The Scouting War Begins

After the referee blew the final whistle, the Cameroonian players erupted in celebration. They ran across the pitch, flailing their arms, shouting, and embracing each other with beaming smiles.

Marcel joined in, his body buzzing with adrenaline as he threw his arms in the air and even attempted to dance—though it was more of a series of wild gestures than real dancing. But in that moment, he didn't care. The sheer joy of victory drowned out any embarrassment.

As the celebrations raged on, he took a moment to sit on the grass, watching his teammates revel in the triumph. This feeling… it's incredible. He imagined what it would be like to win an entire tournament, to lift the Champions League trophy one day, or even to achieve his ultimate dream—the World Cup. Just thinking about it sent a rush of excitement through his body. If winning this match feels this good, how would it feel to win on the biggest stage?

Before he could reflect further, he felt hands grabbing him from all sides. Confused, he barely had time to react before his teammates lifted him into the air, tossing him up repeatedly as they laughed and cheered. Marcel couldn't help but laugh along, a sense of pride swelling in his chest. He had helped lead them to this victory.

Eventually, reality set in. As much as they wanted to keep celebrating, they had a flight to catch. One by one, the players began heading toward the locker room, still buzzing with excitement but knowing their journey was far from over.

...

...

"That was an incredible match from Marcel," Gonçalo said, exhaling as he leaned back in his seat. "He dominated the proceedings. Yes, it's youth football, but seeing him excel against older players is already a great sign."

Rui nodded. "Exactly. It confirms his potential. But now that we've seen how good he is, we have to act fast. If we don't establish contact with his parents soon, once he showcases his talent at the AFCON U17, it'll be much harder to convince him."

Gonçalo frowned, considering Rui's words. "We're Benfica, but let's be honest—if a club from France starts showing interest, they'll have the advantage. He's from Cameroon. He speaks French. Moving to a club where he doesn't have to learn a new language would be an easier choice."

Before Rui could respond, a shadow fell over them. A voice followed.

"Didn't expect to find Benfica scouts at a match like this in Africa."

Gonçalo turned, and his stomach tightened.

Standing before them was a man in his late twenties, sharp-eyed and confident. Nuno de Almeida. He hadn't been in Porto's scouting network for long, but his record spoke for itself. He was the one who spotted James Rodríguez and Danilo Luiz da Silva.

And now, he was here.

This is exactly what I didn't want… a top scout taking notice of Marcel, Gonçalo thought.

Rui was the first to recover. "Hey, Nuno. How's it going?"

"I'm doing well," Nuno replied casually, his eyes scanning the field. "Came here to check out some prospects. It was a good match, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, great game," Rui agreed. "Plenty of talent on display."

Nuno smirked. "Some players were very interesting."

He let the words hang in the air for a second before continuing. "So, anyone in particular catch your eye?"

Gonçalo forced a neutral expression. "No one specific. There were a few decent prospects, but nothing concrete yet. We'll need to observe more."

Nuno's smirk widened slightly, but he didn't push further. "I see. Well, it was good running into you. I'll leave you to your work."

With that, he turned and walked away, blending back into the scouting area.

Rui let out a breath. "I don't think we fooled him."

"Of course we didn't." Gonçalo kept his eyes on Nuno's retreating figure. "A guy like him? He spotted James Rodríguez before anyone else. If we saw Marcel's talent in one match, you can be sure he saw it too. And I'll bet he's already thinking about how to get more information on him."

Rui exhaled sharply. "We need to move fast."

Gonçalo clenched his fists. "Faster than fast."

…

As Nuno walked back to his seat, his mind raced with everything he had just witnessed.

He had no doubts now. The player's name—Marcel—echoed over the stadium speakers after each highlight-worthy moment. It was clear to him that this wasn't just any young talent; this was a player with something special.

And Benfica's scouts knew it.

That was the real concern.

