The sed goal gave Dragons FC Yaoundé newfound fidence, and for the fifteen mihey dominated possession. Union Doua inned iheir own half, struggling to break out. Every time they mao clear the ball, Dragons FC's midfield was there to press, winning it back almost immediately. Despite some mispced passes, the pressure was relentless, and Union Doua looked increasingly desperate.

  Marcel, full of energy, tio torment his marker on the left fnk. The right-back had already suffered through multiple nutmegs, and his frustration showed. His movements were hesitant now, his fidence shaken as Marcel toyed with him—quick bursts of acceleration, subtle feints, and well-pced crosses into the box. Evehe tral defender came over to provide support, Marcel adjusted, dragging the ball into open spad esg both defenders with clever footwork.

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

  Union Doua had packed their penalty area, with nearly every pyer droppio 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 shot away. It was a frustrating cycle—Marcel could beat defenders, but the final executio getting shut down.

  On the sidelines, Union Doua's coach was fuming. He had seen enough of his pyers getting humiliated by Marcel's dribbling. He called over his right-bad ter-back, his instrus 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 unfortable."

  Whech resumed, the ge in Union Doua's defensive approach was immediate.

  Marcel received the ball, expeg another one-ouation, but this time, the right-back was already on him—not with teique, but with force. A hard shoulder challenge sent Marcel stumbling, the ball boung away.

  The referee blew his whistle. Foul.

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

  A few mier, he got the ball again, but before he could even take his sed touch, a te 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!"

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

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

  BAM!

  A Union Doua ter-back slid in with a rough tackle, sending Marcel tumbling. As he sat on the ground, the defeapped him lightly on the bad smirked.

  "You think you're Ronaldinho?"

  Marcel ched his jaw, his frustrati. He wao prove them wrong. He wao humiliate them even more.

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

  Then, disaster nearly struck.

  Ih minute, Marcel attempted to dribble past three pyers at o he lost the ball. Union Doua immediately unched a devastating terattack, their striker rag through on goal. The shot flew past the goalkeeper—

  g!

  The ball smacked against the crossbar and bounced out.

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

  From the toue, Coach Emile's voice erupted across the field. "Marcel! What are you doing? Pass the ball! That's not how you pyed irial—why are you pying alone?"

  Jean-Pierre rushed over, pg a firm hand on Marcel's shoulder. "Py 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 khey 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 toue, a spectator who had overheard Frane's earlier versation couldn't help but smirk.

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

  Frauro him, unfazed. Her tone was sharp but posed.

  "Why are you talking to me? Did I ask for your opinion?" she shot baot even b 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 fident words, doubt flickered in her mind. What is Marcel doing? she wohis isn't like him.

  She knew Marcel loved to dribble—Ronaldinho was his idol, after all—but never before had he do 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 Frane was already thinking.

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

  Frane sighed, her gaze fixed och.

  "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 pyer. He'll realize it soon—he always does."

  Christina hough worry still clouded her features.

  The two women turheir focus back to the field, their voices rising in encement.

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

  Frane cpped her hands, her voice steady despite her inner worries. "Py smart, son! Show them who you are!"

  At that moment, the ball came baarcel.

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

  ...

  In the 71st minute, Marcel received the ball on the left fnk 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 Dht-back, already tormehroughout the match, immediately raised his arm, signaling his ter-back for help. He wasn't about to be humiliated again.

  Seeing his teammate's call, the ter-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 f another one-on-one, Marcel abruptly ged his mind, quickly threading a pass into the gap left by the tral defehe Dragons FC striker reacted, making a run into the open space. But the moment of hesitation had arcel a fra of precision—the pass was hit slightly too hard, and though the striker mao reach it, he couldn't trol it ly. The ball bounced awkwardly off his foot, allowing the Union Doua goalkeeper to rush forward and smother it before a real ce 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 encement over reprimand.

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

  Emile exhaled, hands on his hips as he analyzed Marcel's deaking.

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

  Still deep in thought, Emile cpped his hands loudly, refog his team.

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

  As if responding to his and, Jean, the defensive pilr ons FC, stepped up. He anticipated a loose touch from Union Doua's striker and immediately pounced, ly dispossessing him before lifting his head for the move. Wasting no time, he swung a pinpoint pass out to the right-back, who trolled it smoothly and carried it forward.

  The right-back pyed a short pass into midfield, where Dragons FC's tral midfielder found himself in acres of space. Union Doua had dropped deep, almost retreating into their defensive shell, relut to press high and risk g anoal.

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

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

  For a split sed, everyone froze. The ball rebounded downward, boung just in front of the goal line. A Union Doua defender, rec quickest, scrambled to clear the ball—ung 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 trolled it effortlessly with his chest, the ball settling at his feet with a single soft touch. He lifted his head, sing the field.

