Chapter 4

After the match, Marcel returned home with his mother, the excitement of the day still buzzing in his veins. As soon as he stepped through the front door, he could barely wait to share the good news with his father. Sitting down on the couch, he took out his phone and dialed his father's number.

"Hello, Dad," Marcel said with a wide grin as the line connected.

"Yes, Marcel, how are you doing?" his father's familiar voice responded, warm yet authoritative.

"I'm good! How about you?" Marcel replied, his voice brimming with anticipation. "I'm calling to tell you I've passed the trial! I'm officially part of Dragons FC Yaoundé's U17 team now, and I'm planning to move up to the first team soon!" His words tumbled out quickly, barely able to contain his pride.

"Is that true? Well done, son!" His father's voice beamed with pride, but he quickly tempered his enthusiasm. "I'm happy for you, but don't get too cocky. This is just the beginning. Remember, your goal is much bigger than this. We're here to support you, but you need to keep your head down and keep working hard. The real journey is just starting."

Marcel nodded, though his father couldn't see him. His father's words were a grounding reminder of the bigger picture. "I know, Dad. I'm ready to put in the work."

"Good. Now that you're in a team, you'll have to double your efforts. Less time to go out, and for heaven's sake, stop playing with the neighborhood kids—an injury now would be the worst thing that could happen." His father's voice took on a more serious tone. "Also, don't forget about your family. Visit your grandmothers; they keep asking about you. They call your mother and me all the time, wondering where you are."

Marcel chuckled. "Okay, Dad, I love my grandmothers, but you know they only speak Ewondo. It's tough to understand them sometimes because I don't speak it."

His father laughed, a deep rumble of amusement. "Ah, the youth of today! Always in French, never their native tongue. You've got to work on that, son."

"I know, I know. Tomorrow, I'll go visit Grandma on Mom's side and Grandma on your side too," Marcel promised. "But after that, I won't have much free time. I'll have to focus on training."

"Good lad," his father replied, satisfied. "I'm glad to hear that. Have a good night, Marcel, and I hope I'll hear more good news about your matches soon."

"Thanks, Dad. Good night."

After hanging up, Marcel felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him. His father's words, though strict, always motivated him. He said good night to his mother and headed straight to his room, eager to check on his progress.

"Tricera, show me my interface," Marcel said quietly. A holographic screen materialized in front of him, casting a soft glow in the dimly lit room.

Elite Boost System

Level: 1 (5/500 XP)

Name: Marcel Ndonga

Date of birth: 17th May 2000 (14 years old)

Height: 168 cm

Weight: 64 kg

Position: Left winger / Right winger

Special Boosts: None (Two slots available)

Lottery Tickets: 1

Player Attributes

Market: [Locked]

Points: 0

As Marcel looked over his stats, he remembered the lottery ticket he had yet to use. Curiosity swirled in his mind. What could he gain from it?

"Tricera, please use my lottery ticket," Marcel said, anticipation building.

Immediately, he heard the familiar hum of the system coming to life. In his mind, a digital wheel appeared, spinning rapidly. The sections flashed by—boosts, points, and bonuses—each one teasing endless possibilities. Marcel's heart pounded as he watched the wheel slow down, the needle hovering between rewards.

'Lottery ticket activated. Random bonus selection in progress...' Tricera's calm, robotic voice filled the room.

As the wheel slowed to a near stop, the needle clicked into place. Marcel held his breath.

Congratulations!

You have received the Team Boost: Defensive Cohesion +5%

A description popped up:

Your team's defensive cohesion has improved. Defenders now anticipate opposition moves better, filling gaps and working together to neutralize attacks.

Marcel couldn't help but feel a little underwhelmed. It wasn't a personal boost to his own abilities, but he knew this could be valuable against tougher opponents. Teams like Académie de Football des Brasseries and Canon de Yaoundé, whose squads were stacked with talent, would surely test Dragons FC. Even if Marcel managed moments of brilliance, football was a team sport, and sometimes, one player alone couldn't carry the entire match. Defensive cohesion could be the difference between winning and losing in those crucial moments.

"At least this will help in our matches," Marcel muttered, trying to remain optimistic.

His interface updated once more:

Special Boosts:Bronze Boost: Defensive Cohesion +5% (One slot available)

Marcel stared at the empty boost slot, his mind wandering to the potential of even higher-level boosts. What would a silver, gold, or even platinum boost feel like? He imagined himself on the pitch, not just as a standout player but as a leader who could elevate his entire team's performance.

