The First Test on European Soil II

The match resumed with Portugal immediately taking control of possession, their midfielders moving the ball around swiftly. Gedson Fernandes dictated the tempo, scanning the field before spotting an opportunity. With a sharp lift of his head, he sent a precise long ball toward the right wing, bypassing Cameroon's midfield line.

The Portuguese right winger sprinted onto the pass, but Kalamou was already closing in, cutting off the inside channel and forcing him toward the sideline. The winger hesitated for a moment, then quickly spotted Gedson making a late run toward the edge of the penalty area. Without wasting time, he sent a firm pass into his path.

Gedson arrived at the top of the penalty arc in full stride. The ball rolled perfectly into position, and instead of taking a touch, he opted to strike it first-time with power. His right foot met the ball cleanly, sending a thunderous shot rocketing toward goal.

Jean and Toukam threw themselves forward in an attempt to block, but the shot whizzed between them, leaving them helpless.

The ball soared past the outstretched hands of the Cameroonian goalkeeper and smashed against the crossbar with a loud thud! before rebounding out of play.

A collective gasp echoed from the stands. Gedson, stunned, dropped to one knee and slapped the ground in frustration before clasping his hands over his head. It had been a golden opportunity, but luck was not on his side this time.

…

As Djomo placed the ball down for the goal kick, he scanned his options before playing a short pass to Jean in the center of the penalty area. The moment Jean received it, Portugal's front line sprang into action.

The Portuguese striker sprinted toward Jean, pressing aggressively, while the left winger quickly closed in to cut off the passing lane to Toukam. Almost every Cameroonian player was tightly marked, reducing Jean's options significantly.

With little time to react, Jean spotted Hongla dropping deep into their own half, a Portuguese midfielder shadowing his movements. Despite the tight marking, Jean played a firm pass toward Hongla.

Hongla controlled the ball but immediately felt the pressure behind him. With a quick feint to the right before pivoting left, he sent his marker stumbling to the ground. Now free, he turned and shifted play toward Namekong, who was positioned near the halfway line on the right side.

However, just as Namekong received the ball and looked to pass it back to Hongla, a Portuguese midfielder lunged in with a well-timed sliding tackle, poking the ball away before Namekong could return the pass. The ball deflected into the path of the Portuguese left winger.

Now deep in Cameroon's final third, the winger wasted no time, threading a precise through ball between Ngoah and Djoubairou, perfectly into the path of Gedson Fernandes at the top of the penalty arc.

Gedson controlled the ball expertly despite Ngoah pressing him from the left. Without breaking stride, he accelerated, nudging the ball forward and entering the center of the penalty area.

Before any Cameroonian defender could react, he unleashed a powerful strike aimed at the bottom right corner of the goal.

Djomo, reacting with lightning reflexes, dived low, stretching his right hand just in time to deflect the ball wide of the post. The stadium let out a collective murmur of surprise as the referee's whistle signaled a corner.

Gedson jogged over to take the corner, placing the ball carefully before delivering a sharp inswinging cross toward the near post.

Toukam read the trajectory well and leaped up, heading the ball out of the box. Hongla, positioned just outside the penalty area, wasted no time, launching a powerful clearance deep into the Portuguese half, neutralizing the danger for now.

…

The match remained balanced until the 13th minute when Gedson Fernandes attempted a chipped pass over the Cameroonian defense, aiming for his striker. Toukam read the play well, stepping forward at the right moment to head the ball away toward the left, where Kalamou was positioned.

Kalamou controlled the ball cleanly near the defensive third, scanning the field for passing options. With no immediate pressure, he opted for a diagonal pass toward Hongla, who was positioned near the center circle but still inside Cameroon's half.

As soon as Hongla received the ball, two Portuguese players pressed him aggressively, forcing him to think fast. With no room to turn, he shielded the ball briefly before playing it back to Toukam. The center-back, calm under pressure, immediately spotted Hongla repositioning himself into space and returned the ball to him. This time, Hongla had a better angle to turn forward.

With a sharp turn, Hongla shrugged off the nearest Portuguese midfielder before threading a precise pass to Djoubairou, who had advanced slightly past the halfway line. Sensing an opportunity, Djoubairou didn't hesitate—he pushed forward into space as Portuguese players tracked him.

He saw the perfect chance. With a well-executed chipped pass, he lofted the ball over the Portuguese backline, aiming for Namekong, who had already started his run.

