45th minute – The Header That Silenced Buyenzi
The score read 3–0, but PvP FC showed no sign of letting up. In the stands of Buyenzi's modest stadium, the atmosphere was both tense and electric. Fans stood shouting, children on the shoulders of older fans waved scraps of blue and white fabric, screaming the name of their hero:
— Sa-bi-ti! Sa-bi-ti!
On the pitch, the action had just ended with a blocked shot from Hussein. Salou Keita, the defensive midfielder, recovered the ball at the edge of the box, faked out Saïd, and earned a corner. The referee raised his arm. Corner for PvP.
Sabiti slowly approached the box. He was starting to show signs of fatigue — and for good reason. Since his entrance, he had carried the team on his shoulders, dribbling, creating, chaining play after play. At eight years old, he looked like he was twenty-five.
Dalaso, the captain, came over to Sabiti.
— You take the near post, like in training. If the ball comes your way, just head it. Time to punish these guys.
— Huh? What training? Sabiti asked.
— Ah, right, you weren't there when we practiced this. Never mind — just let the game carry you, it'll come naturally. With your talent, I know you'll get it.
Sabiti nodded, a slight smile on his lips.
Across the pitch, Saint Augustin's keeper Kujo shouted:
— Frigence! Bosco! Mark him, dammit! He's tiny, but he jumps like a cat!
Frigence grimaced.
— Easy for you to say...
Salou Keita stepped forward, carefully placed the ball in the corner arc, and took two steps back. He scanned the penalty area. Dalaso was signaling, Khudhaïf was setting a screen, and Sabiti, isolated at the near post, was bouncing on the balls of his feet, already poised to pounce.
— Come on, Salou... place it just right, whispered Abou, fingers crossed.
Madi, the commentator, slapped the wooden table his mic was resting on:
> "Look at that setup! They're planning something. Sabiti at the near post... I'm telling you, this smells like fireworks!"
Salou took off.
The in-swinging ball curled in with perfect trajectory.
Sabiti took an off-timed run, then burst between Frigence and Bosco like lightning out of nowhere. He leapt. Time seemed to stop.
He was airborne — legs tucked in, head bent, eyes locked on the ball...
...then he extended his legs in midair. BOOM! A header — as precise as it was powerful — aimed toward his own left foot to ricochet the ball upward while still in flight, followed by a soft lob with the same left foot, sending it over the defenders behind him.
No one — teammate or opponent — understood what was happening. In that brief moment of confusion, Sabiti slipped between the defenders and ended the action with a backheel through Kujo's legs, the ball crashing into the left side of the net.
Unstoppable.
> GOAL FOR PvP FC! 4–0.
Ten seconds of stunned silence.
> "What did I just witness? Was that a dream?" gasped one spectator.
"No, brother, you're not dreaming. This is real," replied another.
"No, seriously, punch me in the face. As hard as you can."
"Gladly. WHAM!"
"Ouch!! Okay yeah, that hurts... It's real," said the first, holding his cheek.
Then came a collective eruption — a chaotic explosion of joy and disbelief. Haaahhh!
The whole crowd followed, and the stadium exploded.
But strangely, it wasn't just joy — it was a mix of awe, respect, and sheer disbelief.
Even opposing fans in red stood up and applauded slowly.
On the field, Kujo, on his knees, stared angrily at his defenders:
— You let him jump... between the two of you?! Between you two, and then you just let him go again?!
Bosco, hands on hips, shook his head:
— I didn't see where he came from. He popped out like a ghost.
Frigence was raging inside.
— That kid... he's a damn curse, he muttered.
On the Saint Augustin bench, the coach held his head in his hands.
In the PvP camp, it was pure euphoria.
Hassan ran over to Sabiti and high-fived him.
— What the heck was that?! What did you eat this morning? Not only did you use the corner routine we never practiced together — you made it your own, in your style. Hats off, baby genius!
Hussein, laughing, added:
— I thought you were a playmaker, not a poacher!