Satisfied with the evening's progress, Marcel lay back in bed. The possibilities of tomorrow stretched out before him, and his body relaxed as sleep took hold. The journey had just begun, but already, he felt the weight of his dreams pulling him forward. Tomorrow would be another step toward greatness.

...

...

The next morning, Marcel woke up just as the sun began to rise, eager to make the most of the day. The air in the Fouda district was still cool as he laced up his Nike Mercurial boots and stepped outside for his early jog. The streets, lined with trees and houses, were peaceful at this hour, with only a few morning commuters beginning their day. Marcel's legs moved rhythmically as he jogged past familiar landmarks, his mind focused on the journey ahead of him in football.

After a solid 30-minute run, he returned home, feeling energized. He grabbed his ball, a replica of the 2014 World Cup Brazuca. Although it wasn't the authentic version, it felt perfect in his hands. The vibrant colors of the ball stood out against the dusty courtyard as Marcel began his juggling routine. One hundred...two hundred... His touches were smooth, almost automatic, as the ball danced from foot to foot. He followed up with some freestyle moves, effortlessly pulling off tricks like the "around the world" and its more challenging cousin, the "double around the world."

With his body warmed up and his skills sharp, Marcel finally headed back inside for breakfast. After eating, he quickly washed the dishes and checked the time—around noon. It was time to meet Christina. He left his apartment and knocked on the door of the Yamesse family next door.

The door opened, revealing Christina's mother, Nicole Yamesse. She was a small woman with a gentle smile, her light black complexion framed by short curls. She appeared to be in her forties but had a youthful energy about her.

"Hello, Marcel! How are you, dear? Are you here to see Christina?" Nicole asked warmly, stepping aside to let him in. "Come in, why are you standing at the door?"

"I'm fine, Auntie, yes, I'm here for Christina," Marcel replied, entering the apartment.

The living room greeted him as soon as he stepped inside. A large plasma screen dominated the wall, surrounded by framed family photos. Marcel took in the familiar scene: the cozy sofa, the polished wooden coffee table, and the soft sound of a television playing in the background. To his right was the dining room, where a long table with eight chairs stretched out beneath a low-hanging light fixture. On his left, a simple desk held a laptop, with a sliding glass door next to it leading to the balcony. The apartment was modest but well-kept, a testament to the Yamesse family's warmth and hospitality.

Marcel spotted Christina's younger brother, Hardy, lounging on the couch. Marcel walked over and greeted him with a quick fist bump.

"Hacer combi. Where's your sister? Why am I seeing you when I told her I was coming by? We're supposed to go out today," Marcel said in Francanglais, the street language that mixed French and English, popular among the youth in Cameroon.

"I dunno, man," Hardy shrugged. "She just woke up. She hasn't even changed yet."

At that moment, Christina appeared at the end of the hallway, still in her pyjamas, her hair tousled from sleep.

"Ékié, Chrissy! You're still in your pyjamas when we're supposed to be going out today?" Marcel asked, exasperated, rubbing his forehead.

"Oh, baby! I'm so sorry! I completely forgot," Christina said, her voice a mix of guilt and playfulness. "I was up until 3 a.m. watching my soap opera. It was so good, I just couldn't stop! And then, I overslept to catch up. I'm sorry!"

Marcel let out a deep sigh. "You're unbelievable... Go get ready. I'll wait here and chat with Hardy."

"I'll be quick, promise!" Christina said with a grin, giving Marcel a quick kiss on the cheek before dashing back to her room.

With Christina gone, Marcel turned back to Hardy, who was already flipping channels on the TV. "Bro, let's talk about the World Cup," Hardy said with a frustrated sigh. "Cameroon's a disaster right now. We've lost every game. Not even a single point! And what's worse, we've become a laughingstock because of Alex Song's elbow on Neymar."

Marcel shook his head, equally disheartened. "I know, it's embarrassing. But honestly, who do we have? Eto'o's done. He's past his prime, and the rest of the squad...they're just not on the same level."

"True, but it's hard to see us like this," Hardy muttered.

Marcel's eyes lit up with determination. "Don't worry, bro. Just wait. When I get into the national team, things will be different. Give me two or three more years, and I'll bring Cameroon back to the top."

Hardy looked at him, doubtful but hopeful. "I know you've got skills, Marcel, but come on, you're no Samuel Eto'o. And even Eto'o couldn't do much for us at the World Cup."

Marcel smirked, his mind drifting to the Elite Boost system that gave him an edge. "I'll be better than Eto'o. Just watch. I'll be the best player Cameroon's ever seen. I'll even be the second African to win the Ballon d'Or, after George Weah."