At that same moment, Marcel had been jogging just outside the penalty area, observing the play unfold. The second Djoubairou's chipped ball was played, he exploded into a sprint toward the left side of the penalty area, catching the Portuguese right-back off guard.

The ball bounced just outside the box, and Namekong, recognizing the situation, let it roll into the area without controlling it, keeping the momentum of the attack alive.

Meanwhile, Ganago, initially stationed centrally, saw the Portuguese center-back tracking him closely. He feinted a movement toward the left, dragging the defender out of position. That slight shift created an open pocket of space in the middle of the box—exactly where Marcel was arriving at full speed.

Seeing the gap, Namekong calmly squared the ball across the face of goal, laying it perfectly into the open space. Marcel, arriving unmarked, stepped into the ball and struck it first-time with his right foot.

The connection was clean. The ball rocketed toward the bottom right corner with precision.

The Portuguese keeper reacted as fast as he could, diving desperately, his fingers stretching—but it was too late.

BANG!

The net rippled violently.

The stadium held a brief silence before the reality of the moment sank in—Cameroon had scored again!

0-2 for Cameroon! Another goal for Marcel!

Marcel sprinted toward the corner flag, raising two fingers toward the stands before sliding onto his knees. His teammates swarmed him in celebration, piling onto him as shouts of joy filled the air.

"You're on fire, bro!" Ganago yelled, slapping him on the back.

"We're not here to lose, Europe or not!" Ngoah added, beaming with excitement.

Marcel grinned, still kneeling on the pitch. He glanced toward the scoreboard, the numbers confirming his impact. As he rose to his feet, he clenched his fist, a surge of confidence running through him.

He had just scored against an elite European youth team. No matter the lineup Portugal had fielded, this moment proved something—he wasn't just another talented African prospect.

He belonged on this stage.

…

The match restarted with Portugal in possession, but Cameroon quickly pressed high up the pitch, forcing an error. A misplaced pass was intercepted, and before the Portuguese defenders could react, the ball was cleared out for a throw-in near the left flank.

In the 15th minute, Kalamou stepped up to take the throw-in. He spotted Marcel and tossed the ball toward him.

Marcel cushioned the ball before immediately returning it to Kalamou. The left-back then played it back again, but by that time, two Portuguese players had positioned themselves behind Marcel, waiting for him to turn toward them.

Instead of turning, Marcel advanced diagonally, back toward the center circle, using his body to shield the ball as the Portuguese players tracked him closely.

Just as one of them attempted to reach in and poke the ball away, Marcel feinted to the right, shifting his weight slightly. The defenders reacted instantly, leaning toward that side—but it was a trap.

In a split second, Marcel spun left instead, cutting back toward the Portuguese goal, bursting forward down the middle third of the pitch.

One of the Portuguese midfielders, realizing the danger, rushed to Marcel's side, pressing his shoulder against him in an attempt to destabilize him. But Marcel stood his ground, using his low center of gravity and balance to keep moving forward despite the physical challenge.

With his left arm slightly extended to block off the defender, Marcel drove forward, his legs pushing harder as he neared the edge of the penalty area.

The Portuguese defense was now fully engaged—one defender was stuck to him, another was closing in from his left, and a third positioned himself slightly ahead on the right. Further inside the box, Namekong and Ganago were both tightly marked, leaving no easy passing options.

Marcel lowered his stance, controlling the ball under pressure. With a sharp touch, he pushed it slightly to his right, creating just enough space to unleash a shot.

Then, with a powerful strike, he smashed the ball toward goal.

The ball soared through the air, spinning rapidly as it headed toward the top corner.

CLANG!

The entire stadium held its breath as the ball grazed the crossbar, skimming the top netting before dropping behind the goal.

A goal kick for Portugal. So close.

Marcel exhaled sharply, tilting his head back in frustration. He knew how close that had been. A few centimeters lower, and it would've been a stunning goal.

…

The match restarted, and Portugal slowly gained control, circulating the ball well and even managing a long-range shot that flew over the bar. But aside from that, Cameroon's defense remained impenetrable, with Jean and Toukam commanding the backline, locking down any advancing Portuguese attackers.

In the 23rd minute, Portugal lost possession, sending the ball out for a throw-in deep in Cameroon's half.

Jean took the throw-in, launching it toward Toukam on the right.

Toukam, seeing the press closing in, calmly played the ball back to Djomo in goal. Without hesitation, Djomo switched the play, sending a sharp pass to Kalamou near the edge of the penalty arc.

At that moment, Marcel dropped deep, motioning for the ball. He wanted it.

