The m, the pyers made their way onto the pristiraining pitch, the breeze still lingering before the sun would reach its peak. Marcel, Ganago, and Ngoah arrived together, stepping onto the grass as they took in the energy of the session ahead. Their bond had grown naturally, sharing not just a room but also the bition of making their mark oional team.

  Marcel sed the field and quickly spotted Jean, standihe ter circle, adjusting his socks. Without hesitation, he nudged Ganago and Ngoah before heading over.

  "Jean!" Marcel called out with a grin.

  Jean turned and smirked, tapping his boot against the ball at his feet. "Finally, you’re here. I thought you will never leave the hotel room."

  Marcel chuckled. "No ce. I’m just making sure you’re ready for when we embarrass you in training."

  Jea out a shh. "We’ll see about that. Just don’t pin when I lock you out of the game."

  Their brief exge was lighthearted, but the underlying petitive edge was there. Everyone here had something to prove.

  "Alright boys, we start with warm-ups," Coach Atangana's anding voice cut through the scattered versations. "We have a lot to cover today, and I need you sharp. Let’s get going—light jog around the pitch!"

  The pyers immediately fell into formation, moving in a loose pack as they jogged around the field. Jean in the first row, setting a strong pace, while Marcel, Ganago, and Ngoah stayed just behind, jogging side by side.

  "You know," Ganago said betweehs, "if we just take it easy now, we’ll have more energy to domier."

  Ngoah scoffed. "Or you’ll be out of breath before the real training even starts."

  Marcel smirked but kept his focus ahead, feeling the rhythm of his steps. Around them, murmurs of versation and light ughter mixed with the steady sound of cleats brushing against the grass. The energy was good, but beh the surface, each pyer knew what was at stake.

  After several ps, Coach Atangana signaled for them to stop. The pyers gathered in a semi-circle, catg their breath.

  "Stretch it out," one of the assistant coaches instructed. "Loosen those muscles, l don't want any injuries ter."

  They followed through, each pyer bending, reag, aending as they worked out the early stiffness from their bodies. Some exged casual remarks, but the focus was beginning to settle in.

  With the warm-up phase nearing its end, Coach Atangana moved on to rondo drills, an essential exercise to develop quick passing and posure under pressure. He cpped his hands to get their attention.

  "We’re splitting into groups of seven—five in possession, two pressing. If you lose the ball, you switch. Keep it sharp, keep it ."

  The assistant coaches quickly arrahe groups, ensuring a banced mix of defenders, midfielders, and attackers. Marcel found himself in a highly petitive group, with a familiar fabo Toukam from Kadji Sports Academy—as one of the defenders. Alongside him was Martin Hong, a defensive midfielder from Nkufor Academy. The possession group included Marcel, Stéphane Zobo (striker), Mo?se Sakava (left winger), Steve Kingue (ter-back), and Martin Ako Assomht winger).

  The drill started at a moderate pace, Marcel initiating the first pass to Zobo, who pyed it smoothly to Assomo before Toukam could close in. Assomo then flicked it to Sakava, who sent a quie-touch pass to Kihe tempo increased, and just as the ball yed back toward Marcel, Hong rushed toward him.

  Seeing the challenge ing, Marcel attempted a slick pass between Hong’s legs—a cheeky he ball rolled halfway through before Hong instinctively flicked his back heel, blog the pass just before it escaped. The interception was .

  "Not bad," Marcel muttered, grinning as he sed pces with Hong.

  Hong just smirked. "Try that again, and we’ll see if it's just not bad."

  The rondo tinued, each rotation sharpening their touches aions. Marcel was caught a few times, particurly by Hong, who roving to be a formidable defensive presence.

  Determio get one back, Marcel upped his iy. The ime he found himself in possession, he lured Hong in before deftly flig the ball up and over him—a perfectly executed sombrero. The watg pyers reacted with approving ughs and cheers.

  The petitive edge grew fiercer, but so did the chemistry. Marcel started nutmegging Hong more often, their personal battle adding to the energy of the drill. Eventually, Marcel stayed in possession for the remainder of the session, adjusting to the tempo and ensuring crisp passing.

  After ten minutes, Coach Atangana blew his whistle. "Alright, that’s enough! Good work."

  The pyers regrouped, their faces glistening with sweat, but their expressions remained locked in. The iy was already building, and this was only the beginning.

  Coach Atangana looked at them, then at his assistants before speaking.

  "Good warm-up, boys. This match against Ghana is our doorway to the U17. Losing is not an option. Our objective is clear—we go to o wiire tour."