Sabiti replied calmly, with unnerving composure:
— If the ball comes, I have to score. That's all.
Abou, still at the edge of the box, raised his arms and mimed a prayer:
— You're not normal. You're a genetic cheat code. Just give me your brain for one Sunday.
Even Dalaso, usually stoic, walked over and ruffled Sabiti's hair.
— You're gonna steal my armband at this rate, Sab'.
And high in the stands, Madi was losing his voice:
> "I TOLD YOU! SABITI IS NOT A CHILD — HE'S A MASS HALLUCINATION! He didn't jump, he levitated! Frigence and Bosco are still searching for their souls in the turf!"
The stadium announcer, overwhelmed, declared slowly:
> "Goal scored by an 8-year-old... Sabiti."
The crowd took it up again:
— Sa-bi-ti! Sa-bi-ti!
But Sabiti remained calm. No wild celebration. No dance. He simply raised his right fist in silence.
And on the sideline, Ndikumana hugged himself lightly, whispering:
— I think I'm witnessing the birth of a national problem...
Then, raising his voice:
— Hey, Sabiti! No letting up! Next one — score it with power!
Sabiti gave a faint smile, but didn't reply.
The sun was at its peak, the crushing heat of Buyenzi weighed on the players' shoulders, but by the 48th minute, the stakes of this U13 match made everyone forget the temperature. Saint Augustin, now trailing 4–0, had nothing left to lose. Their coach, his face etched with worry, shouted to his squad:
— Come on, boys! Show them we're not dead! All-out counterattack!
On the pitch, Papala, the left winger, took the initiative. He received the ball in the center, about 30 meters from goal, his back to the play. In one smooth motion, he turned, erased Salou Keita with a double touch, and lifted his head. His eyes met those of Mossi, PvP's goalkeeper, who was already gauging his position. Without hesitation, Papala unleashed a strike from 25 meters. The ball zipped low, tight like a missile.
> Whoooooosh! roared Madi, the commentator, his voice trembling.
"Papala launches a rocket to the top corner! It's coming..."
But Mossi, alert, leapt. He came off his line with authority, extended fully, and punched the ball away with a firm fist. The ball bounced near the penalty spot, then spun out for a corner.
— Wow... whispered a Saint Augustin fan, his voice shaky.
— Mossi's a brick wall! said another.
Rahim sprinted to take the corner, playing it short into the box. Frigence and Bosco hurled themselves into the fray, but the ball escaped the defense. It rolled out toward the sideline, where Endrick, PvP's left-back, recovered it. Without pause, Endrick launched the counterattack.
> "Lightning counterattack!" shouted Madi.
"Endrick sends Sabiti down the wing! Buckle up!"
Sabiti, like a predator sensing the chase, surged forward. Three Saint Augustin players tried to stop him. First, Mahfouz stepped in to intercept, but Sabiti whipped out a roulette with no warning. The ball curved away cleanly, leaving Mahfouz frozen. Then came Saleh, rushing to cover, but Sabiti flicked the ball over his shoulder with his right foot. The crowd rose as one, clapping wildly:
— Ole! Ole! chanted the fans.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Sabiti continued his run, slicing through the defense like lightning. At 22 meters from goal, Bosco lunged in for a tackle, but slipped under the pressure of Sabiti's acceleration. Sabiti was brought down, not near the box, but close enough. The referee pointed to the spot.
Free kick.
The stadium fell silent. Not a shout, not a breath. The moment was sacred. Sabiti got up, staggered slightly, and approached the ball. He wiped his forehead, mopped his neck, and placed the ball gently on the grass. The Saint Augustin players formed a wall, led by Saleh and Mahfouz, arms clutched tightly to their sides.
On the goal line, Kujo adjusted his headband, removed his gloves, and muttered:
— Steel bar, protect me again…
Sabiti stepped back. He took a deep breath, as if drawing strength from the burning air. His eyes locked onto the far corner. Then, as a silent signal came from Salou Keita, the orchestra's conductor, the restart was whistled.