Kalamou saw him and delivered a crisp pass to his feet.

Marcel controlled smoothly, already scanning the pitch. His eyes locked onto Ganago, who was beginning a run behind the Portuguese defense. Wasting no time, Marcel attempted a lofted pass over the top, trying to exploit the gap.

But the Portuguese center-back read it well, stepping up to intercept with a strong header before Ganago could reach it. The ball dropped to Gedson Fernandes, positioned in the center circle inside Cameroon's half.

Instead of controlling, Gedson let the ball roll through his legs—a clever dummy—sending Hongla the wrong way.

The ball reached the Portuguese striker, but before he could react— Jean came flying in with a perfectly timed tackle from behind, dispossessing him cleanly. The ball rolled toward Hongla, who quickly threaded a first-time pass forward to Ganago near the halfway line.

Ganago turned sharply, shifting his body away from his marker before accelerating forward into space. Looking up, he spotted Marcel advancing on the left flank and immediately laid the ball off to him.

Marcel collected it just past the center circle in Portugal's half and drove forward, sprinting into the middle third. A Portuguese midfielder slammed into him shoulder-to-shoulder, trying to destabilize him. Marcel staggered slightly but stayed on his feet, using his body to shield the ball.

Then, with a split-second glance at the defensive line—he saw the gap.

Ganago was making his run, slicing between the right-back and center-back.

Perfect timing.

Without hesitation, Marcel slid a perfectly weighted through ball between the defenders. The pass was precise—rolling just beyond the reach of the defender—and landed at Ganago's feet, just outside the penalty box.

Ganago didn't break stride. One touch to push it forward. One second to assess his options.

The defenders were closing in.

But he had already made his decision.

With a swift shift onto his stronger foot, he shaped his body, angling for the far corner.

Then—he struck.

The ball rocketed off his boot, curling low and hard across goal.

The Portuguese goalkeeper reacted late, diving desperately, arms outstretched. But it was too late.

The ball skimmed past his fingertips and buried itself into the far-right corner of the net.

GOAL.

Some spectators rose from their seats, applauding, acknowledging the quality of the strike.

Ganago roared in triumph, pumping his fists as he sprinted toward the sideline, his teammates racing after him. Marcel caught up, slapping his back in celebration.

3-0 for Cameroon.

The Portuguese defense stood frozen, unable to believe what was happening.

…

The match restarted, and in the 30th minute, Cameroon won a corner kick on the right.

Ngoah stood over the ball, scanning the movement inside the penalty area. He took a deep breath before delivering a looping cross to the far post.

Jean, rising above his marker, timed his jump perfectly. With a powerful leap, he met the ball mid-air and smashed a header down toward the bottom corner.

The Portuguese keeper dived instinctively—but he had no chance.

The ball bounced past him and into the net.

GOAL!

Jean landed, letting out a roar of celebration as his teammates mobbed him. 4-0 for Cameroon!

The Portuguese players looked stunned, their defense completely dismantled.

And the massacre continued.

In the 33rd minute, Portugal tried to respond quickly, breaking forward, but their final shot flew wide of the post.

Djomo, unfazed, immediately launched a long goal kick deep into Portugal's half.

Ganago read the flight of the ball early, jumping high and flicking it on with a strong header toward Djoubairou.

The Portuguese defensive line was high, dangerously exposed.

Djoubairou, receiving the ball inside the center circle in Portugal's half, found himself in a 3v3 situation—only three Portuguese defenders stood between him and the goal.

To his right, Namekong was sprinting toward the flank.

To his left, Marcel was making a diagonal run inside.

Djoubairou pushed forward aggressively, accelerating as fast as he could. But Portuguese players tracked back, closing in on him. With no direct path to goal, he was forced wider to the right.

He looked up.

There was no space to cut inside. The defenders had shifted well.

With no other choice, Djoubairou whipped in a cross, trying to find a target in the box.

But just as he swung his foot—a Portuguese defender lunged in, deflecting the ball with his outstretched leg.

The ball looped out of play.

Corner kick for Cameroon.

Ngoah rushed to take it, quickly delivering a fast, near-post cross.

Kalamou darted forward, losing his marker. He launched himself at the ball, connecting with a powerful header—but his effort soared just over the crossbar.

Goal kick for Portugal.

The game continued in the same fashion. Portugal managed to string together some attacking moves, but Jean and Toukam remained a fortress at the back, blocking every attempt.

The Portuguese shots that did get through lacked precision, flying wide or straight into Djomo's hands.

