Munchen’s Arc #2

Dennis and Max were good friends since their first day at school; they started out as young kids with a love for football and then turned into regional talents that dominated the competitions all across western Germany.

If someone were to describe them, they would be a deadly duo. An entire team's statistics were literally drawn on them, with most of the goals scored by Dennis and assists belonging to Max. They were expected to deliver more in the academy, and so they were ready to meet those expectations.

Bastard Munchen was the top club in Europe, and their new facility had the best coaches in Germany. The standards were high for the team that wanted to raise the most logically thinking players in the future.

'Here they are, Max Bauer and Dennis Kemp.'

The young players were coming out of the locker room, and the staff of the academy instantly noticed the duo. Their appearances were eye-catching, so gaining the attention of the staff was not unnatural. The main instructor of the junior team could decipher their demeanor as already being professional; they were acting calm and not showing nervousness.

"What do you think, Johan?" The coach was asked by another assistant. Johan Richter was not known on the international stage; however, his youth was coming out on top with guarantees. So most of the instructors wait for his comments on the young players.

Johan had nothing to say yet other than, "They are fine young men. The way they walk, not confused about where to go, already tells me that they aren't some dimwits." Some young players were troubled by the vast training grounds and didn't know where to go, while Dennis and Max were walking directly towards them.

"What were their statistics during the Bayern Cup?" Johan asked a fellow instructor, who just showed him the papers. He followed the finger-pointing to the paper and was shocked to see phenomenal statistics. "He scored more than he played matches, that's…"

Dennis had reached 32 goals in a single tournament, which was an extraordinary number for a thirteen-year-old. Max, meanwhile, had gotten 25 assists on him. It's clear why these two were labeled as lethal.

"Coach, we shouldn't forget those matches were also twenty minutes long. Not forty-five." It could be said that the duo was held back by the allocated time in the match; if it had been longer, maybe they would have gotten more.

The facility's staff stopped talking as the children arrived and gathered around the coaches, awaiting further instructions. Greetings were exchanged first, and then the main instructor, Johan, proceeded with explanations.

His welcome speech was a harsh one: "Everyone stand around!" They listened, including the staff, and created a circle around the coach as he began talking. "You are here because all of you have individual talent, but without hard work, all of that will go to waste! Nobody will hand you success on a silver plate."

This kind of beginning was expected by the young players, who numbered about one hundred and eleven.

"I will explain how things will go for you. We will select twenty-four from all of you. You will be divided into ten teams, with no one to act as your substitute, even if you can't continue for some reason. You'll have to fight till the end."

For each position, there were ten contenders, so Dennis had ten other enemies to topple. Max was in a similar situation; he had nine other players to eliminate, and it appeared to be a doable goal at first. The staff then began hanging colorful training vests for them. There were a total of ten colors.

Unfortunately, Dennis and Max were separated from each other. They were on different teams. 'It would be idiotic to rely on each other even here.' The club wasn't searching for dependent players; they were searching for individual powerhouses. So, the two couldn't complain about anything else. It was only natural.

"Put the vests on and gather around your teams!"

There were visible paparazzi far away, with their cameras shooting lights. The project was new and ambitious, so the press was going to capture at least a few photos and interviews.

The eleven teams of eleven players formed quickly, and the coaching staff stood in front of them, with their numbers also totaling ten. Each was assigned to a different team. The eleven players will be managed by one coach.

"Alright, let me explain everything to you briefly." The coach of their team began talking in front of the team in just black-colored vests. "The selection will be very simple, it's not a one-day thing, so you'll have a chance to prove yourself in the upcoming days…"

The system of selection was no different from some football competitions. The ten teams were meant to play against each other, with the first stage being the group stage, from which the first 44 players would be eliminated.

The staff called it a group stage. By creating two groups, each with five teams, they would make the teams play against each other and measure the statistics, meaning the better numbers you have, the bigger chance you have to win. It makes no difference what kind of statistics are gathered; everything, including the number of passes you make during the game, will be counted.

Dennis and his teammates were handed something like pagers that had to be put close to their chests. The vests already had attachments for that, so Dennis put them on.

"Those things will help us measure the heartbeat—and not just that. We will know how you are feeling in general. Since we don't want a bad reputation for forcing young children to do the unthinkable, we will put you off if there's something wrong with you."

The young Dennis had never used these kinds of utilities before, nor had he seen any videos about them. Were all academies using this kind of technology to create the best footballers in the world? 'No, these things should cost so much, there's no way some academies can afford that.'

