLLL!"

On the touchline, Coach Emile was jumping and clapping furiously.

"Good job, boys! We tied it up! One more—push harder and take this match!"

Dragons FC smelled blood.

As soon as play resumed, they pressed relentlessly, keeping Brasseries locked in their own half.

But Brasseries held firm, moving the ball cautiously, waiting for their chance.

Then came the 90th minute.

Brasseries, under pressure, passed it back to their goalkeeper, who sent a long clearance toward midfield.

Jean leaped high, winning the header and directing it toward a midfielder, who controlled and quickly looked up.

Marcel was making a diagonal run down the left.

The midfielder spotted it and launched a pinpoint long ball.

Marcel controlled beautifully.

Once again, Kilama stood in his way.

This time, Marcel started with slow step-overs, watching his opponent closely.

He faked an inside cut to the right.

Kilama hesitated, shifting his balance slightly.

Marcel saw the opening—but it was a trap.

As he pushed wide to accelerate down the left, Kilama, still on one knee, extended his right leg backward, flicking the ball away while keeping his eyes on Marcel over his shoulder.

A perfectly timed last-ditch tackle.

Before Marcel could react, Brasseries' right-back recovered the ball and booted it high and long into Dragons FC's half.

A deadly mistake.

Ganago was already in motion, his speed unmatched.

Jean and the other defenders raced back, but Ganago was too quick.

Coach Emile was on the touchline, screaming for his players to drop back.

The Dragons FC goalkeeper rushed out, desperate to close the space outside the box.

Ganago saw it.

A perfectly weighted chip sailed over the diving keeper.

The ball rolled slowly into the net.

Ganago peeled away, arms wide in celebration, as his teammates mobbed him.

At that exact moment—

Fweeeeeee!

The referee blew for full-time.

Dragons FC had lost.

Marcel dropped to the ground, his hands gripping his knees, his chest rising and falling heavily.

He felt sick.

If only he had passed instead of dribbled. If only he had been more careful.

His mind was flooded with regret.

One by one, Dragons FC players collapsed onto the pitch, heads down, feeling the sting of defeat.

Marcel stayed there, staring blankly at the turf, until a shadow loomed over him.

Kilama.

The defender extended a hand.

"Well played," Kilama said, pulling him up. "Since I started playing, you're the first to give me that much trouble. Every one-on-one was a nightmare."

Marcel met Kilama's gaze and nodded. "Thanks. You're the toughest defender I've faced."

Kilama smirked. "But in the end, I won."

Before Marcel could respond, Ganago appeared, grinning wide.

"Hey, hey! Don't forget me. I scored three goals. I'm obviously the best today."

Marcel forced a smile, still feeling the weight of defeat.

"Today, you won," he admitted. "But next time, I will."

Kilama chuckled. "See you in the final, then. If you make it that far."

Marcel just nodded, clenching his fists.

This loss would drive him.

He would never feel like this again.