Hilton Hotel, Yaoundé

  The soft hum of music pyed in the background as an elderly man, dressed in a bck tracksuit, stepped through the revolving gss doors of the Hilton Yaoundé. The warm glow of deliers reflected off the polished marble floors, while the faint st of freshly brewed coffee and expensive cologne lingered in the air.

  Across the spacious lounge, a younger man, likely in his early 40s, sat fortably in one of the plush leather armchairs he bar area. His posture was rexed but focused—one arm draped over the chair while his other haed on a ptop keyboard. A half-finished gss of whiskey sat beside him, densation f against the rim, a sign that he'd been waiting. A scouting database en on his s, and beside it y a small notepad filled with hastily scribbled observations.

  The bartender, aced to the presence of fn visitors, wiped down the ter with practiced ease, occasionally gng at the guests. Outside, beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the dim glow of streetlights illumihe quiet streets of Yaoundé.

  As the older man approached, the seated one looked up, a serious but intrigued expression on his face.

  "Gon?alo, why were you so crypti the phone? You called me like it was urgent but didn’t say a thing." Rui asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Gon?alo exhaled, his expressioraying both excitement and urgency. "I know our scouting budget is tight, and we were supposed to head straight to Senegal after Cameroon... but I o ge the pn."

  Rui frowned, setting his whiskey down. "ge the pn? To where?"

  "Ghana."

  Rui leaned back, rubbing his temple as he processed the request. "Ghana? Gon?alo, you know if we go there, Senegal is off the table. We won’t have time." His voice carried the calcuted hesitation of a man bang schedules, priorities, and financial straints.

  "I know," Gon?alo admitted. "But I think I’ve found something—a gem. Raw, unpolished, but a gem heless."

  Rui scoffed, leaning forward with mild amusement. "Who is this wonderkid that has you ready to throw our entire pn off course? A young star at Sport? de Yaoundé?"

  He smirked. "Didn’t you say you were just sightseeing? Now I find out you've been sneaking into matches?"

  Gon?alo chuckled. "Well, I was sightseeing... but I stumbled upon a match at Stade Ahmadou Ahidjo. The Cameroonian season hasn’t started yet, so I got curious. Turns out, it was the U17 AF qualifiers—Cameroon against Ghana."

  Rui tilted his head. "You were supposed to be on vacation, Gon?alo."

  "I know, I know. But sometimes you find gold when you’re not even looking." Gon?alo leaned in. "I was watg the game, and suddenly, there he was—a kid dang through the defense like Ronaldinho in his prime."

  Rui rolled his eyes. "Oh, e on. Every youth tour has at least one fshy dribbler. You, of all people, should know that. How you be sure he’s actually worth it?"

  Gon?alo raised a finger. "I wasn’t finished. He wasn't just a showboater. His positioning was excellent, his shooting was sharp, and his deaking was ahead of his peers. He fihe match with two goals and was the clear man of the match. I recorded the whole thing—watch it and tell me I’m wrong."

  Rui exhaled, rubbing his . "Fine, let’s see it. What’s his name? Which club is he with?"

  "Mardonga. 14 years old. Pys fon FC Yaoundé’s U17 squad."

  Rui's eyes narrowed slightly. "You sure he’s actually 14? You know how messy youth football ages be, especially here."

  Gon?alo’s expression darkened slightly. "Are you seriously going there?"

  "Rex. It’s not an accusation—it’s a valid . Age fraud happens. You know how many so-called 'wonderkids' turned out to be years older?" Rui gestured toward the ptop. "But if you say he looks his age, I’ll take a look at the footage first."

  Gon?alo crossed his arms. "You’ll see. Watch the tape and judge for yourself."

  …

  One Hour Later - Hotel Room

  The room was dimly lit, the glow of the ptop s illuminating Rui’s face as he leaned forward, studying the recorded footage. Gon?alo sat beside him, arms crossed, waiting for a rea.

  When the video ended, Rui leaned ba his chair, nodding slowly. "I see what you mean. He’s still raw, but there’s definitely something there. The ball trol, the movement, the fide’s all there. He’s not just another fshy kid with tricks. He has substance."

  Gon?alo smirked. "So, do we ge pns?"

  Rui sighed. "Not that easy. We need permission from the Chief Scout. ging our itinerary affects the whole operation."

