Amani filed into the academy's team meeting room along with the others, heart still thumping from the excitement of reunion. The room was windowless and cozy, lined with chairs facing a pull-down screen.
Amani noticed immediately what was frozen on the screen: a paused image of last night's Eredivisie match broadcast. Even in the slightly washed-out projector colors, he recognized the scene - himself, wearing the Utrecht senior kit, standing on the pitch at Galgenwaard. His stomach flipped at the sight.
Coach Pronk wasted no time. "Find a seat," he instructed, flicking the light switch off so the projector image glowed brighter. The teenagers shuffled into chairs, some still in their training tops and cleats.
Amani took a seat in the front row almost without thinking - it wasn't assigned or anything, but he somehow felt this was aimed at him and he wanted nowhere to hide. Tijmen and Malik sat just behind him, and he could hear Malik humming the Champions League anthem under his breath teasingly until Tijmen elbowed him quiet.
Assistant Coach Mark set the laptop on a table and tapped a few keys. Pronk stood beside the screen, arms crossed over his chest. In the dim light, his face was calm but serious. "First off," he began, voice low and firm, "we want to congratulate Amani on his outstanding debut with the first team."
Immediately the room broke into applause and a couple of whoops. Amani felt a flush of pride - and embarrassment - as all his teammates clapped for him. He ducked his head, a small grin on his face. Pronk allowed the clapping for a couple of seconds before raising a hand for silence.
Amani lifted his eyes to see the coach looking directly at him. Pronk's lips twitched in the tiniest smile. "You did us proud," he said. That simple sentence from the usually hard-to-please coach meant the world. Amani's throat tightened and he managed a quiet, "Thank you, Coach."
Pronk nodded once, then addressed the group. "It's not every day one of our academy boys steps up and plays a part in a big Eredivisie win. Enjoy this moment, all of you. It shows why we work so hard." He scanned the faces of the other boys, making sure they were listening. "It shows each of you that it's possible. With enough work, you might get your chance too."
The room was silent now, every teenager was captivated. Amani could see the excitement in their eyes, imaginations fired by the thought that one of their own had walked the turf of the Galgenwaard in a real match.
Coach Mark chimed in, his voice a bit lighter. "It also shows we must be doing something right here in the academy, eh?" A few kids chuckled. Mark de Vries flashed a quick smile and then pressed a button on the laptop. "Alright, let's take a look at how our boy did."
The video clip sprang to life. The projector showed a wide camera angle of the pitch. It was the 75th minute of last night's game - Amani recognized the scoreboard graphic in the corner: UTR 4 - 2 VVV.
Onscreen, he saw himself in his red-and-white kit hovering near the opposition's defensive line. Even knowing what came next, Amani's heart rate picked up. There I am, on a big screen, he thought, and everyone's watching…
As the play rolled, Coach Pronk narrated. "This is the build-up to the fifth goal. Utrecht is in possession. Pay attention, all of you." The boys leaned forward. On the screen, a Utrecht midfielder (number 6, Makienok) had the ball and played a pass wide to the right wing. The image was a bit grainy, blown up, but they could clearly see Amani making an angled run between two defenders, pointing to the space ahead.
"There, pause it," Pronk said. Mark hit the key, and the frame froze. Pronk stepped closer to the screen, gesturing at the static players.
"See Amani here?" he said, tracing the line of Amani's run with his finger. "Look at the timing of his movement. He's bending his run, staying just onside. The defenders haven't picked him up yet."
Tijmen let out a soft "Mm-hmm" behind Amani - he could appreciate a smart run. Amani swallowed, trying to ignore the weird feeling of hearing his play dissected like this. He remembered that moment vividly, from how he saw the gap and to just went for it.
Pronk continued, "Now watch what happens when I play it." The coach nodded to Mark, who resumed the video. The frozen defenders sprang to life, and a split second later, a pass from the right-winger was threaded through. It was just as Amani had curved into the space. They all watched the younger Amani on screen collect the pass in stride beyond the defensive line.
On the video, the crowd's noise swelled. The real Amani in the meeting room unconsciously held his breath. He saw himself take one touch to settle the ball just outside the box, then, without hesitation, send a left-footed pass across the box before two yellow-shirted VVV players could close him down. The ball slipped perfectly between the center-back and the full-back.