  He paused, letting his words sink in before tinuing.

  "For this match, we’ll set up in a 4-2-3-1 formation—four defenders, two defensive midfielders, oag midfielder, two wingers, and a striker. Ghana is not an easy oppo. They are physically strong, quick, and aggressive in their py. That means we o be disciplined, pact, and sharp in our deaking. The starting eleven isn’t set yet—every position is up frabs. These training sessions will determine who starts and who sits. I want to see hunger. I want to see effort. If you want that jersey on matchday, show me."

  He paused, his gaze sweeping across the pyers before pointing to the tactical bain. "Now, listen carefully. Our defensive shape is key. We stay pact as a unit—the baust move together. No gaps. If one defeeps up, the others must readjust. Jean, Toukam, Hong, Ngassa—you are my defensive pilrs, and you o talk to each other stantly.

  Midfielders, you must cover the spaces Ghana’s wingers and midfielders will try to exploit. Ngoah, Djoubairou and Oloumou, I need you to win those midfield battles and py with intelligence. If we lose the ball, I want a quick transition to defehat means everyone, including the wingers, must track bad help."

  Atangana tapped on the board, emphasizing the transition from defeo attack. "When we have the ball, we py direct—quick, precise passes. No unnecessary sideassing if we are not leading. Our objective is to get the ball to the forward’s feet as fast as possible. Wingers, you must stretch the field, stay wide, and deliver dangerous crosses into the box. Mo?se, Assomo, Marcel—I need you to be direo hesitation. Ganago, Zobo, Komo Atangana—you must be ruthless in front of goal. Midfielders must be the link—quient, smart passing, and always aware of the oppo’s press."

  His tone hardened. "I don’t want to see you pying without urgency. If you hesitate, you will be pressed. Ghana is a team that will capitalize on every mistake. Stay disciplined, unicate, and fight for every ball. This is not just about talent—it’s about effort, about willpower. We move together, attack together, defend together. Help each other. Cover for each other. If one of you is caught out of position, another must step in."

  With that, he blew his whistle, signaling the transition to a practical exercise.

  The pyers spread across the field as Coach Atangana and his assistants positiohem based on their roles. The defenders lined up in a ft back four, the midfielders settled in a double pivot, while the wingers and the attag midfielder took their pces in front of them. The striker stood alone up top, waiting for service.

  "Alright, we start with basient and defensive shape. Watch my signals. We must move as one. Defenders, step up together—if one of you pushes forward, the others follow. If the ball goes wide, the full-backs close the space, midfielders cover the gaps, and wingers drop back to help."

  As the mock game sario began, Atangana and his assistants stantly whistled, stopping py to make adjustments.

  "Jean, don’t leave that much space between you and Ngassa! If they switch py quickly, you’ll be caught out!"

  "Toukam, talk to your ter-back! If you don’t unicate, he won’t know whether to press or drop!"

  "Djoubairou, don’t get caught ball-watg! You have to be aware of your surroundings—position yourselves to cut passing nes before the ball even arrives!"

  The pyers repeated the same defensive drills multiple times, Atangana emphasizing the importance of pressing as a unit and maintaining paess. It wasn’t about mastering everything in one session—there wasn’t enough time for that—but about making sure each pyer uood their responsibilities.

  "Most youth teams rely too mu individual skill," Atangana remihem. "But we will win because we are tactically superior and have individual skill. No reckless pressing. No unnecessary risks. Discipline and anization will win us this match."

  After the formation walkthrough, Atangana split the pyers introups of seven for 7v7 small-sided games. The groups were rotated so everyo a ce to adapt to the system.

  "The purpose of this drill is to reinforce our defensive paess and attag transitions. When you don’t have the ball, I want to see pressing, unication, and structure. If you’re attag, use width, find space, and move intelligently."

  Each 7v7 game started with oeam in possession, while the other had to press and maintain defensive shape.

  Jean, Toukam, and Ngassa anchored different defenses, stantly adjusting their positioning.

  Marcel, Mo?se, and Assomo focused on breaking down defensive lines and stretg py wide.

  Ganago, Zobo, and Komo Atangana were drilled on movement ihe box and finishing under pressure.

  Ngoah and Djoubairou worked on linking py between defense and attack.

  Atangana and his staff stopped py frequently to correct positioning, emphasizing quick reas and defensive bance.

  "Marcel, when you receive the ball on the wing, you o s the box before crossing. Who’s making a run? Is there an open space? Don’t just cross blindly!"

