At the Ndonga household, Marcel was getting ready for the semi-final match against Kadji Sports Academy—one of the most prestigious youth academies in Cameroon. The academy had produced some of the try’s biggest footballing talents, including Samuel Eto’o, Nikoulou, Benjamin Moukandjo, and Aurélien Chedjou. While i years they hadn’t produced a breakout star, their reputation alone made it clear that the match wouldn't be easy.
Marcel adjusted his boots and took o look at himself in the mirror. His heart pounded with excitement, but his face remained calm. He knew what was at stake.
"Mom, I’m ready to go. Christina already texted me—she’s waiting outside," he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
Fraanding by the doorway, smiled. "Good. This time, I’m bringing my camera to film your match. I’ll send it to your father so he see you win."
Marcel chuckled. "Alright, Mom. I’ll do my best."
As they stepped outside, Christina was already waitihe car. She perked up when she saw Marcel, a warm smile spreading across her face. He walked up to her, ing an arm around her in a brief embrace before they both got into the car.
With the engine r to life, the car rolled onto the road, heading straight for the pitch where the semi-final awaited.
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......
In the locker room, Marcel tightened his socks and adjusted his boots, making sure everything erfect before stepping onto the pitch. Around him, the team was engaged in quiet preparations, some stretg, others adjusting their gear. The air was thick with anticipation as they waited for Coach Emile to give his final words before kickoff.
Marcel turo Jean, their captain and defensive leader. Without a word, he bumped fists with him, a mutual uanding passiween them.
"Let’s win this matd make it to the final," Marcel said, his voice steady with determination.
Jean smirked. "Yeah, and we’re ting on you in attack. Just try not to waste too many ces," he replied, his tone half-joking but with a serious uone.
Before Marcel could respond, the locker room door swung open, and Coach Emile strode in. His eyes swept across the room, sing each pyer as he moved toward the ter.
"We’ve made it to the semi-finals," he began, pag slowly, his voice carrying the weight of the moment. "We had a setback, but we stood up, fought back, and now we’re here."
He stopped, hands on his hips, letting the silence sink in before tinuing. "I could tell you that no matter what happens today, you’ve already dohat you qualified from a group with Brasseries Academy and Yaoundé. But that would be defeatist thinking."
His gaze hardened. "I know none of you are here to lose."
The pyers sat up straighter, their eyes locked onto the coach as he tinued.
"Since we’ve e this far, we’re going all the way. No excuses. No sed-guessing. You’ve worked for this moment. Prove it. Show what you're capable of. Show why you belong here—against one of the best academies in Cameroon."
Coach Emile’s expression sharpened as he took a slow breath before delivering the final iive.
"A me remind you—the Cameroon U17 coach is watg this match."
A murmur rippled through the room.
"If you want to wear the national team jersey—if you want to represent this try, then leave no doubts today. Py like your future depends on it—because it does."
He took o look at them before raising his voice.
"Are you ready, boys?!"
"YES, COACH!" the pyers responded in unison.
"I SAID, ARE YOU READY?!"
"YES, COACH!" They roared, louder this time, their voices filled with adrenaline.
Coach Emile nodded, satisfied. "Then go out there and win this match."
One by ohe pyers rose, their faces hardened with focus, their bodies brimming with energy. As they walked out of the locker room, the atmosphere shifted—the weight of the occasion pressing on their shoulders.
This was their moment.
They were ready.
......
......
Fweee!!!
The referee blew the whistle, signaling the start of the semi-final. Kadji Sports Academy took the kickoff, immediately settling into possession.
They moved the ball patiently in their own half, their midfielders exging quick passes as Dragons FC’s striker pressed aggressively, trying to for error. Marcel and the other attag pyers quickly joined in, increasing the iy of the press.
But just as they itted forward, Ngono Ngoah, Kadji Sports’ tral midfielder, spotted an opening. With a quice, he unched a long diagonal ball toward the left wing, exploiting the space left behind by Dragons FC’s high press.
The ball soared over the midfield and dropped perfectly into the path of Kadji’s left winger, who wasted no time accelerating down the fnk. Dragons FC’s right back sprio close him down, angling his body to block the winger's path.
But in a moment of brilliahe winger faked inside before pushing the ball to his right, going around the right-ba the outside. With a burst of speed, he raced past, leaving his marker trailing as he caught up with the ball he byline.
Jean, realizing the danger, reacted instantly. He sprinted across, trying to cut off the winger before he could deliver a cross. But the winger, just a step ahead, saw the movement a a low-driven pass terally to the edge of the box, targeting the space Jean had just vacated.
Rag into the area, Ngono Ngoah arrived at full speed, timing his run to perfe. Without hesitation, he unleashed a powerful shot aimed toward the tht er.
Dragons FC’s right ter-back lunged desperately, managing to block the ball with his outstretched leg—but he didn't deflect it properly. Instead of clearing away, the ball took an awkward defle, ging dire uably.
The goalkeeper, already itted to diving right, was caught off guard as the ball swerved left.
GOAL!!!
The rippled as the ball led into the bottom-left er. 1-0 to Kadji Sports Academy.
The entire sequence had unfolded in just two minutes.
Dragons FC pyers stood frozen for a moment, processing what had just happened. It was a nightmare start. Marcel ched his fists. The match had barely begun, and they were already chasing the game.
Jean smmed his fist into his palm, visibly frustrated. He looked at his teammates and cpped loudly.
“e on! Stay focused! It’s just the beginning!”
Marcel exhaled sharply, shaking off his initial disappoi. There was still plenty of time left. They had to respond.