Hardy burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the apartment. "Hahahaha! Abeg, bro, stop making me laugh! Not just the best in Africa, but the best in the world? I've got faith in you, I really do, but brother, focus on becoming the best in Cameroon first before dreaming that big."

"I hear you, but I'm telling you my ambitions. You'll see. I'll surprise you," Marcel replied with a grin.

Hardy shook his head with a smile. "Alright, alright. I know you're serious. You've got the talent, but I just don't want you to get too ahead of yourself."

At that moment, Christina reappeared, now dressed in a casual outfit of jeans and a T-shirt, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. She smiled brightly at both of them.

"Baby, I know you'll make it," Christina chimed in, joining the conversation. "I'm right behind you, every step of the way."

Hardy chuckled. "So, you're encouraging these dreams too? It's good to be ambitious, but there's a fine line between confidence and getting carried away."

"I believe in him," Christina replied firmly. "Whether he makes it or not, we'll see in the future. But I'm with him all the way."

Hardy gave a playful sigh. "Alright, alright. I support him too. He's my friend, after all. I just want him to keep his feet on the ground. Anyway, you two have a good day."

"Thanks, Hardy," Marcel said, standing up.

"Bye, guys!" Christina added as she linked her arm with Marcel's.

…

At exactly 1 p.m., Marcel and Christina stepped out of the apartment, greeted by the intense afternoon heat of Yaoundé. The sun was relentless, casting a golden haze over the Fouda district as the temperature soared. The air shimmered, and the usual hustle and bustle of the neighborhood was in full swing. Shopkeepers called out to passers-by, some offering fresh fruit, while others sold clothing or mobile phone accessories. The smell of grilled meat and spices wafted through the streets, mixing with the unmistakable scent of hot asphalt. It was a typical summer day in the Cameroonian capital.

Marcel and Christina walked in comfortable silence towards the main road, where they hoped to catch a taxi to the famous Mokolo market. Marcel, already feeling the pressure of the sun and the activity around him, scanned the street for a yellow taxi, his eyes following each one as it zipped past, filled with passengers.

"We need to find an empty taxi quickly," Marcel muttered, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

After a few minutes of waiting, a taxi finally slowed down as Marcel raised his hand. The vehicle came to a halt, and Marcel approached the open window.

"1500 FCFA for a ride to Mokolo market?" Marcel offered, trying to sound confident.

The driver, an elderly man with a weathered face and a worn hat, frowned. "1500? No, that's not enough, young man. With the heat and the traffic right now, it'll be at least 2000."

Marcel sighed. "2000 is a bit much. It's just Mokolo, and I don't see much traffic around here."

But the driver wasn't swayed. "Sorry, kid. I've been on the road since morning, and I know there's traffic building up. If you don't want to pay more, find another taxi. Good luck." With that, the driver started the engine and pulled away, leaving Marcel standing there, slightly irritated.

He turned to Christina, who simply shrugged. "We'll find one soon. Don't worry."

They continued to wait under the unforgiving sun. After another ten minutes, a second taxi approached. Marcel stepped forward again, determined.

"1500 FCFA for Mokolo?" he repeated, his voice firmer this time.

The driver, a large man with an unbuttoned shirt, let out a hearty laugh. "1500? Are you joking? Mokolo at this hour? No way, not for less than 2000."

"Come on, 1500 is a fair price," Marcel countered, though his patience was wearing thin.

The driver shook his head, dismissing Marcel's offer with a wave of his hand as he accelerated away, muttering something under his breath. Marcel clenched his fists in frustration.

The third taxi, an old car with peeling paint, followed the same pattern, and by the fourth rejection, Marcel was visibly annoyed. Thirty minutes had passed, and they were still standing in the scorching heat. Noticing the tension in Marcel's expression, Christina stepped in.

"Let me try," she said softly.

Christina flagged down the next available taxi with an air of confidence. The car stopped, and she approached the driver with a smile.

"2500 FCFA for a ride to Mokolo market?" she offered, adjusting their approach slightly.

The driver, a younger man with a friendly face, hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Alright, get in."

Marcel looked at her in surprise. "2500? Really?"

Christina flashed him a playful smile. "It worked, didn't it? Didn't you want to find a taxi quickly?"

Marcel couldn't help but laugh as they got into the backseat. The driver merged back into the chaotic flow of traffic, which had already begun to thicken. The heat, combined with the gridlocked streets, created an almost oppressive atmosphere, but the driver remained calm as he expertly maneuvered through the swarm of motorbikes darting between cars.

