The First Test on European Soil I

The locker room had a surprisingly calm atmosphere, much lighter than one would expect before such an important match. The players were quietly getting ready, their movements methodical, their expressions focused. There was no visible nervousness, just silent anticipation.

Sitting beside Marcel, Ganago nudged him slightly.

"Are you nervous?" he asked.

Marcel, adjusting his shin guards, glanced at him with a small smile.

"Nah, not really. Strangely, I feel calm," he replied. "I was just looking at the stadium. The pitch is immaculate—no patches, no uneven surfaces, nothing to disrupt the ball's movement."

Ganago nodded, sharing the same observation.

"Yeah, the difference is crazy compared to our pitches back home. Here, you don't have to second-guess every pass or adjust for an unexpected bounce. You can dribble freely without worrying about the ball skipping in the wrong direction."

Marcel silently agreed. The perfectly maintained grass, the flawless white lines marking the field—it was a far cry from what he was used to. He couldn't help but imagine playing in Europe's biggest stadiums one day.

Just then, Coach Atangana entered the locker room. His eyes swept across the team, taking in their relaxed postures.

"I see that you're all calm," he said with a small smile. "That's good. I'd much rather see you focused like this than overwhelmed just because we're playing in Europe."

He paused, his tone turning more serious. "But let me ask you—why are you this calm? Is it because you think they're not fielding their best squad?" His gaze hardened. "If that's the case, then you're underestimating them, and that's a dangerous mistake."

Atangana's words made the players straighten up, their attention fully locked onto him.

"Listen well," he continued. "Even if this isn't Portugal's strongest lineup, we are still the underdogs here. That's the reality. You need to play with that in mind—show them that we are not inferior to them. There are no friendly matches when you wear the Cameroon jersey. Every game is a fight, and this one is no different."

He let that sink in before asking, "Am I clear?"

"Yes, Coach!" The entire team responded in unison.

"Good." Atangana clapped his hands. "Now, finish getting ready and head out for warm-ups. We'll make sure they remember this match."

Marcel exhaled as he stood up, stretching his arms before grabbing his jersey. The weight of the game settled in—not in a way that made him nervous, but in a way that fueled his determination.

As he stepped onto the pitch, the fresh scent of grass filled his nose. The stands weren't packed, but there were still a fair number of spectators scattered across the seats. Most of them were Portuguese, their faces either carrying mild interest or quiet expectation. Some were likely hardcore national team supporters, others were parents of players. And then there were the scouts—Marcel was sure of it. He had learned to recognize their calculating eyes, scanning the field, waiting to spot something special.

Shaking off his wandering thoughts, he rolled his shoulders and focused. None of that mattered now. The only thing that did was the game.

The warm-up had begun.

...

...

The Estádio Municipal de Leiria was filling up as the Portugal U17 and Cameroon U17 teams warmed up on the pitch. Among the spectators, a particular section of the stands was occupied by men who carried themselves differently—dressed in official club gear, equipped with notebooks, cameras, and sharp, discerning eyes.

In that group, three men exchanged glances before approaching each other.

"Oh, Nuno. I didn't think we'd see you here," Rui Valente greeted with a polite smile.

"Rui. Gonçalo," Nuno Almeida of FC Porto acknowledged them with a small nod, his expression unreadable. "Didn't expect to run into you two, either."

"Really?" Gonçalo Figueiredo, standing beside Rui, raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "I thought you'd be all over a match like this."

Nuno let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "You know I don't usually attend these youth internationals. But today's an exception."

Rui smirked. "Must be quite the special occasion then, if it made you step out of your usual routine."

Nuno only gave a small, knowing smile. "I could say the same for you two."

There was a brief pause, the silence between them carrying a quiet tension.

"Anyway," Gonçalo said, pretending to brush off the moment. "We're just here to see how some of the boys are developing."

"Of course," Nuno replied, matching the act. "Same here."

Another pause. None of them outright said it, but they all knew why the others were there.

"Well," Rui finally said, glancing toward the field where the teams were lining up. "Let's see if today's match gives us anything interesting."

"I certainly hope so," Nuno replied, his smirk barely fading as he turned and walked back to his team.

The moment passed, but around them, a few scouts had taken notice of the interaction. They didn't know what was being exchanged between the men, but the brief encounter hinted at something—something worth watching.

Then, the whistle blew. The match had begun.

...

...

