Halftime
High in the stands, Kai Sterling's phone buzzed. A clip of Femi's last-ditch tackle on Brandt flooded social media. Kai watched it in silence, jaw tight, teeth grinding.
The noise around him blurred. All he saw was Femi.
You don't even remember me… but you will.
He tapped the screen off and leaned back, his pink hair catching the stadium lights. Beneath the grin was a storm.
46th Minute
The second half exploded into life. Bayern came out snarling.
Malik Sommer tested Visser within a minute, and Vogel was barking orders, a usually composed figure now visibly wired. Before kickoff, he'd rubbed a faded scar on his wrist — a pre-match ritual nobody else noticed, a reminder of a long-buried collapse in his youth.
Femi's muscles protested every sprint, his body aching with each pivot, but he pressed on. Every breath was ragged, the air thick with sweat, salt, and expectation.
This is what it costs to survive here.
50th Minute
Brandt and Sommer collided while chasing a loose ball, a miscommunication leaving a perfect cross untouched. Brandt slammed a fist against the turf.
This isn't how it's supposed to go. Brandt's jaw tightened as he scrambled to his feet, shooting a glare at Sommer.
"Stay sharp," Sommer hissed.
Vogel stormed over, voice slicing through the noise. "Focus! Both of you!" But his eyes betrayed strain.
56th Minute
Ajax punched back. Josip bulldozed past Weiss, sending in a vicious cross. Souleymane Traoré rose, his header grazing the post.
On the rebound, Liam intercepted a Vogel diagonal, darting inside, his shot smothered by Hartmann.
Femi, exhausted yet alert, noticed it: Vogel's rigid control cracking. The perfect captain exposed.
Jogging back into position, Femi caught a flicker of pink in the crowd.
Kai Sterling.
Leaning on the rail, grinning with thinly veiled malice.
Memories ghosted through Femi's mind. A floodlit pitch. A final. A last-minute winner. A defeated face.
His stomach twisted.
That was him.
Kai mouthed something Femi couldn't hear, but the meaning was clear.
I remember
66th Minute
A loose ball. Enzo Meyer flicked it forward.
Vogel, sensing the moment, launched a surgical ball over the top. Brandt was away.
Femi chased, legs aching like splintered wood, lungs rasping. One more step. One more.
A voice in his head: If you fall here, you fail them all.
He lunged.
Ball first. Clean.
Brandt tumbled, skidding along the turf. He popped up, seething.
"Every bloody time!" Brandt snarled at the ref. His mind raced. I score here, I'm the hero again. And this kid keeps stealing it.
Sommer shoved him. "Then bury the next one."
Vogel motioned them both away, his voice sharp, eyes darting toward the stands where club officials watched.
70th Minute
Bakker made his move. Timo van Loon off, Daniel Möller on.
"We go now," Bakker barked.
Ajax shifted to a 4-3-3, Femi pushing higher into something of a defensive midfield role when play allowed, fighting through weariness that felt like stone chains around his limbs.
74th Minute
Josip picked off a careless clearance. Fed Femi.
Femi surged forward, ignoring screaming muscles. Linked with Josip, then Liam. A sharp one-two. Liam cut inside.
Curled a shot.
Hartmann fingertipped it over.
The Ajax end roared.
In the Stands
Kai Sterling clapped slowly, his expression unreadable. A hint of grudging respect, though his grip on the rail whitened his knuckles.
You don't remember me… but you will. And you'll wish you hadn't.
The breaking point loomed...