And with that, the referee blew for halftime.

Cameroon completely dominated the first half, going into the break with a commanding 4-0 lead.

...

...

The second half resumed, with Portugal attempting to play more aggressively. However, their ambition led to an early mistake.

Just two minutes into the half, they lost possession deep in Cameroon's half. The ball was quickly worked forward, Njike sending a pass to Kalamou on the left flank, still in Portugal's half.

Kalamou felt the pressure mounting behind him—Portuguese players were closing in fast. Without hesitation, he turned back toward the goal and spotted Jean open near the halfway line.

Instead of taking a risk, he passed the ball back.

Jean, always composed, took one glance upfield and spotted Marcel making a diagonal run behind the Portuguese defense.

Without a second thought, he launched a long, lofted pass over the defensive line.

Marcel, already in full stride, watched the ball descend and controlled it beautifully on the edge of the box on the left side. A Portuguese defender tried to recover, but Marcel's first touch kept the ball away from him.

Now inside the penalty area, Marcel shifted the ball diagonally toward the center, eyes locked on the keeper.

The Portuguese goalkeeper rushed forward, angling his body to block the near post. The defense scrambled, trying to close the space, but it was too late.

Marcel opened up his body and struck the ball cleanly with his right foot, aiming for the far corner.

The shot was precise and powerful, curving beyond the keeper's reach.

GOAL!

Marcel raised three fingers toward the sky.

A hat-trick. 5-0 for Cameroon.

The match slowed down after that, Portugal holding possession but failing to break down the Cameroonian defense. Jean and Toukam were a wall, blocking every attempt.

However, in the 89th minute, Portugal finally found a breakthrough.

A Portuguese midfielder, stationed just outside the box on the right, took a speculative shot toward goal.

Djomo reacted well, diving to his right, but his save only parried the ball back into danger, just outside the six-yard box.

Gedson Fernandes reacted first, rushing toward the ball as Njike tried to block him.

At full speed, Gedson seemed to be going out of play, but he executed a brilliant feint, planting his right foot while subtly flicking the ball backward.

Njike, fooled by the movement, lunged but missed, allowing Gedson to spin around him and slip the ball through Njike's legs with a slight push forward.

Now facing the goal, Gedson didn't shoot.

Instead, he squared the ball to a teammate arriving at the top of the six-yard box.

With one touch, the Portuguese forward powered the ball into the net, leaving Djomo no chance.

A small cheer erupted from the Portuguese bench.

5-1.

Despite conceding, Cameroon remained composed for the last few minutes, running the clock down until the final whistle.

The match ended 5-1, a dominant victory for Cameroon, with Marcel securing a hat-trick and the team proving themselves on European soil.

…

I was ecstatic. Scoring three goals and providing an assist against a European national team on my first trip to Europe—it felt unreal.

I ran across the pitch with my teammates, laughing and shouting like we had just won a trophy.

"Europe or not, we crushed them hard!" I yelled, grinning as Ganago, Jean, and Noah joined in.

"Yeah, bro! We showed them who's boss," Jean said, clapping me on the back. "Next time, they won't underestimate us. If they come with their best squad, at least they'll take us seriously."

"Now, we go to Niger and win the AFCON!" I pumped my fist in the air.

"Yeah!!!" Everyone shouted, our voices echoing in the stadium.

As we celebrated, I noticed one of the Portuguese players approaching me. It was their number 8—Gedson Fernandes.

"Hey," he said in slightly broken English, "that was a very good match from you. I didn't expect this kind of loss when I knew we were playing you."

I smirked. "Oh, thank you. My name's Marcel Ndonga. You played well too, but of course, we were better."

Gedson let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Don't get too confident. This wasn't our best team. If we had our full squad, we would've destroyed you."

I shrugged. "Ifs and maybes. Doesn't change what happened today. Maybe next time, don't underestimate us."

"Fair point," he admitted. Then, with a curious expression, he asked, "Which team do you play for?"

"I'm still playing in Cameroon, but don't worry—you'll hear about me in Europe soon enough." I gave him a confident grin.

"I hope so. Maybe we'll even be teammates one day," Gedson said before nodding and heading back toward his teammates.

As I watched him leave, I felt an arm drape around my shoulder. Jean smirked at me. "So, what did he want?"

"Nothing much," I said with a shrug. "Just wanted to congratulate me on the win."

Jean nodded in approval, and we headed back to the locker room, still buzzing from our victory, even if it was just a friendly.