Sabiti ran up. His stride was hesitant, marked by fatigue, but straight as a line. The moment his right foot struck the ball, absolute silence descended. The strike was pure, powerful — a Jules Rimet-style shot. The ball soared, curled over the wall, and rocketed toward the top corner.
> BOOM! gasped Madi, his mouth wide open.
"Pffffft! He put everything into that! That's the strike of the century for U13s!"
The ball smashed against the bar. CLANG. A sharp, metallic sound that sliced the air. Then the ball dropped inside the goal, just out of the keeper's reach. It was already in.
Goal.
Sabiti's eyes were filled with a mix of awe and surprise. He stayed frozen. His breath had given out. He swayed.
— Sabiti? Sabiti, you okay? asked Khudhaïf, rushing over.
But Sabiti was reeling. One hand on his knee, the other on his head. The world spun. His teammates caught him — his legs were trembling.
> "Oh no… Sabiti's collapsing!" cried Madi, panicked.
"The overuse… the exhaustion…"
His limbs gave way. Sabiti dropped to the ground, eyes closed, motionless. The medics and referee rushed in. The crowd held its breath, caught between admiration and dread.
— Get him off! ordered Ndikumana, breaking past the defense.
— No, let him breathe... murmured Bayo, worried.
Eventually, the medics lifted Sabiti with care and carried him off the pitch. Fiki, the substitute center-back, jumped to his feet:
— I'm coming, coach! I'll take his spot!
Sabiti was replaced by Fiki, and the game resumed immediately, the referee signaling the restart. The players straightened up, the pace dipped briefly, then Endrick launched the ball forward again.
— Stay strong, Sabiti! roared the crowd in unison, urging their champion to recover.
On the sideline, Sabiti barely opened his eyes. A medic gently draped a blanket over his thin shoulders. He murmured:
— It was… too much… and drifted off, utterly drained.
The medical staff escorted him away, the team resumed formation on the field — but that moment would remain etched in everyone's memory: a masterful strike off the bar, a legendary free kick, and a young prodigy pushed to the brink, collapsing from exhaustion.
PvP FC now led 5–0, but everyone knew — only Sabiti, even in fatigue, could turn this match into a legendary tale.
The last twenty minutes were going to be a real puzzle for PvP FC. After Sabiti's collapse following his legendary free kick, Coach Ndikumana decided to tighten things up and "shut down the shop": he replaced his prodigious playmaker with Fiki, a sturdy center-back, and ordered a low block, reorganizing his squad into two lines of four to withstand any further offensive pressure. The score was heavy: 5–0 in favor of PvP, but the coach knew nothing was guaranteed until those final twenty minutes ticked down.
53rd Minute
Saint Augustin, fired up by this strategic shift, pressed high. In PvP's defense, a moment of hesitation struck: Salomon and Chekinah crossed paths during a clearance, leaving a gaping hole in the center. On the right flank, Rahim took advantage and combined with Jean Darme. Jean Darme whipped in a deadly cut-back cross, and the ball sped into the box. There, left winger Papala ghosted in at the far post. A scramble followed — the ball ricocheted between Amadou and Dalaso, then rolled into the net.
> GOAL FOR SAINT AUGUSTIN! 5–1.
The whole stadium trembled: on one side, the red camp erupted in celebration; on the other, PvP's fans stood in stunned silence. Madi, the commentator, was gasping:
> "Unbelievable! Papala finds the smallest gap in the defense to pull one back. It's 5–1, and suddenly this game has a whole new energy!"
On the bench, Ndikumana gave his players a sharp glare:
— What was that communication?! he barked.
— We slipped, coach… muttered Dalaso dryly.
— Tighten up. Get back into formation, ordered the coach.
The game resumed.