  Immediately, Union Doua's tral defender charged toward him. The entire bae 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 itting to stopping him. The goalkeeper, sensing the same threat, instinctively leaoward the left, preparing for a possible shot.

  But Marever inteo shoot.

  At the very st sed, just as the defense colpsed 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 Doua's bae realized the danger a sed too te. The goalkeeper shifted his weight, but it ointless. Their entire defense had been pulled toward Marcel, leaving Dragons FC's right-winger wide open.

  Without breaking stride, the wiook oouch to trol before calmly slotting the ball into the empty .

  GOAL! 3-1!

  The Dragons Fch erupted. The pyers on the field rushed toward the right-winger, mobbing him in celebration. Marcel, standing a few meters away, ched his fists, a satisfied grin f on his lips. He had baited the entire defeo fog on him, only to set up the simplest goal of the match.

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

  ...

  The final minutes of the game saw Dragons FC Yaoundé in plete trol, asserting their dominance over Union Doua. Marcel, having adjusted his approach after Coach Emile's words, pyed a pivotal role in ensuring his team tiheir relentless offensive dispy. His sharp movement and refined deakio twoals that sealed the victory.

  The first came from a beautiful binatioween Marcel and the striker. They exged a quie-two on the edge of the box, slig through the defense. With oouch, Marcel set himself up before curling the ball beautifully into the top er, leaving the goalkeeper with no ce.

  The sed was a testament to his growing tactical awareness. Instead of taking ara touch or attempting to dribble, Marcel pyed an instinctive first-time pass directly to his striker the moment he received the ball. The Union Doua defenders, expeg 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 ically.

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

  Dragons FC had won emphatically.

  The pyers erupted into celebration, embrag each other och, their voices eg with triumphant cheers. The energy was iious, the joy of victory radiating through the team.

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

  "WE ARE?!" he roared.

  "DRAGONS!!!" the pyers shouted ba unison.

  "WE ARE?!"

  "DRAGONS!!!"

  The team cpped 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 fet. 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 wao 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 alohis was football at its purest.

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

  "Well pyed, 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 pying 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 pyer och. But ime, don't put all the pressure on yourself. We're a team. If we want to win this tour, we need everyoo be at their best—not just you."

  Marodded. "Got it."

  The lively locker room atmosphere suddenly quieted as Coach Emile entered, his presenanding 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 wo games will be much tougher. But thanks to this result, we've given ourselves some breathing room."

  A few pyers exged gnces, listening ily.

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

  His expression grew serious as he looked at the defensive pyers. "That goal we ceded in the first half? We 't afford mistakes like that against stroeams. The wo oppos are miles ahead of Union Doua in attag power. We o 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 ygest strengths. But if you want to bee a professional—if you want to go even further than that—you o learo dribble and when to pass. It's not about taking away your creativity. It's about making you a plete pyer. You showed that in the sed half. Keep pying like that."

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

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

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

  ...

  After the match, Frane 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."

  Fraanding behind with a warm expression, pced a hand on his shoulder. "You made me proud today, Marcel. Seeing you out there, pying 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 pyed well."

  "Of course!" Frane 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 Frane's restaurant this time, but at a pce Marcel had never been to before. It was a modest local spot, packed with people enjoying their evening, the air filled with the st of grilled fish and spicy sauces.

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

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

  He took a deep breath and summohe interface.

  [Elite Boost System Activated]

  A series of notifications immediately appeared before him.

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

  gratutions! You won against Union Doua, an average-raeam iour. Reward: 5 points, 2 XP

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

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

  Marcel quickly sed the notifications. The rewards were det, but not as much as he had expected. He had pyed one of the best games of his life, yet the system treated it as just aep forward.

  Summoning his full interface, he checked his progress.

  [Elite Boost System]

  Level: 1 (7/500 XP)

  Name: Mardonga

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

  Height: 168 cm

  Weight: 64 kg

  Positio Winger / Right Winger

  Special Boosts:

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

  Lottery Tickets: 0

  Pyer 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 obtaihrough 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 Ptinum Boosts be?

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

  "That's why I told you," Tricera tinued in its ral tone. "Pying in youth leagues in Cameroon won't be enough for your development. Unless you participate in major youth national team tours or py in MTe One, yrowth will be slow."

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

  "What about lottery tickets?" he asked.

  "Lottery tickets be obtained randomly, but there's no guarantee of earning one. However, pying in major youth tours or peting at the top level increases your ces."

  Marcel ched his fists. The answer was the same—if he wao improve, he o stand out in the Brasseries Tour and earn a call-up to the 2015 Afri U-17 Championship qualification against Ghana iember. If he couldn't make that, then at the very least, he o push for a spot in the main tour.

  With that thought, he closed the system interfad y ba his bed, staring at the ceiling.

  His path was clear.

  He o domihe Brasseries Tour and earn reition. That was his step.

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

  This was just the beginning.