  Gon?alo waved a hand dismissively. "The’s request it. Send an email with the footage and a report. If they say no, we go ton Fyway. We start building taow—with the club, with his parents. If we wait too long, someone else will take him."

  Rui shook his head with a small chuckle. "You’re that fident?"

  "Call it instinct. This one is special."

  Rui smirked. "Like the others you vouched for who never made it past the sed team?"

  Gon?alo ughed. "You’ll see. This time, I’m right."

  Rui closed his ptop and stretched. "Alright. I’ll send the request. If they approve, we go to Ghana. If not, we still check out Dragon FC before leaving."

  Gon?alo nodded, his mind already rag ahead. "Good. Because I’m telling you—this kid is different."

  He murmured the st part to himself, vi solidifying in his tone.

  "This time... I know I’m right.”

  ……

  ……

  The sun hung low over the Military Stadium in Ngoa Ekelle, casting long shadows across the uneven grass as Dragon FC U17 pyers trained. Despite having no official matches scheduled in the ing days, training sessions tihough attendance wasn’t mandatory. Because of that, fewer pyers were present, but the iy remained high as they pyed a fast-paced 5v5 mat half the pitch.

  “Hey, pass it!” Marcel called out, sprinting into the left el, his voice cutting through the humid afternoon air.

  The ball yed toward him, but the pass was too heavy, accelerating across the rough, uneven ground. The pitch wasn’t i dition—the bounce was uable, f him to pick up speed to reach it before it rolled out.

  Jean had been watg and immediately reacted, charging toward the ball at full speed. Both reached it at the same time, just outside the box.

  Jean lunged forward, extending his leg to poke it away, but Marcel, reading him perfectly, pced his foot on top of the ball and spun away with a Marseille turn. The movement was quick, smooth—Jean’s outstretched foot hit nothing but air as Marcel slipped past him, his back to goal for a split sed before turning forward into the box.

  The defenders barely had time to react before Marcel curled a shot toward the tht er. The ball soared past the goalkeeper’s fiips, liifully into the .

  Marcel smirked as he turned and flexed his arms toward Jean.

  "Huh, Jean, didn’t you say you were going to stop me from sg?" he teased, still catg his breath.

  Jean exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, you got me this time… but ime, I’ll shut you down."

  Marcel ughed. "I don’t think so. The defender who stop me pletely hasn’t been bor."

  The game resumed, the pyers pushing themselves as if they were preparing for a real matot long after, Coach Emile raised his hand, signaling for a pause.

  "Good py, boys. Keep it up. I o step away for a moment, but I’ll be right back," he said before turning and walking toward two light-skinned men standihe fence.

  Marcel’s eyes followed him briefly, notig that the two men had been watg the session for some time. They looked out of pot locals, and definitely not parents of any pyers. One of them, the older man, was holding a notebook ahe other stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

  "What do you think that’s about?" Marcel murmured, his gaze still lingering.

  Jean barely looked over. "Dunno, bro. Best to focus on training. We o stay in top shape—we’re heading back to the national team in two days for the sed leg against Ghana."

  Marodded, pushing his curiosity aside. "Yeah, you’re right. We have to win and qualify for AF."

  Still, before returning his focus to training, he stole o g the men. It was rare to see fners at their training sessions, and something about this felt important.

  Meanwhile, away from the pitch, Coach Emile extended his hand to the older man.

  "My name is Gon?alo Figueiredo, and this is my colleague Rui Valehe man introduced himself, shaking hands firmly. His at was unmistakably Puese. "We’re scouts from Benfica, and we’re here to gather more information about one of your pyers."

  Coach Emile, surprised but remaining posed, nodded. "Benfica? And which pyer are you ied in?"

  "We’ve already spoken to the club and the first-team coach," Rui added, produg an official Benfica scouting ID as proof. "He directed us to you, saying you’d be the best person to speak to."

  Coach Emile folded his arms. "Alright. Who exactly are you here for?"

  "Mardonga." Gon?alo’s answer was immediate.

  Coach Emile wasirely shocked—Marcel had been impressive at the Brasseries tour and had just put in ag performah the national team. But still, the speed at which he was attrag European attention was remarkable.

  "He’s only been with us since July this year," Emile expined, "but he pyed in the Brasseries tour with us. Despite being eliminated in the semi-finals, he was one of our best pyers. That’s the only petitive tour he’s pyed for us so far."