...

...

A sharp sound echoed through the locker room—Coach Atangana clapping his hands as he stepped in, his expression one of satisfaction.

"That was an excellent performance from all of you," he said, his voice firm but pleased. "From defense to midfield to attack, everything was perfect. This was your best match since the qualifiers against Ghana."

A few players exchanged proud grins, some still catching their breath from the intense game.

"You can hold your heads high after a performance like that," Atangana continued, his gaze sweeping across the room. "But don't celebrate for too long. This is only preparation. What I want is the same level—no, better—when we get to Niger for the AFCON."

His eyes then settled on me. "Marcel, that was excellent—not just your goals. You didn't miss a single dribble today, and your runs were fantastic. You're starting to understand exactly what I need from you. Keep it up."

Hearing that, I felt a rush of satisfaction. A confirmation of my hard work. That meant I was on the right path—I just had to keep going and keep making my team win.

Atangana then turned to Jean, Toukam, Kalamou, and Njike. "You were extraordinary in defense. Apart from that late goal we conceded, you locked everything down. If we defend like this in the AFCON and avoid small mistakes, we'll be unstoppable."

He paused, letting his words sink in before giving a firm nod. "I'm very proud of you boys."

A ripple of smiles spread through the room, pride shining on every player's face.

"Now, finish getting ready," Atangana said, clapping his hands once more. "We're heading straight to Niger. We have an AFCON to win."

The atmosphere buzzed with excitement. This wasn't just a friendly—it was proof of what we could achieve. Now, all focus turned to the real challenge ahead.

...

...

Nuno Almeida stood outside the stadium, his phone pressed tightly against his ear, his scouting team murmuring quietly behind him. His mind was racing, but his voice remained steady.

"Manuel, I'm heading back now. The match tape—we need to review it together," he said, his tone clipped, his urgency unmistakable.

On the other end, Manuel Teixeira, his superior at Porto, frowned. "You sound rattled, Nuno. What happened? Don't jump to conclusions. This was his first match in Europe—it's natural if he struggled against players trained here. The talent is still there."

Nuno exhaled, shaking his head. "No, Manuel. I was wrong before." He hesitated for a second, before his voice dropped, firm and unwavering. "Comparing him to Rúben Neves was an understatement."

There was a silence before Manuel let out a short laugh, half in disbelief. "Wait—what? You were the one who said he reminded you of Rúben."

"And I was wrong," Nuno repeated. "He's beyond that level."

Manuel scoffed. "You're exaggerating. Rúben Neves is starting for our first team at 17, and you're telling me this kid—this 14-year-old—is better?"

"I'm telling you, if Marcel only had the right physique, if he were even just 16, we could already be considering him for professional minutes," Nuno insisted. "He doesn't just have talent—he has the kind of talent that makes you rethink everything. We took a chance on Rúben, and look at him now. But Marcel? He has a ceiling that might be even higher than James Rodríguez."

Manuel fell silent for a moment, taking in the weight of those words. "...Are you absolutely sure?"

"Watch the tape, Manuel. When you see what I saw, you won't doubt me."

Manuel sighed. "Alright. Let's assume you're right. What's the next step?"

"We move—immediately." Nuno's response was instant. "I'm flying to Cameroon the moment you approve. We need to establish a direct line to his family before anyone else does. We must convince them that Porto is his best future. A clear pathway to the first team, structured training, personalized fitness programs—everything. If we lock in a pre-contract when he turns 16, I'll even relocate temporarily to oversee his progress."

Manuel remained cautious. "I understand your excitement, but let's not rush blindly. We need to be strategic."

"Strategic?" Nuno nearly scoffed. He lowered his voice. "Sporting CP had scouts at the match."

That made Manuel sit up. "Sporting?"

"Yes. And they know what they saw. They weren't even subtle about it."

A curse came through the phone. "Damn it… First Benfica, now Sporting too?"

"Exactly," Nuno pressed. "Benfica spotted him first, which already put us behind. Now that Sporting is in the picture, we're running out of time. We cannot afford to let this slip away."

Manuel exhaled sharply. He understood now—this wasn't just about securing a talent. It was about not losing him to their biggest rivals.

"Fine," he relented. "I'll watch the footage as soon as you get back. If I agree with your assessment, we make our move before the AFCON starts."

Nuno smirked, tension finally releasing from his shoulders. "That's what I wanted to hear. See you soon."

He ended the call, his thoughts already racing ahead. They had to act—before it was too late.