It rolled invitingly to Duplan, who was arriving at the far post. The screen showed Duplan meet it first time with his left foot, a low shot into the bottom corner. In the meeting room, the boys erupted in instinctive cheers as the virtual ball hit the net, even though they all knew it was coming, seeing it happen had them clapping and hooting. In the clip, Duplan wheeled away, and a small figure (Amani himself) jumped into the air, fists clenched.
Mark paused the video on the image of Amani's own celebration, his face lit up in joy on the giant screen. "What a pass, eh?" Mark said enthusiastically. He glanced around the room. "Textbook through-ball. Amani, that was with your left foot, wasn't it?"
"Yes, coach," Amani replied. Hearing the commentators faintly praising him on the video made his cheeks warm.
Coach Pronk nodded in approval. "He's right-footed normally, but you wouldn't know it from that pass. Two-footed ability - this is what we drill in training." He looked around at the other players pointedly.
"Take note, all of you. You might prefer one foot, but developing the weaker one can make the difference at the top level. Amani trusted his left and delivered a perfect assist."
Tijmen gave Amani a light tap on the back from behind. "Magic left foot, I'm telling you," he whispered, and Amani chuckled under his breath.
Onscreen, the broadcast replay was now showing the goal again from a different angle. Pronk let it play once more, then gestured for Mark to skip forward. "Alright, let's look at the other big moment."
Amani tensed. He knew what was next - his goal. Even though it had been a simple finish, he felt butterflies thinking of everyone watching it over again with analytical eyes.
Mark fast-forwarded a bit, then pressed play. The screen now showed the 88th minute. The score bug read 5-2. The footage was from behind the goal this time. A Utrecht attack was unfolding - a shot by one of the strikers from the edge of the box. The VVV goalkeeper parried it with a dive, knocking the ball away... but only to the top of the six-yard box.
"There's Amani again," Coach Pronk narrated. The camera followed the action as a red blur (Amani) raced in ahead of two defenders. Onscreen, Amani slid onto the loose ball, getting there a fraction before a defender's desperate lunge.
His toe poked the ball past the keeper, into the net. A split-second later, the defender's shoulder crashed into Amani, sending the slight teenager skidding on the grass. But the ball was already in. The stadium in the video roared as the young debutant sat on the ground, fists raised in triumph.
The meeting room boys cheered loudly at that, a couple whistling. "You got clattered, mate!" Amrabat laughed, seeing how hard the defender hit Amani even after the goal.
Amani rubbed the back of his neck, remembering the jolt of that collision. He'd been so elated at scoring that he barely felt the bruise until later. "Worth it," he said, grinning.
Coach Pronk smiled thinly at the team's reaction, but he kept the focus. "What you notice here is anticipation." He rewound the clip slightly and froze it the moment the goalkeeper batted the ball away.
"Look at Amani, already on the move before anyone else. He's following up the shot while others stand flat-footed. That is a striker's instinct - smelling the second ball, the rebound." Pronk tapped the screen. "That kind of hunger for the goal - you either have it or you train it into yourself. And I expect all of you attacking players to show that same drive. Understand?"
A chorus of "Yes, coach..." murmured back.
Mark advanced a frame to show the exact moment Amani's foot struck the ball into the net. "Also note," Mark added, "Amani didn't try to blast it. He just redirected it quickly and low. Smart and efficient. At higher levels, quick thinking beats power."
Pronk's gaze swung to Amani. "Textbook poacher's goal. Well done."
Amani's face glowed at the praise. "Thank you." He felt a burst of pride - not for the glory of the goal itself (though that was amazing), but because his coaches, the mentors who trained him every day, approved of how he'd done it.
Coach Pronk let the frozen image linger a moment. In it, one could see Amani sitting on the pitch just after scoring, about to be mobbed by senior teammates. Then Pronk cleared his throat. The mood in the room shifted subtly as he exchanged a look with Mark. Amani sensed what was coming - the other shoe.
"Now," Pronk said, tone turning a shade more serious, "as fantastic as these moments were, a debut isn't perfect. There are always things to improve, especially for a young player." He nodded to Mark again.
***
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