  "And do you have any recorded footage of his performances?" Gon?alo asked, though he already expected the answer.

  Coach Emile shook his head. "No. We don’t have match recs."

  Gon?alo let out a quiet sigh, his frustration barely cealed. "I figured as much. Thank you for your time, Coach Emile. That’s all for now."

  After exging a firm handshake, the two scouts turned and walked back toward the street, where they would hail a taxi.

  As they strolled away, Gon?alo exhaled in frustration.

  "It doesn’t surprise me that they don’t have video footage. If clubs here had better infrastructure and scouting systems, we’d probably see way more Afri talents making it to Europe. I bet there have been incredible pyers lost to history just because they never had the right exposure."

  Rui smirked slightly. "It’s Africa. What I say?"

  "Still, I’m not giving up. The club has given us permission, so I’ll be going to Ghana for the sed leg. If Marcel performs again, I’ll ask for approval to follow him to the U17 AF in Niger."

  "That’s a lot of iment in a 14-year-old," Rui remarked.

  Gon?alo gnced back toward the field, where Marcel was still pying. "Trust me. I have a strong feeling he is worth it."

  Ba the training ground, Coach Emile returo the sideline, his mind still on the versation.

  His eyes lingered on Marcel for a moment longer.

  European scouts.

  Benfio less.

  And all this after just oour and oernational match.

  He blew the whistle to resume training, but there was something different in the way he watched Marow.

  For the first time, he wondered if he was looking at a future star.

  ……

  ……

  During the break after the first leg against Ghana, Marcel spent his time either training with Dragon FC Yaoundé U17 or attending school. Even though he had permission to skip csses for the match, his mother insisted he keep up with his studies.

  "You py football all you want, but if yrades drop, I’ll stop everything," she had warned him.

  If it were up to him, he would have quit school entirely. He never liked it—sitting in css, memorizing things he didn’t care about. He would rather be och, where everything made sense. But his mother had a point: "Even if you’re talented, you never know what happen iure. One bad injury, and football might not be an option anymore."

  She wanted him to have a backup pn. A diploma, at least.

  When he went back to school, he expected things to be the same. But from the momeepped through the gates, he noticed the stares. It wasn’t just his usual cssmates anymore—even students from higher grades were looking at him, whispering.

  At first, he didn’t uand why. Then he found out.

  "Jordan…" Marcel sighed when he realized his best friend had been bragging about him all over sost students didn’t follow youth national team matches, so his performance against Ghana could have gone unnoticed—but Jordan made sure that didn’t happen.

  Now, girls who had never spoken to him before were suddenly smiling at him in the hallways, and some even found excuses to talk to him.

  In css, Marcel sat at his desk, trying to ighe attention. But that didn’t st long.

  A girl turned in her seat and leaned against the wooden ben front of him, resting her on her folded arms.

  "Marcel, do you still have a girlfriend?"

  She had long, dark braids that framed her face, her skin smooth with a warm brown plexion. The blue pullover of the school uniform rested slightly off her shoulder, revealing a ly ironed white-colred shirt underh. Her dark brown eyes were filled with curiosity as she gazed at him, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

  Marcel sighed. Again?

  Among all the girls who had started hanging around him, Madeleine was the only oually knew well. They had been cssmates since 6e (6th grade), and somehow, every year, she ended up in the same css as him—even now, in Sede (10th grade).

  Madeleine wasn’t bad—in fact, she was beautiful. She had a ersonality, was friends with almost everyone, and was one of the most pirls in school. But she was also stubborn.

  Years ago, ba 4e (8th grade), she had fessed to him, telling him she liked him. Marcel had brushed it off, thinking it was just a passing thing. But sihen, she kept asking, again and again, as if waiting for his ao ge.

  "Yes, Madeleine," Marcel replied, already tired of the versation before it even started. "I’m still in a retionship, and I don’t pn on ging that anytime soon."

  "That’s too bad," Madeleine said, resting her on her hand. "What did she do to you? Some kind of magic spell? I’ve never seen a retionship st two years from people e."

  "Yeah, we’re still young," anirl added. "Why are you so serious about one girl? You should explore a little. Maybe you’ll find someoer."

  Marcel frowned. "St to make me cheat or break up with my girlfriend. It’s not going to happen."