As soon as the whistle blew, Saint Augustin kept pressing. A poor clearance from Fiki allowed Rahim to snatch the ball at the edge of the box. True to his sharp style, Rahim broke down the right, squared up the full-back, and delivered a perfectly floated cross to the penalty spot. Ismael, the other full-back, had drifted centrally to catch them off guard. He ghosted in, struck a left-footed volley... Mossi, alert, could only get a fingertip on it — the ball squeezed past his gloves.
> GOAL FOR SAINT AUGUSTIN! 5–2.
The contrast was striking: PvP's once-uncontested dominance now met with the jubilant chants of the rival tribune. Saleh and Mahfouz, the defensive midfielders, were cutting every inch of space like it was a final. Ndikumana rubbed his temples:
— So this is what it's like without our conductor… he whispered under his breath.
Just 40 minutes in, and the boy had already made himself indispensable.
A Chaotic Finish
Without Sabiti dropping deep, pressing the opposing midfield, and creating space, PvP struggled to maintain their flow. Hassan and Hussein tried to patch the holes, but exhaustion showed on every face. The players fought hard, but the fluid machine was faltering. Their opponents, sensing hope, pushed forward with confidence. Madi commented:
> "PvP's really struggling without Sabiti. They're holding the score, but that earlier brilliance is fading."
65th Minute
Chekinah, who had been relatively quiet, stepped up: launched by Hussein, he dribbled past Bosco with a spectacular sombrero — flicking the ball over his opponent's head — then, carried by his momentum, attempted a cheeky lob that clanged off the crossbar!
— CHEKINAH! cried the PvP stands, torn between gasps and cheers.
— He just showed us he can dribble without even using his speed! exclaimed a sideline analyst.
Even Saint Augustin's fans applauded, impressed by the spark. Papala, teased, shouted over to Chekinah:
— Nice trick, but I'm not out yet!
Chekinah winked:
— It's coming. Hang tight.
The game continued with both sides trading attacking punches. Exhausted, the teams braced for the final stretch. PvP held a low block, resisting Saint Augustin's last pushes, neutralizing final attempts from Papala and striker Kitimba, whose shots either fell into Mossi's hands or soared over the bar.
— Let's hold this! shouted Dalaso, rallying the squad.
— No way we're letting it become 5–3! added Salou.
Final Whistle
The final whistle blew, bringing an end to a match where PvP had learned to survive without their shining star. Final score: PvP FC 5 – 2 Saint Augustin U13.
Immediately after the match, PvP's players rushed to Sabiti, who had just been treated and was being helped by the medical staff at the edge of the pitch. His teammates surrounded the young prodigy, lifted him onto their shoulders, and carried him around the stadium in triumph, chanting his name:
— Sabiti! Sabiti! Sabiti!
Flags swirled around the pitch, chants thundered, and pride beamed from every face.
Coach Ndikumana, standing with arms crossed, couldn't suppress a quiet smile. He knew that his decision to play Sabiti instead of Kobisi had changed everything. But deep inside, he felt a bitter twist: he had broken one of his core principles — "no reward without effort." Still, it was better to break a rule than to admit he had misjudged Tesuka's potential — which would have shown unprofessionalism.
He closed his eyes briefly, knowing that this match had marked a turning point in his coaching career. Soon, he would have to explain himself and convince the board that a genius like Sabiti deserved their full trust — despite being only eight years old.
Meanwhile, Sabiti, soaked in sweat, was laughing in the crowd of teammates, his face glowing. The boys gathered around him, each eager to kiss his head, congratulate him, and show him an almost brotherly admiration.
— You were incredible, little man! said Abou, his eyes sparkling.
— Now go rest, champ, added Dalaso, his voice full of warmth.
Sabiti nodded, but in his eyes already shimmered the anticipation of the week to come: training with the U13s, school assignments, returning to class.
Finally, the crowd left the stadium. In the neighborhood of Buyenzi, the name Sabiti echoed like the beginning of a legend — a child who, in a single match, dazzled a stadium, defied logic, and forever changed how football at age eight would be seen.
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