The roar of the crowd thundered in Femi's ears as Daan Visser threw himself at Lukas Brandt's feet, smothering the ball at the last second. The collision sent both players sprawling, but Visser emerged clutching the ball to his chest.
Femi's pulse pounded, his breath ragged. I nearly lost us this.
Coach Bakker's voice rang from the sideline. "Stretch them! Width, width!"
Ajax pushed forward. Liam Janssen surged down the right, testing Niko Weiss again. The Bayern wingback struggled to contain him, forcing Maximilian Vogel to drift wide and plug the gap.
The German captain cast a sharp glance at his dugout, frustration flickering across his cold features. He barked orders at Becker and Herzog, voice rising, the edges of his composure fraying. It was fleeting, but Femi caught it.
You're not unbreakable.
35th Minute
Bayern steadied. Vogel resumed control, floating diagonal passes to Malik Sommer and Theo Reuter, pulling Ajax side to side. Femi's legs felt heavier with every sprint, the humid air clinging to his skin. His lungs burned.
Is this what it takes to belong here?
Brandt, increasingly agitated, held up play but lacked service. When a cross sailed over his head, he thumped the turf in frustration, cursing under his breath. Sommer exchanged a sharp look with him, irritation simmering.
The physical toll was showing on both sides.
Marcel Berger curled a shot toward the top corner. Visser sprang, fingertips tipping it wide. The Bayern fans erupted in a guttural chant.
Femi spat into the turf, forcing the fatigue down. Keep moving.
As Femi jogged back to position, something caught his eye in the stands. A flash of pink hair.
Kai Sterling.
Lounging in a designer tracksuit, flanked by a pair of Arsenal teammates, Sterling's gaze was locked on Femi. Their eyes met for a beat. Femi felt a cold knot twist in his stomach.
What is he doing here?
Kai's lips curled into a grin. Look at him. The boy wonder. They made him a center-back. Can't even get through forty-five without nearly bottling it. He's good though... raw. But I'll break him. I'll make him mine.
The grin faded, something harder flashing in Kai's eyes. Better than Vogel? We'll find out.
43rd Minute
Vogel, confident again, floated a long ball toward Sommer. Femi read it this time, stepping in, chesting it down. A flicker of satisfaction in his gut. Got you.
He burst forward, dodging Sommer's lunging tackle. The pitch opened ahead.
Take it.
Femi carried the ball twenty yards, spotted Liam peeling away from Weiss. Threaded it through.
Liam hit the byline, cut it back. Souleymane Traoré met it first-time.
Over.
The ball sailed inches above the bar. The Ajax bench groaned. Bakker slammed his palm against the dugout barrier.
The whistle shrieked for halftime.
Femi's jersey clung to his back, sweat trickling down his spine. His legs ached. But his eyes found Vogel's as they trudged off.
The German's jaw clenched, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple. No smirk this time. No control.
This isn't over.
Dressing Room
"Better," Bakker said, pacing. "We're right there. Keep decisions clean. Break quicker. Liam, kill Weiss on the counter."
Ramon added, "We press them harder. No time to think."
Josip cracked his knuckles. "Brandt gets nothing easy next half."
Liam grinned. "We overload their left. They're creaking."
Femi flexed his tired legs. We're still standing. Even if Vogel runs the chessboard, sometimes pawns flip the board.
The second half waited...