  Madeleine simply smiled and leaned in closer, her voice l slightly.

  "You know… I could make you happy too," she murmured.

  Marcel immediately leaned back, putting distaween them.

  "Madeleine," he said, his tone firmer this time. "You o stop this. I’ve told you before—Christina is my girlfriend, and that’s not going to ge."

  Instead of looking disappointed, Madeleine just chuckled. "I know. But I also know you don’t hate this attention."

  Marcel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but she was making this more difficult than it o be.

  Before he could say anything else, the door swung open.

  Jordan and Dimitri walked in, immediately sing the se.

  "Everyone, back off!" Dimitri announced dramatically, waving his arms. "Let my bro breathe!"

  The girls ughed but scattered, either returning to their seats or leaving the room.

  Jordan shook his head, grinning. "Marcel, what are you doing? You already have a girlfriend, and here you are with a whole fan club. Meanwhile, Dimitri and I are struggling!"

  "Exactly," Dimitri added. "You o leave some for us."

  Marcel rolled his eyes. "You two are ridiculous."

  Dimitri smirked. "But seriously—if you cheat on our future sister-in-w, we’ll have problems with you."

  Marcel grinned. "You know I’m not like that."

  "Yeah, yeah," Jordan said, leaning against a desk. "But tell me, Marcel… if you’re really not ied, why do you let Madelei so close?"

  Before Marcel could answer, Madeleine suddenly leaned in, kissed his cheek, and walked away with a smirk.

  Marcel sat there, stunned.

  Dimitri sighed. "Bro, if you don’t shut that down pletely, she’s going to cause problems in your retionship."

  "I know," Marcel admitted. "But we’ve been friends for so long… I don’t want to just cut her off pletely."

  Dimitri shrugged. "Well, you either end the friendship, or you risk losing Christina."

  Jordan smirked. "Or…" he leaned in, whispering, "You could have both."

  "Jordan!" Dimitri shoved him pyfully, shaking his head.

  "But it's true," Jordan tinued, grinning. "My older brother has three girlfriends, and none of them know about each other. If he do it, why ’t Marcel?"

  Marcel rolled his eyes. "That’s dumb."

  "It’s cool," Jordan said, shrugging. "Anyway, let’s be real—have you even do yet?"

  Marcel frowned. "Done what?"

  Jordan and Dimitri exged looks before bursting into ughter.

  "You know…" Jordan smirked.

  Dimitri, who was usually the quieter of the two, looked away awkwardly.

  Marcel suddenly uood.

  "Wait… you guys already…?" He looked at both of them in shock.

  "Yeah, I did when I was 12," Jordan said casually.

  "And I did st year," Dimitri admitted, scratg his head.

  Marcel blinked. "And I didn’t even know?"

  "You never asked," they both said at the same time.

  Just then—

  DIIIIING! DIIIIING!

  The school bell rang, signaling the end of the break.

  Marcel sighed, grabbing his books. "We’re going to talk about this ter."

  Jordan and Dimitri ughed, walking away before the sed bell rang.

  For the rest of the school day, Marcel found himself distracted, his mind repying the versation with his friends. He knew Jordan was just messing around, but Dimitri’s words stuck with him. Was he really being too le with Madeleine? Was he unknowingly giving her hope?

  The final bell rang, signaling the end of csses. Marcel packed his things a quickly, eager to escape the lingering stares of students still buzzing about his ret performance for Cameroon’s U17s.

  By the time he arrived home, the house was quiet. His mother was still at work, leaving him aloo eat a quick meal before pulling out his phone. After a brief hesitation, he called Christina, wanting to spend time with her before his mother returned.

  A few mier, she arrived, stepping into the living room with her usual bright presence.

  They settled onto the couch, the TV pying in the background, but Marcel wasn’t really watg. He g Christina, notig how she absentmindedly pyed with a strand of her hair, her mind still focused on school.

  “How was your day?” he asked.

  Christina sighed, leaning her head back against the couch. “Annoying. Our French teacher already gave us a test. School just started! Why is he in such a rush?”

  Marcel chuckled. “Maybe he wants to see if you actually studied during the break.”

  Christina rolled her eyes. “He could have at least waited a few more weeks.”

  She turo him. “What about you? How was school?”