They weren't just observing like they would for any random prospect. No, their eyes were locked onto him the entire match. Their body language gave them away—leaning forward every time he touched the ball, reacting every time he beat a defender or scored. This wasn't their first time watching him.

The real question was: How long have they been tracking him?

Had they already contacted his parents? Did they have an agreement in place? If so, Porto would need to act fast before it was too late.

Nuno cast one last glance at Gonçalo and Rui before smirking.

Good thing I recorded this match.

Without hesitation, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. If Benfica was hesitating, Porto wouldn't.

It was time to make a call.

...

...

After returning to Cameroon, Marcel had to go back to school. Despite knowing it was for his own good, it didn't make him like it any more than before.

Now that almost everyone at school knew he was playing for Cameroon's U17 team, they had made sure to watch the match. His hat-trick had only amplified the attention.

Even the security guard at the entrance greeted him differently, calling him "Mini Eto'o" with a big grin.

Marcel hadn't expected this much of a reaction. He thought youth football wasn't that important to people, but he was clearly wrong.

As he walked through the courtyard, he heard his name being called from different directions.

"Ndonga! Cameroonian Ronaldinho!"

"Nah, he's more like our Cristiano Ronaldo!"

All kinds of comparisons were thrown his way. While it was flattering, it was also a bit embarrassing. He knew deep down he wasn't anywhere near those great players.

When he stepped into the classroom, the reaction was even more exaggerated. Before he could even process it, Madeleine was already in front of him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Oooooooh!!!" The entire class erupted in teasing shouts.

Marcel quickly stepped back, breaking the hug, not wanting any misunderstandings.

"Congratulations," Madeleine said with a bright smile. "It was tough, but I found a way to watch the game. I even shared the link with all my friends so they could watch too."

"You played amazingly," she continued, her eyes locked onto his. "Maybe you really will be our next Samuel Eto'o."

Before he could respond, his classmates started banging on their desks, chanting his name.

"Ndonga! Ndonga! Ndonga is the future Samuel Eto'o!"

Marcel smiled, though he was visibly embarrassed. He didn't understand why they were making such a big deal out of it—it was just a youth match, after all.

One of his classmates smirked and called out, "Acer Marcel, can't you see how invested Madeleine is in you? Flirting with you non-stop? How can you stay indifferent?"

"Yeah, you have a girlfriend, but is she as good as Madeleine? If you find someone better, isn't it logical to go with her?" another student added, laughing.

Marcel sighed, rubbing his temples before answering, "Guys, stop. Nothing you say is going to change my mind. If I left my girlfriend just because I saw someone else, wouldn't that mean I'd do the same thing again later? And again after that?"

Madeleine suddenly spoke up, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Alright, everyone, that's enough. We were celebrating Marcel's performance, not debating his love life." She smiled but didn't move her hand immediately.

The class laughed before finally settling down and returning to their seats.

Marcel turned to her and lowered his voice. "You really need to stop doing this. Everyone's misunderstanding, and it's going to cause problems."

Madeleine tilted her head slightly, looking at him with an expression that was both teasing and unreadable. "What exactly am I doing? Wasn't I always like this before you got into a relationship?"

"That's exactly the problem," Marcel muttered. "Back then, I thought it was just how you express friendship. But now… it feels different."

Madeleine's gaze softened slightly, and she murmured something under her breath.

"What?" Marcel asked, leaning in slightly.

"I—" Madeleine started, but before she could continue, the classroom door opened, and their history teacher walked in.

The room went quiet, but to Marcel's surprise, the teacher looked at him and smiled.

"I was originally planning to give you all a surprise test today," the teacher said, glancing at the students.

Groans echoed around the room.

"But since Marcel played such a great match, I've decided to postpone it."

The classroom erupted into cheers and applause, some students banging on their desks again.

"Instead," the teacher continued, "today, we'll be asking Marcel questions about his matches."

Laughter and excited chatter filled the room.

