The day had finally arrived.
The sun shone high over the Allianz training fields, banners fluttering gently, the faint roar of distant fans already filling the air with energy.
Mateo González Schwarz sat on the bus next to Lukas and Sebastian, heart pounding, Bayern's badge gleaming proudly on his chest.
He was on the list.
Citado para el partido.
It wasn't a dream anymore.
He was part of the team.
As they rolled toward the small stadium prepared for youth matches, Mateo spotted them —his mother, his grandparents — waving eagerly from the stands.
Helena beamed with pride, her eyes misty.His grandfather waved a Bayern scarf triumphantly.His grandmother clapped as if he had already scored five goals.
Mateo smiled and waved back, warmth blooming in his chest.
Whatever happened today, he would fight with everything he had.
Inside the locker room, tension crackled in the air.
Coach Dietrich stood before them, clipboard in hand.
"Listen carefully," he said, voice cold and sharp.
"Here's today's starting eleven."
He began reading the names, and one by one, the players reacted.
"Becker.""Schmitt.""Lukas Müller.""Sebastian Kramer."
Mateo listened intently, his muscles tensing with each name.
The list ended.
His name wasn't called.
He wasn't a starter.
A small, sharp pang shot through him.
He lowered his head slightly, swallowing the disappointment quickly.
"Not yet," he told himself."It doesn't mean I won't play. Stay ready."
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Coach Dietrich glance at him briefly —a cold, measuring glance.
But the coach said nothing.
No sympathy.No words of comfort.
Because here, at Bayern Munich, no one would hand you anything.
You had to earn it.
The players finished suiting up and filed out of the locker room, boots clacking against the tunnel floor.
Mateo followed, heart heavy but determined.
He would cheer for his teammates.He would stay focused.
And if his chance came —he would seize it without hesitation.
The match kicked off under a clear blue sky.
From the beginning, it was a battle of wills.
Both Bayern and Leverkusen's U17 squads fought for every ball, every inch of turf.
Tackles flew.Presses were high.Possession switched rapidly.
It was intense, electric, and evenly matched.
Mateo sat on the bench, eyes locked on the field, absorbing everything.
The coaches barked instructions.The players shouted, called, organized.
But then —Florian Wirtz entered the scene.
Leverkusen's young prodigy — already whispered about as one of Germany's next great midfielders —began to take control.
Elegant, fearless, sharp beyond his years.
He weaved through Bayern's midfield like a blade through water, orchestrating attacks with effortless precision.
And then, the moment of brilliance:
A quick one-two at the edge of the box.
A fake shot sending two defenders sliding the wrong way.
A deft touch to create space.
And a rocket of a shot curling perfectly into the top corner.
Goal.
Leverkusen 1 - Bayern 0.
The stadium fell into a stunned silence —then erupted in applause, even from some Bayern supporters.
Because sometimes, even rivals had to respect pure genius.
Mateo watched from the sidelines, fists clenched.
He wasn't jealous.
He was inspired.
He wanted to stand there too.To fight back.
To make his mark.