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......
Frane and Christina sat iands, watg in disbelief as Dragons Fceded an early goal.
“They don’t know how to defend or what?!” Fraood up, frustration clear in her voice.
“If Marcel doesn’t win this match, it’s because of that defense,” she muttered, shaking her head as she sat back down.
“It’s just the beginning, Tata” Christina reassured her. “Marcel will ge the match whes the ball.”
Some spectatnced in their dire, amused by Frane’s loud rea, but quickly looked away when she gred at them.
“What are you looking at?!” she snapped, making a few of them turn their heads elsewhere.
A low chuckle came from nearby.
Fraurned, notig a middle-aged man in a Cameroon national team tracksuit, seated a few rows down. He had a shaved head, a ly trimmed beard with hints of gray, and a rexed posture. His expression wasn’t mog—more amused, like someone used to seeing passionate supporters.
“Whie is your son?” he asked, his tone casual.
Fraill slightly annoyed, g him before replying. “Number 17. Ndonga. The left winger.”
The man nodded. “Ah. The boy on the left. He’s good—I’ve been following him since his first match against Brasseries Academy.”
Frane frowned slightly. She wasn’t sure why, but something about the way he said it felt different.
“And you are…?” she asked, more curious now.
“Just a football fan.” He gave a small smile, adjusting the sleeves of his tracksuit. “I like watg young talents. Every now and then, you e across someone special.”
Frane’s eyes drifted briefly to the Cameroon national team emblem on his tracksuit. It wasn’t unon to see people wearing team gear, but something about this versation made her look at it twice.
“You follow young talents?” she pressed, still not fully vinced.
“I try.” He shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of pyers e and go. Some have great skill, but it takes more than that to go far. Football isn’t just about talent—it's about the right mentality and the right opportunities.”
His words made sense, but before Frane could respond, the crowd stirred—Marcel had finally gotten the ball.
She immediately turned her attention back to the pitch, pletely fetting the versation for now.
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......
After dropping deep into midfield to receive the ball, Marcel turned sharply, accelerating past an onrushing midfielder. His pace took him into space, but instead of driving forward recklessly, he lifted his head to s the field. On the far side, Dragons FC’s right winger had begun a sprint into the box.
Marcel struck a diagonal pass, but he overhit it. The ball zipped through the air, boung hard off the right winger’s chest. His trol was clumsy, and before he could adjust, Kadji Sports’ ter-babo Toukam, charged in and hacked the ball clear.
Or at least, he tried.
The clearance cked power, and the ball looped weakly to the edge of the box.
Marcel had been waiting for this.
Like a predator sensing weakness, he reacted in an instant, stepping forward and striking the ball on the volley.
SMACK!
The ball flew toal, but Marcel khe mome it—it wasn’t perfect. The shot, intended for the tht er, veered slightly too tral.
The Kadji Spoalkeeper reacted swiftly, diving to his right. He stretched out his arm and mao parry it wide.
Coach Emile dropped to his knees, hands gripping his head. On the field, Marcel exhaled sharply, g his fists. His teammates around him groaned in frustration.
Fweee! The referee signaled for a er.
Dragons FC’s midfielder curled in a precise cross to the far post. Jean, leaping higher than anyone, met the ball with a powerful header toward the bottom left.
The goalkeeper was beaten.
But at the st sed, Toukam threw his body in the way, blog the shot with his chest. A Kadji Sports defender reacted first and booted the ball clear.
---
The pattern of the game became clear.
Kadji Sports dominated possession, cirg the ball with fidence, but they cked peion. Their passing sequences rarely turned into clear-cut ces.
Dragons F the other hand, thrived on terattacks.
Ih minute, after a clever owo between the right-bad right-winger, Dragons FC’s striker met a curling cross with a firm header toward the top er. The ball seemed destined foal.
But the goalkeeper, in inspired form, leapt across the goalmouth and plucked it out of the air.
In the 32nd minute, Marcel dazzled the crowd with a o slip past Kadji Sports’ right-back. He linked up with his striker, who pyed a return pass to a midfielder at the edge of the box. With a feint, the midfielder rolled the ball into Marcel’s path.
Marcel aimed to curl the ball into the far post, but he didn’t get enough bend. The shot drifted straight to the goalkeeper.
Coach Emile groaned. “This keeper… is he pying like this just to frustrate us?!”
The goalkeeper smirked as he clutched the ball, clearly growing in fidence.
---
Then came the 43rd minute.
A blocked shot rebouo a Dragons FC midfielder, who quickly spotted Marcel asking for the ball. A crisp, low pass sent it rolling toward him on the left fnk.
Marcel trolled it smoothly, but a defender rushed toward him.
With a subtle feint, Marcel shifted his weight left, baiting the defender into a step. The moment his oppo lunged, Marcel cut sharply inside.
Toukam stepped up, but Marcel remained calm, adjusting his stride with small touches. He noticed the goalkeeper edging right, anticipating a curling effort.
Instead, Marcel struck low and hard.
The ball zipped through Toukam’s legs, catg the keeper off guard. He barely had time to react as the shot buried itself into the bottom-left er.
GOAL!
1-1!
Marcel sprioward the stands, f a heart with his hands.
Frane and Christina waved back excitedly.
His teammates mobbed him, Jean shouting, “What a goal!”
Coach Emile cpped. “Good job, boys! Keep the sco
re steady until halftime—we finish this in the sed half.”
The match slowed, with her team taking risks.
Halftime arrived.
1-1.
The game was back where it started—but Marcel had dragged Dragons Fto the fight.
