And it came after a week of training, finishing missions from the system, and his fire not burning out, he finally got a chance as matchday arrived again - this time FC Utrecht vs NAC Breda at home. The past few days had been a blur for Amani. On Friday, Coach Wouters had finally beckoned him over after training.
Amani's heart had raced as Wouters said, "You're in the squad tomorrow. Be ready to come off the bench if we need you." Those words had played on repeat in Amani's head ever since. Now, as he sat among the substitutes at Stadion Galgenwaard, he felt the electric buzz of the crowd of 20,000 singing and stomping.
Under the floodlit skies of Stadion Galgenwaard, a restless crowd of red-and-white-clad fans pressed forward in their seats. Fans in the stands craned their necks, catching every detail; the roar of "U-T-R-E-C-H-T" chanted by the home supporters throbbed through the concrete bowl of the stadium.
Despite the pre-game adrenaline, Amani forced himself to focus on the match unfolding. The first half was torrid for Utrecht. NAC Breda came out ferociously, and by the 30th minute, they shocked the home side with two goals in quick succession.
0-2 down, groans swept through the Galgenwaard. On the bench, Amani's fingers gripped his shin guards tightly. He noticed how NAC's midfield pressed high when Utrecht tried to build from the back - a detail he logged in his mind.
In warm breaths, he muttered instructions to Yoshiaki Takagi and Mike van der Hoorn as they trudged to the sidelines for water. Across him, Utrecht veterans like Mårten Mickos and Édouard Duplan had their cheeks creased with focus.
Amani silently chewed on a slice of Gatorade-flavored gel, scanning patterns on the opposing formation through the lenses of his device. "System Mission: Analyze NAC defensive pivot," he reminded himself softly. De Zwarte Doos blinked green as it tagged Robbert Schilder, NAC's holding midfielder, tracking his passes.
His Zwarte Doos skill was in action, silently registering NAC's defensive habits. Utrecht managed to pull one goal back just before halftime (a scrappy finish by Gerndt to make it 1-2), but the mood as the teams headed in was anxious. Fans murmured in the stands, some booing the lackluster performance.
Early in the second half, disaster struck: NAC's striker broke free on a counter and slotted home for 1-3. A hush fell over the stadium, broken only by the cheers of the small contingent of away fans. Utrecht were trailing by two goals again, and the clock was ticking past 60 minutes.
On the touchline, Coach Wouters had seen enough. He turned and made eye contact with Amani, then jabbed a finger toward the pitch. "Amani, warm up. You're going on," barked the assistant coach. Amani's stomach flipped - this was sooner than he expected, but he was ready.
Adrenaline flooded his veins. He jumped from the bench and began quick sprints and stretches down the sideline. The crowd's murmurs changed to curious roars as the stadium announcer crackled to life: "Coming on for FC Utrecht, number 37, Amani Hamadi!"
Malik, Tijmen, and Amrabat were gathered back at the academy lounge around the TV once more - but this time their excitement was off the charts. "He's coming on! He's coming on!" Malik shouted, nearly spilling his soda. The three of them leaned forward as one, eyes glued to the screen.
On it, they saw Amani strip off his training top, revealing his jersey, and jog to the fourth official. The camera caught a flash of determination in Amani's eyes as he high-fived a dejected teammate coming off.
Back at the stadium, a ripple of anticipation coursed through the Utrecht supporters. Some who had not watched the last game only heard whispers about the academy kid with exceptional vision; and the others who watched the last game cheered.
A chant started in the Bunnikside section: "Ha-ma-di! Ha-ma-di!" - a few voices at first, growing louder. Amani swallowed hard as he crossed the white line onto the pitch. The roar that greeted his first steps made his heart soar.
Taking his position in midfield, Amani immediately felt the immense pressure of the situation - Utrecht down 1-3, season winding down, fans desperate. But as the ball rolled into play, a calm focus settled over him.
A handful of NAC ultras in the corner tried a mocking chant, but it was drowned by Utrecht's wide chorus of "GO! GO! GO!" as Amani jogged into position. The System in his ear chimed softly:
***
Mission update: Enter match. Pattern registration paused, immediate objective – offensive support.
***
He recalled NAC's shape from his bench observations. Their back line pushed high whenever Utrecht had possession, leaving gaps behind. He could exploit that. On his very first touch, he received a pass from the Central Midfielder and nearly lost it under a crunching challenge.
The physicality jolted him - Eredivisie intensity was becoming more real and raw - but he shielded the ball and spun away, drawing a roar of approval. A spike of confidence surged through him.