The match kicked off, with Cameroon taking the first possession. They circulated the ball from midfield back to their defenders, looking to settle into their rhythm. Portugal, meanwhile, pressed aggressively, their forwards charging forward in an attempt to win the ball high up the pitch.

In the 2nd minute, a throw-in from Kalamou on the left side of Portugal's half found Ngoah, who received the ball with his back to goal. Almost immediately, a Portuguese midfielder closed him down, pressing hard. With little space to turn, Ngoah played it back to Kalamou, who quickly sent a precise pass into the box toward Marcel.

Marcel, anticipating the ball, let it roll past him, using his momentum to continue his run from the left side of the penalty area toward the center. The Portuguese left-back lunged toward him, but Marcel's feint allowed him to glide past untouched. Just as he was about to regain full control, a Portuguese center-back slid in with a well-timed tackle, knocking the ball away just before Marcel could strike. The clearance fell to a teammate, who immediately booted it deep into Cameroon's half.

Jean, positioned near the center circle, controlled the high clearance with his chest before allowing it to drop to his feet. With a quick glance up, he spotted Ganago making a run behind Portugal's defensive line. Without hesitation, Jean sent a long, arching pass into the opposition's box, aiming for Ganago's movement.

But before the Cameroonian forward could reach the ball, the Portuguese center-back leaped into the air and headed it clear, directing it toward Gedson Fernandes in midfield. However, just as Gedson prepared to receive the pass, the referee's whistle blew—Ganago had strayed offside.

…

The match was still in its early stages when Portugal won a throw-in near the halfway line in Cameroon's half. As soon as the ball was tossed toward Gedson Fernandes, Hongla read the play perfectly, stepping in to intercept before the Portuguese midfielder could react.

Without hesitation, Hongla pushed forward, but sensing the Portuguese players closing in, he quickly laid it off to Ganago, who had dropped deep near the center circle to receive it. Almost immediately, two Portuguese players flanked him, forcing him to play it safe. With a quick touch, he knocked it backward to Djoubairou, who then switched play to Hongla on the right, just inside Cameroon's half.

Hongla quickly played it forward to Namekong, now advancing into Portugal's half. The midfielder wasted no time, carrying the ball toward the top of the center circle after receiving the pass.

At that moment, Marcel, positioned wide on the left, recognized an opportunity. He cut inside diagonally toward the box, raising his hand as a signal for the pass. Namekong, seeing the space open up, threaded a perfectly weighted through ball between the Portuguese defensive lines.

Marcel exploded forward, but before he could take control, a Portuguese center-back reacted sharply, stepping in to intercept and clearing the danger with a strong kick back into Cameroon's half.

The ball soared through the air as Jean and Portugal's striker battled for positioning. Jean rose first, winning the aerial duel and nodding it down toward Namekong, who had tracked back to support. Seeing Gedson Fernandes and another Portuguese player sprinting toward him, Namekong instinctively returned the ball to Toukam in defense.

The Portuguese striker immediately pressed, forcing Toukam to act fast. He switched play to Njike on the right, who took a touch forward before rolling it to Namekong once again.

The Portuguese press was relentless. Namekong, under heavy pressure, opted for a quick pass back to Njike, who then shifted it to Jean in defense before the ball was returned once more to Toukam.

Toukam, surveying the pitch, spotted Ngoah in space near the halfway line. The midfielder controlled the ball, and just before stepping into Portugal's half, he sent a pass wide to Marcel on the left flank.

As soon as the ball reached Marcel's feet, Gedson Fernandes rushed in to close him down. Marcel, unfazed, performed a subtle feint—shoulder dipping left before gliding right. Gedson lunged forward, but Marcel had already slipped past him with effortless ease, accelerating forward into the middle third of the pitch.

Two Portuguese players closed in from either side, attempting to box him in, but Marcel remained composed, scanning the opposition's defensive structure as he ran.

Then, with a quick flick, he sent the ball right to Ngoah in the final third before immediately continuing his sprint toward the penalty area. Ngoah, reading the movement perfectly, played a first-time return pass into Marcel's path, just outside the box.

Marcel's first touch was flawless, setting himself up perfectly for a shot. But before he could strike, a Portuguese defender lunged in with a desperate sliding tackle.

Marcel reacted instinctively—stopping his shot motion at the last second before nudging the ball through the defender's legs with a delicate touch.

With the goal in sight and no defender between him and the keeper, Marcel didn't hesitate. He struck the ball cleanly, curling it toward the top right corner.