  “It was fine, I guess,” Marcel shrugged. “Apart from Madeleiill being on me, asking if I’m still in a retionship.”

  Christina immediately sat up, her eyebrows furrowing. “What? Again?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know she’s your friend, but why is she not giving up? That’s getting annoying,” Christina muttered, crossing her arms.

  Marcel hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “She also kissed me on the cheek today… but she caught me by surprise, I swear.”

  Christina’s expression darkened. She looked straight at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You see? This is why I keep telling you to talk to her seriously ahis—even if it means ending the friendship. If you let this keep going, she’ll just get bolder. Now she’s kissing you. What’s ?”

  Marcel rubbed the back of his neck. “I get it, but she knows I love you. She knows I’m not going to break up with you. She’s my friend, I ’t just cut her off like that.”

  Christina exhaled sharply. “I know she’s your friend, but it bothers me. And if she really respected you—or me—she wouldn’t keep pushing like this. I just want you to make it clear to her.”

  Marcel met her gaze, seeing the frustratioh her words. He knew she wasn’t being unreasonable.

  “Okay, Christie,” he finally said. “I’ll have a serious versation with her. I’ll make it clear. But for now, I o foy game. That’s my priority.”

  Christina studied him for a moment before sighing. “Alright. But don’t let this drag on too long.”

  She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest as they tinued watg TV. Marcel gently ed an arm around her, letting the moment calm them both.

  They stayed like that until around 7 PM, when Christina finally had to head home.

  After walkio the door, Marcel returo his room and pulled out his books. No matter how much he wao focus only on football, his mother had made it clear—if his grades slipped, there would be no more football.

  For the hour, he studied, flipping through his notes, but his mind occasionally drifted back to the versation with Christina.

  Later that night, just before heading to bed, he y on his mattress and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then, as if on instinct, he opened his system interface.

  Marcel wao check his attributes. It had been a while since he st looked at the attributes se, and after his ret performances, he was curious to see how much he had improved.

  A familiar blue interface materialized before him.

  [Elite Boost System]

  Level: 1 (20/500 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

  Market: Locked (Unlocks upon joining a professional first team)

  Points: 42

  Marcel’s eyes lingered on the locked Market se.

  He already knew he couldn’t access it until he joined a professional first team, but seeing it still grayed out frustrated him. He had already gathered 42 points, meaning by the time he reached that stage, he would have a signifit number of points to use. That would give him a huge advantage when he arrived in Europe, allowing him to be ready to pete at a high level right away.

  He pushed those thoughts aside for now and opehe attributes se.

  Attributes

  Pace: 75 ↑

  Dribbling: 83 ↑

  Shooting: 63 ↑

  Passing: 64 ↑

  Teique: 68 ↑

  Vision: 60

  posure: 60

  Agility: 75

  Fir: 80

  Bance: 63 ↑

  Deaking: 60 ↑

  Physical: 58 ↑

  Defending: 20

  Tactical Awareness: 58 ↑

  Overall: A rising talent—his raw ability is sharpening, but there’s still a long road ahead before reag the elite level.

  As he sed the numbers, he immediately noticed something.

  His biggest improvements were in tactical awareness, shooting, and deaking. That made sense. He had been trying to make better runs and take smarter shots, and it aying off. But another number caught his attention.

  His Physical stat—only 58.

  It wasn’t great, but sidering he was only 14, it wasn’t terrible either. There were definitely young pyers his age who were stronger, but it wasn’t like he was pletely behind. Still, if he wao pete in Europe, he knew he had to improve.

  He had already struggled against some of the bigger defenders in the Brasseries tour. If he was having trouble now, how would he hahe physicality of European defenders when he eventually moved? He couldn’t afford to ighis aspect of his game. Speed and agility were useful, but strength mattered too.

  It wasn’t an urgent problem yet, but he o start w on it before it became one.

  He had no doubt that he was the best young pyer in Cameroon, but what about Europe? He had no way of knowing how he pared to the best young talents on the ti. There were probably pyers his age who were already far ahead of him. He couldn't allow himself to be satisfied with where he was.

  His journey was only beginning.

  Satisfied for now, Marcel closed the system and y down in bed.

  As he closed his eyes, his mind drifted to a dream—a dream of standing on the biggest stage in football, lifting the World Cup for Cameroon.

  Maybe, if he worked hard enough… that dream would bee reality.