What should have been a quick trip turned into a drawn-out battle with the city's infamous traffic. Street vendors took advantage of the slow-moving cars, weaving between them with trays of water bottles, fresh fruit, and various other goods balanced on their heads. Their voices filled the air, calling out their prices, adding to the cacophony of car horns and the distant hum of the city.

Inside the taxi, the radio played a familiar tune—Makossa music, its rhythmic beats providing a soothing contrast to the madness outside. Marcel, seated next to Christina, looked out of the window at the colorful tapestry of Yaoundé life. The vibrant market stalls on the street corners, the hand-painted advertisements on weathered concrete buildings, and the children playing football near small kiosks.

As they neared Rond-Point Nlongkak, a notorious roundabout, the traffic reached its peak. Taxis, private cars, and motorbikes jostled for every inch of space, their drivers leaning on their horns as if it would magically clear the gridlock. The taxi driver remained unfazed, navigating the chaos with precision, squeezing through tight gaps whenever a small opening appeared.

Despite the sweltering heat, Marcel felt a sense of relief wash over him. The rhythmic Makossa music, combined with the presence of Christina beside him, made the slow journey more bearable. His eyes wandered over the cityscape, absorbing every detail—the street vendors, the colorful stalls, the shouts of market traders—all part of the lifeblood of Yaoundé.

After nearly forty minutes of creeping through the city, the sprawling Mokolo market finally came into view. The market was as busy as ever, a hive of activity with rows upon rows of stalls. Vendors loudly advertised their goods: vibrant fabrics, fresh produce, electronics, and all kinds of knick-knacks. It was a chaotic but exciting scene.

The driver expertly found a small gap near the market entrance and parked. Marcel handed over the 2500 FCFA, grateful that the journey was over. The driver smiled and waved as he merged back into the crawling traffic

Marcel and Christina stepped out of the taxi, the heat immediately hitting their faces once more. Together, they made their way into the bustling market, ready to explore.

As they navigated the narrow, crowded aisles of Mokolo, the noise level rose significantly. Vendors called out in loud voices, offering everything from clothes to fresh produce, while customers haggled over prices. The air was filled with the scent of ripe mangoes, grilled fish, and the occasional whiff of incense from nearby stalls.

Marcel had a specific goal in mind as they weaved through the market: he needed new socks for his upcoming games. He couldn't afford to keep wearing the same pair for every match, especially with the important fixtures ahead.

"I'm going to start by buying some socks," he told Christina as they approached a stall selling sportswear.

The vendor, a heavyset man with a wide grin, immediately perked up at the sight of potential customers. "Football socks, right? Do you want the long ones or short ones?"

"How much for these three?" Marcel asked.

The vendor glanced at Christina before replying, "That'll be 4,500 FCFA."

Marcel frowned slightly, trying to maintain a confident posture. "4,500 for three pairs? How about 3,000?"

The vendor chuckled. "3,000? Did you see the quality? These socks will last you a long time. 4,500 is a fair price."

Marcel hesitated, glancing at Christina for support. "Can't we compromise? Maybe... 3,500?"

The vendor pretended to think, rubbing his chin. "Alright, alright. 4,000 FCFA, and I'll let you have them. Only because you're young and polite."

Satisfied with the negotiation, Marcel handed over the money and pocketed his new socks. He turned to find Christina admiring a nearby stall selling dresses.

"Marcel, look at this dress!" she exclaimed, pointing to a beautiful blue maxi dress adorned with delicate white lace along the sleeves and hem. The dress flowed elegantly, perfect for the warm summer evenings in Yaoundé.

Marcel grinned, watching her enthusiasm. "Do you want to try and haggle for it?"

Christina nodded, her eyes still on the dress. "It's gorgeous, but probably too expensive."

They approached the shop assistant, an older woman with a colorful headscarf. Christina gently touched the fabric, trying to channel the confidence of experienced bargain hunters.

"How much is this dress?" she asked.

"10,000 FCFA, my dear. This is quality fabric," the saleswoman replied smoothly.

Christina's eyes widened slightly. She looked at Marcel, who awkwardly chimed in, "10,000? We were thinking... maybe 6,000?"

The saleswoman smiled, clearly an expert at negotiations. "6,000? No, no, impossible. This lace is handmade. Even at 8,000, you're getting a bargain."

Christina hesitated. "How about 7,000? That's all we have."