But Bastard Munchen was a very rich club, and it could definitely afford luxurious equipment. Dennis didn't anticipate this kind of turn-in events. 'So, they will be able to know how we are even feeling during the game? That's… actually concerning.'

"The first thing we will be doing though is basic drills; grab the cones and go to field number one!"

… … …

The ball flew through the air with grace and precision, leaving a trail of stardust in its wake. Then, the sweet sound of the ball hitting the net echoed through the stadium like a thousand church bells ringing in unison. The goalkeeper leaped to try and stop it, but it was too late. The ball had already found its home in the back of the net.

'Dennis Kemp is a natural striker; I have no doubt about it now. His shooting is too great for someone who isn't even a teenager yet.' The coach smiled as he saw the broad smile displayed by Dennis, who regained balance after using too much power when shooting.

His thunderous power shots were too much to handle, and their young goalkeeper obviously had no chance. Hell, he even doubts someone from the U18 team will be able to react to the shot.

The coach looked down at his watch and clapped, signaling the players to stop.

Clap! Clap!

He told his team to stop the drills and make a line around him. "Alright, you guys got warmed up, so we will immediately proceed with the selections. We are playing against team white today."

"Already?"

"That's was quick…"

Everyone was getting excited, as their hearts were pumping from adrenaline. A new kind of feeling washed over them as they finally received a reality check. 'If we don't play well, we won't be able to continue.' Everyone had the same thought.

The players in white vests were already on the field, waiting for them. A fierce determination like theirs was seen in their eyes. The players were already divided by their positions, which was amazing. The academy had done a tremendous job by selecting everyone like this.

'So, I'm a striker in my own team…' Dennis didn't have to worry about that at least, he had his eyes only

The coach had given them the confident nod, and given that this was their first match, it was likely that they would adapt to the situation. There were no talks about tactics; there was just nothing. The young boys were left to figure everything out by themselves and make sure to win the match.

"Come here, boy, you are the one starting." The referee called out to Dennis. He had already flipped the coin and decided who was going to start the match. Team Black had apparently gained an advantage already.

"Everything is so… different here. Uncle never told me about this." Dennis muttered to himself before kicking off the match by passing the ball to his closest teammate.

… … …

Trinnggg! Trrrrring!

The phone rang at night and vibrated on the wooden table as nobody answered it for a while. Until someone else got into the room and picked it up.

"Why are they calling me so late?" The individual spoke with a thick Georgian accent and was prepared to converse in a foreign language. The man swiped the screen on the smartphone, and the call was answered.

He was to greet first, "Hey! How are you? Why would you call me so late?" The man was a little bit full—a chubby person to be exact—and his voice was a little bit different than you would expect from someone like him.

"George, Dennis went to the academy. Just like you suggested, we accepted the offer. Although I'm not sure about Munchen, they have quite the reputation." The person on the other end of the call spoke.

The person whom he was speaking with was George Kinkladze, a very famous footballer in Georgia and former legionnaire of Manshine City (Manchester City; yes, he is the real person, and he was also a legend of the club. He was a middle fielder, he was even compared to legends like Maradona due to his special dribbling.)

"Hm, it's still a professional institution, and you shouldn't worry about it much. Dennis will do even better there; when he gets the taste of the higher level of football, he'll understand how things work. I'm here just in case; I can always help out." George understood the father's worries and tried to reassure him.

"Dennis loves football, so let him do just that. The worst thing you can do to a footballer is to remove the football from his feet," he continued. "Not being able to play is the worst thing he might experience."

The father sighed; he knew George and trusted him with anything regarding football. "I believe he is going to do well, but somehow, I'm worried about him being too good." The two of them chuckled.

"And that might be true right there. Dennis is always better; he acquired the football knowledge so fast that I'm surprised. He always gets into topics that most would think are uninteresting, but not for him. He is actually up for studying biology just to know how his body works."

The father could only smile and say, "He has more trust in professionals in the field he likes, I guess. Besides, his uncle is really special."

"Oh, forget it; it's just Dennis' leaning mind that astounds me. Not only that, but that terrifying ability of his is truly something else!"

'But it's just too much sometimes…'

Dennis was a fast learner, and he wanted to know everything in the latest details and understand how things worked. He was like a mindless artificial intelligence that absorbed massive amounts of data like a sponge, and whatever he learned, he wanted to do it better, even if he didn't know its meaning.

His athleticism wasn't the biggest advantage he had over others; it was his Cognitive Psychology.