Fwooosh!

The Portuguese goalkeeper leaped, stretching his arm desperately toward the ball, but it was out of reach. The net rippled as the ball tucked into the top corner.

Goal!

0-1 for Cameroon!

Marcel exploded with joy, sprinting toward the corner flag with his arms spread wide. Reaching the flag, he gave it a celebratory kick before dropping to his knees in pure elation.

Ganago was the first to reach him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder while shouting, "Goal! That was insane, bro! Show them who's boss!" He clapped Marcel's back with excitement.

Ngoah, grinning, ran over as well. "Europe or not, we're winning this match. You just made sure they know that!"

Marcel stood up, a wide smile stretched across his face. He had done it—scoring against a European national team. Even if this wasn't Portugal's strongest squad, this goal proved something.

He wasn't that far from other youth players in Europe.

At that moment, a thought flashed in his mind. One part of the system's mission was already completed.

He was supposed to score at least one goal and not lose the match. The first part was now done.

There was still the match to finish, but this was at least one part done.

The Cameroonian team jogged back to their positions, waiting for the game to restart. The scoreboard now reflected their early statement—Portugal 0, Cameroon 1.

...

...

"Nice goal," one of the scouts muttered, eyes still fixed on the pitch.

Nuno Almeida nodded slightly, arms crossed as he leaned forward. "His movement looks sharper… and that shot—well taken. He's improving." His voice was low, but there was an unmistakable note of interest.

Another scout shifted in his seat. "A solid start to the match. If he keeps this up, it'll strengthen our case."

Nuno kept his gaze on the field, his tone even. "Watch closely. We need a complete picture—his strengths, his limitations. Let's see how he plays when things don't go his way."

The others nodded, their attention sharpening. This was more than just one goal—they were here to analyze every detail.

…

"Oh, that was a pretty good run from this number 17. From his dribble all the way back to now and his shooting technique—he's impressive," said one of the scouts watching the match. He was a young man in his mid-20s, dressed in a casual yet professional outfit, with the Sporting CP logo embroidered on his jacket.

Standing beside him, another scout, dressed similarly, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Rafael, he's good. I didn't think there would be a player like this in the Cameroonian team," he said, his voice carrying a mix of surprise and intrigue.

Rafael Monteiro kept his eyes fixed on the pitch, analyzing every movement Marcel made. Without taking his gaze off the game, he spoke. "Diogo, try to find out more about him—his name, age, current club, and if there are other scouts watching him."

Diogo Gomes, already ahead of the request, smirked. "I already did my research. His name is Marcel Ndonga. He's 14 years old, plays for a local club in Cameroon, and this match is a preparation for the AFCON U17 in February."

Rafael's eyes sharpened as he absorbed the information. "Hmm, 14… A bit young for anything concrete, but his composure and technique are ahead of his age. And what about other scouts? Anyone else keeping an eye on him?"

Diogo chuckled. "Oh, plenty. Nuno Almeida, Gonçalo Figueiredo, and Rui Valente are here, trying hard to make it seem like they aren't watching him. But come on… we're scouts, we can tell when someone is tracking a player."

Rafael let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "If Porto and Benfica are already involved, then this kid must really be something."

Diogo leaned slightly closer. "So… what do we do? They're already ahead in scouting him."

Rafael exhaled and folded his arms. "Not by much. Even if they've been following him longer, they can't sign him before he's 16. That means we still have a window to work with. We can observe him more thoroughly, evaluate his progress, and when the time is right, make our move."

He paused for a moment, then continued, his voice more serious.

"If he's really as good as I think… this could be the first truly special player I've discovered since I started scouting. I've found some solid talents, but no one that made me say 'this kid is different.'" Rafael's eyes flickered with something between excitement and determination.

Diogo nodded. "So, we attend the AFCON U17?"

"Definitely. If he's as good as we think, he'll be the standout player. And if we're right, we can't afford to lose him," Rafael said, his tone more resolute.

He glanced around the central stand, and his eyes locked onto a familiar sight—Nuno Almeida, Gonçalo Figueiredo, and Rui Valente. The trio had also noticed them, their expressions unreadable, but their presence alone spoke volumes. They all knew why they were here.

A moment of silent acknowledgment passed between the rival scouts before Rafael smirked slightly and turned back to the game.

The competition for Marcel Ndonga became more competitive.