The saleswoman paused for dramatic effect before finally relenting. "Alright, I'll give it to you for 7,000. But remember, you're getting a very good price."

With a smile, Christina handed over the money, pleased with her purchase. Marcel was relieved that the negotiation was over and happy to see Christina's excitement.

After spending another hour wandering through the market, collecting small trinkets and a few more clothes, they decided it was time to move on. They hailed another taxi to take them to Marcel's paternal grandmother's house in Nkolfoulou.

…

The drive to Nkolfoulou was a long one, and the late afternoon traffic grew heavier as they left the bustling streets of Mokolo behind. The farther they went from the heart of Yaoundé, the more the landscape transformed. The chaotic urban scene gave way to winding roads flanked by lush green fields and small, humble houses. The once-noisy city faded into the background, replaced by the serene countryside, with the occasional cyclist or pedestrian walking along the roadside.

About 45 minutes later, the taxi finally pulled up to a modest house with a thatched roof, nestled at the end of a quiet dirt road. Marcel's paternal grandmother, a woman with deeply wrinkled skin but sharp, bright eyes, was already waiting in the courtyard under the shade of a large mango tree. Her frail frame was supported by a wooden walking stick, but her smile was strong and full of life.

"Mbombo!" she cried out as she spotted Marcel stepping out of the taxi. Her voice, though quavering with age, was filled with warmth. She stood up slowly, leaning on her stick for support, and enveloped Marcel in a tight hug, her arms frail but firm, as if her strength came from the deep love she had for him.

Marcel grinned widely, hugging her back. "Grandma, it's so good to see you."

Marcel introduced Christina, who greeted his grandmother politely. They all sat beneath the mango tree, its thick branches providing shade from the setting sun. A soft breeze rustled the leaves as they talked for the next hour. His grandmother asked about their studies and their ambitions, her curiosity about Marcel's football dreams evident in her thoughtful questions.

Marcel recounted his recent football trial with pride, and she listened intently, her eyes lighting up with every detail. For her, Marcel's dreams of becoming a football star seemed almost distant and grand, yet she offered him encouragement with her gentle words.

After saying their goodbyes and receiving her blessings, Marcel and Christina got back into the taxi, this time heading to Mballa 2, where his maternal grandmother lived. The drive was shorter, and as they neared the heart of Yaoundé once again, the familiar streets, packed with people going about their business, brought a sense of comfort to Marcel.

His maternal grandmother's house was smaller but just as warm and welcoming. Located in a busy neighborhood, the sound of nearby chatter and activity filled the air. As soon as Marcel stepped through the door, his grandmother welcomed him with open arms, wrapping him in a tight embrace, her face glowing with happiness.

"Marcel, my boy, it's been too long!" she exclaimed, pulling him into the cozy living room, where the walls were decorated with framed family photos from years gone by.

Marcel, Christina, and his grandmother settled into the living room, where they spent another hour reminiscing. They spoke about the extended family, Marcel's plans for his football career, and shared fond memories from his childhood. Marcel felt a deep sense of peace here, surrounded by the love of his family. Christina, too, felt comfortable in the warmth of the home, her own laughter mingling with the soft conversation.

As the clock neared 7 p.m., they made their way back to the Fouda district. The evening sky was a rich blend of orange and purple as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the streets were quieter than they had been earlier. The chaos of the day had subsided, leaving the city wrapped in a tranquil calm.

Marcel walked Christina to the entrance of her apartment building, the day's events weighing lightly on his heart. The air was cool now, and the streetlamps flickered to life as the last traces of daylight faded.

"Thank you for the dress," Christina said with a smile, holding the bag that carried the deep blue dress they had bought at the market. "You didn't have to buy it, though. I just thought it was pretty."

Marcel smiled, his eyes soft with the exhaustion of the day. "Don't worry about it. My mom gave me some extra money for today when I told her I was going out with you."

Christina chuckled softly. "You're too sweet."

They exchanged one last smile before gently kissing outside her door. Christina opened the door to her apartment, glancing back with a soft grin. Marcel lingered for a moment, watching as she slipped inside, before turning toward his own apartment just a few steps down the hall. His heart felt light and content. As he entered his own place, he reflected on the day, filled with love, family, and small but meaningful moments. It had been a day well spent.

...

...

Three days before their crucial match against Union Douala U17, Dragons FC Yaoundé U17 held their final intensive training session at the Ngoa Ekélé military stadium. The late afternoon sun bore down relentlessly, casting long shadows across the dusty pitch, but the heat did little to sap the energy of the young players. Coach Emile, pacing on the sidelines with his clipboard in hand, knew how critical this upcoming game was, despite Union Douala being considered the weakest team in the group.