Marcel sighed, shaking his head. Even the teachers were involved now? He could only smile helplessly as he prepared for whatever questions were coming his way.

...

...

At Le Normalien restaurant, Francine Ndonga sat across from two men, observing them carefully. She wasn't the type to be easily impressed, and despite their polite demeanor, she knew why they had sought her out.

"Mrs. Ndonga, my name is Gonçalo Figueiredo, and this is my colleague, Rui Valente. We are scouts from S.L. Benfica in Portugal." Gonçalo spoke in hesitant French, carefully pronouncing each word. As he spoke, both men reached into their pockets, producing official club ID cards to confirm their identities.

Francine, maintaining a neutral expression, studied the cards before giving them a brief nod. "You can speak English if you prefer. I speak both French and English, so don't worry."

Relieved, Gonçalo and Rui exchanged glances before nodding.

"Thank you, Mrs. Ndonga," Rui said with a polite smile.

"We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us. We know you must be busy, and we didn't want to waste your time," Gonçalo added.

Francine simply nodded. "Coach Emile informed me in advance, so I was willing to listen. But let's not waste time—what is it you want to discuss?"

Gonçalo leaned slightly forward. "We've been following your son, Marcel. We watched both of his matches for Cameroon U17, and we believe he is an exceptional talent. With the right guidance, he has the potential to become a great player."

Francine's expression didn't change. "Go on."

"Given his age, we cannot sign him directly," Rui continued. "FIFA rules prohibit transfers of underage players outside of Europe, except in specific exceptional cases."

Francine folded her arms. "I'm aware. I've done my research. No club can sign a player under 18 unless his family moves for non-football-related reasons. That is what you're about to propose, isn't it?"

Gonçalo let out a small sigh, impressed but also realizing they wouldn't be able to fool her with vague promises. "You're right. What we can offer is a potential relocation opportunity. If you were to move to Portugal for work or other personal reasons, Marcel would then be eligible to join our youth academy."

"We understand this is a big decision," Rui added. "If you were willing, we could try to convince our board to arrange a job opportunity for you in Portugal and secure a place for Marcel in a good school while he trains at Benfica."

Francine raised an eyebrow. "So, you can convince them? Or are you just hoping you can?"

The two scouts hesitated slightly.

"To be honest," Gonçalo admitted, "we still need to get full approval from the club. Benfica prioritizes promoting its own academy players, so they may be hesitant about bringing in a young talent from outside."

Francine scoffed lightly. "So, you're telling me that even if I agree, there is no guarantee your club will actually follow through? That I would have to uproot my life on the hope that Benfica might accept my son?"

She leaned forward slightly. "Let's say I tell Marcel today that Benfica wants him. That he will have a future at a big club in Europe. And then, after weeks or months, you come back and say, 'Sorry, but the board wasn't convinced.' Do you realize what that would do to my son?"

Rui and Gonçalo exchanged glances, realizing she was right.

"I don't play games with my son's future," she continued. "I won't give him false hopes, and I won't agree to something that isn't 100% certain. If you're serious about Marcel, bring me a real offer, not just vague possibilities."

Gonçalo let out a slow breath and nodded. "You're right, Mrs. Ndonga. We understand your position. But I promise you—we believe in Marcel's talent. We will do our best to convince the club to act."

Francine leaned back in her chair, her tone firm but not unfriendly. "You might want to move fast. If you take too long, another club will come for him. And if they give me a better offer than you, I won't hesitate to accept."

Gonçalo and Rui frowned slightly. They knew she wasn't bluffing. They had already encountered situations like this before—waiting too long on a player, only for a rival club to swoop in.

With nothing left to say, Gonçalo and Rui stood up and extended their hands.

Francine shook them both firmly. "I'll wait to hear from you—but only if you have something concrete."

Gonçalo and Rui nodded before heading out of the restaurant, both deep in thought.

"We need to convince the club," Rui muttered.

"Yeah," Gonçalo sighed. "Before someone else does."