Only two minutes after coming on, Amani found himself in space in the center circle. Utrecht's right-back had intercepted a loose NAC pass and quickly fed Amani the ball. Head up, Amani scanned forward - and his eyes caught a sliver of opportunity.
Utrecht's striker was making a diagonal run between NAC's center-backs, who were caught flat-footed pushing up. Amani's mind processed the geometry in an instant: distance, timing, weight.
It was the perfect scenario for a Weighted Through Pass, the very skill he had honed tirelessly in training. With a controlled inhale, Amani nudged the ball forward and swung his right foot, slicing through it at an angle.
The pass that emerged was a thing of beauty - a turf-skimming, curved through-ball that split the NAC defense like a surgeon's scalpel. The weight on the pass was exquisite; it bypassed one defender's desperate lunge and landed precisely in the path of the striker at full sprint.
In the academy lounge, Tijmen jumped up, "What a ball!" On the pitch, the Utrecht striker didn't even need to break stride. He collected Amani's pass in the box and, one-on-one with the keeper, coolly slotted it low into the corner. GOAL! 2-3 now! The stadium exploded in celebration.
As the striker raced to grab the ball from the net, he pointed back at Amani in acknowledgement of the assist. Fans were on their feet - a hopeful roar reverberating through Galgenwaard. Amani pumped his fist once, hard, allowing himself a fierce grin before racing back to midfield. One assist, one goal back - the comeback was on.
The next minutes were a whirlwind. Utrecht, energized by the goal, pressed NAC ferociously. Amani was everywhere - dropping deep to help win the ball and then surging forward to join attacks.
His visionary passing continued to shine. In the 75th minute, he picked up a loose clearance about 30 yards from goal. Instead of a wild shot, Amani paused - a brief half-second "La Pausa" - freezing the nearest defender. With that yard of space he created, Amani clipped a delicate lofted pass toward the left side of the penalty area, where Utrecht's winger was ghosting behind the right-back.
It was another Visionary Pass, unexpected and precise. The winger brought it down and cut it back across the six-yard box… and Utrecht's veteran midfielder slid in to stab the ball home! GOAL! 3-3!
Galgenwaard shook with noise. Two goals in six minutes - from 1-3 to 3-3, the match was level! Amani found himself lifted off his feet as teammates hugged him - he wasn't credited with the assist on that third goal (the winger's cut-back earned that), but everyone knew who unlocked the defense with that diagonal ball.
The crowd was chanting his name fully now: "Ha-ma-di! Ha-ma-di!" The entire stadium joined in, disbelief and delight mingling in their voices. On the sideline, Coach Wouters cracked a rare smile as he cupped his hands to shout new instructions.
And back at the academy, Malik and Amrabat were literally dancing. "This is unreal!" Amrabat laughed, his voice hoarse from cheering. Tijmen was already texting anyone who would listen: "ARE YOU WATCHING HAMADI?!"
Utrecht pushed for the winner as the clock ticked into the 80s. Amani, despite the burning in his lungs, played with elite composure beyond his 15 years. This game was different and they could see it. He cycled possession when needed, sensing that they had to control the tempo and not get caught by NAC on the break.
Yet every time he got on the ball near the attacking third, the crowd held its breath in anticipation. In the 88th minute, Amani received a pass on the edge of the box, back to goal. A NAC defender immediately pressed into him, but Amani's awareness was razor-sharp.
With a deft Cruyff turn, he spun around the challenger, leaving the defender sprawling on the grass. Gasps of admiration echoed from the stands. Now facing goal, Amani slipped into a pocket of space.
Another defender lunged in desperation - Amani feinted right then darted left, puppeteering the space with his movement. He had just enough room at the top of the box.
He could hear his teammates and even the fans yelling for a pass or shot - a cacophony of sound - but in that split-second, Amani's mind fell silent and clear. He swung his left foot through the ball with instinct and precision.
The strike wasn't the hardest, but it was perfectly placed - low and bending toward the far post. The NAC goalkeeper, unsighted by bodies, reacted a fraction too late. The net bulged as the ball rolled in off the post - GOAL!!! 4-3 to FC Utrecht!
For a heartbeat, time seemed frozen. Then an eruption: a wall of sound crashed down from the stands as red-and-white clad players mobbed Amani near the corner flag. He had done it - a goal and two assists to turn 1-3 into 4-3.
In the academy lounge, absolute mayhem broke out. Malik toppled over the back of the couch, shouting incoherently. Tijmen was on his knees with his hands on his head, as if worshipping the television, while Amrabat jumped around hugging everyone in sight.
"That's my boy!!" Malik screamed, pounding his chest. They couldn't believe what they'd just witnessed - it was the stuff of academy daydreams, happening in real life to their friend.