Marcel stood next to Jean-Pierre Mvondo, the team's towering central defender, as they went through a series of stretches and fast sprints during warm-up. The heat pressed down on them, but Marcel was locked in, focused on preparing himself for what he knew would be a pivotal match. This was his first major test since joining Dragons FC, and he was determined to show that he deserved his spot.

The session kicked off with one-touch passing drills, a rhythm-driven exercise designed to sharpen the players' speed and precision. Marcel thrived in these quick passing sequences, his touches clean, his movements fluid. His reactivity and ability to anticipate the next pass made him stand out, even amongst his more experienced teammates.

Once the warm-up concluded, Emile directed the team to begin fitness drills, setting up cones for acceleration and direction-change exercises. Marcel, ever agile, zigzagged between the cones, adjusting his pace with each step, his dribbling skills naturally coming into play. He understood that his ability to create space and break past defenders would be crucial, especially when the coach called him off the bench.

After the fitness work, the training shifted to tactical exercises. Emile split the team into smaller groups, each focusing on a different aspect of the game. Jean-Pierre Mvondo joined the defenders, practicing aerial duels and long throw-ins. Marcel, meanwhile, was placed with the attacking group, focusing on quick counter-attacks. He was tasked with transitioning swiftly from defense to attack, collecting the ball deep in his own half and bursting forward at pace, looking to either beat his marker or thread a quick pass to a forward.

The instructions were clear: swift transitions and staying mentally sharp during key moments. Marcel knew that even though he would start the match on the bench, his opportunity would come. His role as a winger meant that his speed and ball control would be essential in breaking down Union Douala's defense.

The session culminated in a fast-paced six-a-side match. The focus was on counter-attacking play—winning the ball back quickly and then transitioning to offense in a matter of seconds. Marcel often found himself initiating attacks, exploiting the space on the wings and sending crosses into the box. His confidence grew with every touch, knowing that his preparation would soon pay off.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the stadium, Coach Emile gathered the players around for a final briefing. They sat in a semicircle on the grass, sweat dripping from their faces, but their attention was fixed on the tactical board in front of them.

"We'll play 4-3-3," Emile began, his voice firm. "Union Douala U17 is a team we can beat, but we have to be smart."

He used a marker to show the formation on the board, explaining each player's role. The strategy for the first half would be defensive, emphasizing patience and discipline.

"We're going to sit deep," Emile continued. "Let them come at us. Once we win the ball, we play long. We'll leave one or two players up front for the counter-attack, and the wingers need to drop back to help in defense."

Marcel watched closely, his eyes following the lines that Emile drew on the board. He could see the strategy unfolding—Jean-Pierre Mvondo, as the central defender, would be key to launching quick counters by playing long balls to the forwards.

"Jean-Pierre, you and the defense need to move fast," Emile instructed. "A quick interception, then launch the ball to the winger or forward. Union Douala will push hard, and that's when we hit them on the counter."

Though Marcel knew he wouldn't start the game, he understood the importance of the plan. The team had to remain disciplined and organized, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Emile turned to Marcel with a knowing smile. "You'll start on the bench," he said, but Marcel sensed that his moment would come soon enough. "We're changing our approach in the second half."

With his finger, Emile traced new lines on the board, outlining a more aggressive game plan.

"When you come on, we're pressing high. We win the ball back as quickly as possible and hit them with a fast transition. Marcel, you'll be our key to speeding up the game."

Marcel's heart raced as Emile explained the second-half strategy. The high press would allow them to regain possession quickly, and Marcel's speed would be critical in breaking through Union Douala's defensive lines.

"You'll have a lot of freedom out there," Emile added. "When you get the ball, the attacking midfielder, right-winger, and center-forward will all make forward runs. They'll create space for you to either cross or cut inside and take a shot. It'll be up to you."

The team listened in silence, understanding the importance of the plan. Marcel's excitement was palpable; the prospect of being at the center of the team's attack in the second half fueled his determination. His eyes glimmered with anticipation—this was his chance to shine.

Emile concluded the session with a final word of encouragement. "You've all worked hard today. Get some rest, and in three days, we'll show Union Douala what Dragons FC is made of."

As the players began to gather their belongings and head off the pitch, Marcel felt a surge of readiness wash over him. He knew that the upcoming match was more than just a test—it was the perfect opportunity to show everyone what he could do.