  "Toukam, you stepped up too early there—you left a gap behind you. Patience! Read the game before itting."

  Each rotation sted seven minutes before switg, allowing different binations of pyers to adapt. It wasn’t just about fitness—it was about mental sharpness, rea speed, and tactical awareness.

  After an inteactical session, Coach Atangana blew his whistle. "Alright, good work today! We finish with a cool-down."

  The pyers jogged lightly around the pitch, shaking off fatigue before transitioning to static stretg. Some were still catg their breath, sweat dripping from their foreheads.

  "Stay hydrated," the assistant coach remihem, handing out bottles of water. "We need you in peak dition, and that means proper recovery."

  As the pyers rehydrated, some leaned on their kired but satisfied. Marcel wiped sweat from his brow, his shirt stig to his back. He had performed well today, but this is just the first day, so he 't rex thinking he already had a spot.

  After the stretg, the team headed to the showers, washing off the exhaustion of the m session. Once ed up, they gathered for a team lunch, refueling with a banced meal carefully prepared for optimal recovery.

  "You have the afternoon to rest," Coach Atangana told them. "Take care of your body. We go again in the evening session."

  ......

  ......

  The past few days had been grueling. Training with the national team was on another level—far more intehan anything Marcel had experie Dragon FC. He had expected a step up, but not this much. The drills were relentless, the pace was faster, and even during breaks, Coach Atangana demanded focus.

  Marcel wasn’t sure if all U17 national teams traihis intensely, or if it was just Coach Atangana’s way. Either way, he weled it. The coach wasn’t just pushing them physically—he was drilling discipliactical awareness, and unity into them.

  Now, just one day before the match, the entire squad sat in the feren, the air thick with anticipation. Some pyers sat forward, elbows on knees, while others leaned back, arms crossed. The only sound was the faint hum of the air ditioning.

  Coach Atangana stepped forward, his sharp gaze sing the room.

  "We are on the precipice of our first leg against Ghana. You’ve trained hard, and I know it hasn’t been easy—especially for those of you o the team. But uand this: I don’t expect perfe. I expeitment."

  His voice was firm, carrying the weight of expectation.

  "Football isn’t about individuals—it’s about a unit. unicate. Support each other. You already have the talent, but talent alone doesn’t win matches. Discipline does. Teamwork does. If you follow what we worked on, I have no doubt we will win."

  The room was dead silent. Every pyer hung onto his words, abs every bit of pressure and motivation.

  Then, he unfolded a piece of paper.

  "Now, I will annouhe starting eleven."

  Every pyer in the room tensed. A few exged quices, while others ched their fists uhe table.

  "In goal, Djomo Tchotcheu.

  Our defense from left tht will be Kamou Epesse, Jean Mvondo, Ouambo Toukam, and Ngassa Njike.

  Our double pivot in midfield will be Martin Hong and Felix Djoubairou.

  Our attag midfielder will be Ngono Ngoah.

  And in the forward line we will have Mardonga in the Left wing, Fokem Namekong in the Right wing and Ignatius Ganago as the Striker.

  Marcel exhaled deeply, his chest loosening as he heard his name. He made it. He was starting.

  Coach Atangana folded his arms. "If your name is on the list, it means you showed the most effort and quality in training. But let me make this clear—this is not a guarantee. If you don’t perform, there are others waiting to take your pothing is given. Everything is earned."

  Marcel barely heard the rest of the speech. His mind was already rag. The biggest game of his life so far was tomorrow, and he would be walking onto the pitch as a starter.

  He couldn’t wait to call his mother. She would be so proud. His father, all the way in ada, would probably send him a voiote full of encement. Christina would definitely scream iement. Jordan and Dimitri? They would brag to everyone in the neighborhood that their best friend was starting for Cameroon’s U17s if they haven't already did.

  That night, he slept peacefully for the first time in weeks. In his dreams, he was och, sg twice as the crowd ted his name.

  ......

  The team bus rumbled down the road toward Stade Ahmadou Ahidjo, the atmosphere ie electrie pyers sat in silence, gazing out the window, lost in thought. Others were smiling, chatting in low voices, or nodding along to the musi their headsets. The faint hum of the engine mixed with scattered versations, an undercurrent of nervous energy running through the squad.

  Marcel sat beside Jean, uo hide his excitement. His legs bounced slightly, and his hands gripped the seat in front of him. He had been calm five days ago, but now that the match on them, his heart was rag. This wasn’t just any match—it would be broadcasted on CRTV, with entators, a real crowd watg from the stands.

  He turo Jean, a wide grin on his face.

  "How do you feel? We’re about to officially represent Cameroon." Marcel’s voice carried a mixture of thrill and disbelief.

  Jean leaned back, arms crossed. "I feel good. Excited, just like you." He goward the front of the bus, where Coach Atangana stood, occasionally gng at his notes. "This is the first step toward our dream—pying professionally, maybe signing for a club in Europe."

  Marcel frowned. "Just that?" He shook his head, his expression turning serious. "You have to dream bigger. My dream isn’t just to go pro—I want to lead Cameroon to its first World Cup win, to make us the first Afriation to do it. I want to t our try as the greatest footballing nation in Africa."

  Jean raised an eyebrow. "That’s ambitious, but you have to be realistic too."

  Marcel gave him a pointed look. "What’s realistic about football? Everything is possible, Jean. Who thought an Afri pyer would win the Ballon d'Or before Weah did? Who thought Greece would win the Euros in 2004? We have to believe in something bigger."

  Jean chuckled. "I thought you’d say your dream is to be the best pyer in the world and win the Ballon d'Or."

  Marcel shrugged. "I want that too, but that’s sedary. I could accept never winning the Ballon d’Or if it meant I scored the winning goal that made Cameroon world champions. Even if I had to retire right after, I’d take it."

  Jean stared at him for a moment, the out a small ugh. "Man… you’re crazy."

  Marcel smirked. "I don't think it's that crazy."

  The bus slowed as it he stadium. Marcel turoward the window, his breath catg in his throat. Even though this wasn’t a senior national team match, the number of people gathered outside was more than he had ever pyed in front of. Fans waved fgs, others clutched banners, and the sound of vuvuzes buzzed faintly in the air.

  Marcel felt his chest tighten—not with nerves, but with exhiration. This was real. This was his first real step into the world of high-level football.

  Jean nudged him. "Still dreaming?"

  Marcel didn’t take his eyes off the crowd as the bus pulled in. "No… just realizing. It’s finally happening."

  ......

  Coach Atangana stood in the ter of the locker room, his gaze moving over each pyer, his voice steady and anding.

  "I won’t talk much. Over the past few days, we’ve discussed everything—our tactics, our responsibilities, and what it means to wear this jersey. My job is done. Now, it’s your turn to show your worth och. Prove why you are here. Show the world what it means to be Cameroonian."

  His eyes locked onto each of them, his words sinking in.

  "We are in Cameroon. At Stade Ahmadou Ahidjo. This is our home. Our fortress. We do not lose here. This stadium has seen the greatest pyers of our nation fight and win. You are now part of that history. So go out there, py like warriors, py like lions, and give the people a performance worthy of this jersey!"

  A brief silence hung in the air, the weight of his words pressing down on them.

  Then—

  "YES, COACH!"

  The pyers erupted in unison, voices eg off the walls, fists ched, eyes burning with determination. Marcel felt his pulse qui, his heart pounding. This was it. He was about to step onto the field, representing Cameroon, in front of thousands.

  The door swung open.

  It was time.

  ......

  Good afternoon, dear viewers and lovers of football! We are live here at the Stade Omnisports Ahmadou Ahidjo for this crucial CAF U17 Championship qualifier between the Baby Lions of Cameroon and the Bck Starlets of Ghana.

  This is the moment when young talents rise, where the future of Cameroonian and Afri football begins to take shape. We may not know much about every pyer och today, but ohing is certain—this match could reveal the geion of stars who will carry the pride of their nations in the years to e.

  The atmosphere is electric, the fans are ready, and the teams are now making their way out of the tunnel, led by the referees. The Baby Lions, draped in their iic green, red, and yellow, stand tall as they step onto this historic pitch. The Bck Starlets of Ghana, in their white kits with bck ats, look just as determined. Both teams know what’s at stake—victory here brings them oep closer to the U17 AF, and beyond that, a potential ticket to the FIFA U17 World Cup.

  This is more than just a qualifier. This is about pride, about proving oneself on the tial stage. Cameroon, a nation with a rich footballing history, will want to impose itself here at home, while Ghana, a powerhouse in youth football, will be looking to spoil the party.

  We expetensity, passion, and of course, talent. Will we withe rise of the Samuel Eto’obert Song tonight? Will Ghana produother Asamoah Gyan or Michael Essien in this very match?

  We are moments away from kickoff, and we ’t wait to see how this unfolds. Stay with us as we bring you every touch, every pass, and every goal of this thrilling enter!