The morning of the Salzburg match carried a quiet, almost suffocating weight. Breakfast at the hotel was unusually silent, the usual jokes and casual chatter absent. Even Ali, who never missed a chance to tease someone, was quiet, sipping his juice while staring down at his plate. The only sound was the occasional scrape of a fork or the low hum of the dining room's air conditioning. Noah sat at the far end of the table, his fork swirling eggs on his plate without eating much, his mind replaying Vermeer's words from the night before: If they press, you control. Don't react to them—make them react to you.
The bus ride to the stadium was just as silent. No music, no laughs, just quiet focus. Noah sat by the window, his reflection looking back at him with a hardened expression he wasn't used to seeing on himself. He wasn't nervous, not exactly—it was something else, like standing on the edge of a diving board, about to leap into deep water he'd never been in before. Across the aisle, Leo had headphones in, scrolling through match footage on his phone, while Mateo closed his eyes, quietly repeating Salzburg's defensive trigger points like a mantra.
The stadium itself came into view as they turned a corner, a sleek modern youth venue packed with energy. It was bigger than anything Noah had experienced so far, humming with the noise of traveling fans. Salzburg's youth supporters had brought flags and drums, their chants echoing across the morning air. Ajax's traveling supporters responded in kind, their own chants creating a rhythm that beat like a second pulse in Noah's chest.
Inside the changing room, Vermeer stood waiting, hands clasped behind his back. He let them all settle before speaking, his voice carrying a calm certainty that filled the room. "You know what Salzburg bring. Aggression. Chaos. They will make this match their fight if you let them. But you—" his eyes scanned across every player before stopping on Noah "—you dictate our rhythm today. If they want to hunt, make them chase shadows."
The words hit Noah square in the chest. He nodded, gripping his shin guards tighter. There was trust behind Vermeer's tone, and it felt heavy on his shoulders.
Warm-up outside was sharp and efficient. Salzburg's players were already sprinting through their rondo drills, passing with speed and barking instructions at each other. Noah caught himself watching too long before Ali nudged him with a grin. "Eyes up, maestro. Don't let them rent space in your head." Noah grinned faintly and focused on his own touches, one-two passes, small-angle turns, nothing fancy—just rhythm.
The crowd was building as they finished warm-ups. Salzburg fans clapped and sang, creating a small but intense atmosphere. Ajax's own supporters, though fewer, responded with strong claps of encouragement. Noah inhaled deeply, smelling the cold morning air and the fresh-cut grass. His nerves settled slightly, just enough for clarity to slip back in.
Vermeer pulled them in one last time before kickoff, crouching low in the middle of the huddle. "They'll come at you hard, faster than you expect. Don't give them panic—give them patience. Trust the system, trust each other. Carter…" Vermeer's hand landed briefly on Noah's shoulder. "You've seen their gaps on film. Don't hesitate. When you see it, commit."
"I will," Noah said, surprising himself with how steady his voice was. Vermeer gave a small smile and nodded.
When they walked out, Noah immediately scanned Salzburg's lineup. Lukas Kessler, Salzburg's pressing trigger and emotional leader, stood near midfield with his arms folded and an unreadable expression on his face. Their eyes met briefly, and Kessler gave the faintest smirk, a silent challenge Noah understood immediately.
The whistle blew, and the match exploded into life.
Salzburg pressed from the first second, their two forwards rushing the Ajax center-backs, their wingers closing the full-backs, and Kessler shadowing Noah wherever he moved. The pitch felt smaller than it had in any other game, every passing option shrinking under red-shirt pressure.
Noah's first touch came with Kessler already stepping in. Instinctively, Noah dropped his weight slightly and used La Pausa—that split-second freeze—holding the ball long enough to make Kessler hesitate before sliding a quick pass wide to Thomas. It wasn't spectacular, but it created just enough space to keep possession.
But Salzburg didn't relent. Every time Ajax touched the ball, a wave of pressure came. The first five minutes felt like playing in a storm, each pass barely staying alive. Yet Ajax stayed disciplined. The center-backs kept the ball moving, Mateo worked tirelessly as an outlet, and Noah began to read the rhythm of Salzburg's press, where they overcommitted and where small gaps opened.
By the tenth minute, the first opening appeared. Salzburg's left winger bit too hard on a passing lane, giving Noah enough space to pivot and send a weighted pass through the midfield to Ali. The pass cut perfectly between Salzburg's pressing forward and their midfield line, and the crowd let out a collective oh at the precision.
The game continued at that breakneck speed, Salzburg relentlessly chasing, Ajax carefully poking and probing, with Noah at the center of it all. But every touch came with pressure—Kessler breathing down his neck, shouting to his teammates, forcing Noah to move faster than he wanted. A few passes went astray, not badly enough to cause disaster, but enough to remind him how slim the margin for error was.
Halfway through the first half, Salzburg had their best chance, pressing Noah into a turnover that nearly led to a shot, but their striker pulled it wide. Noah clenched his fists briefly, angry at himself, but Vermeer's voice echoed from the sideline: "Reset, Carter! Reset and find your rhythm!"
And he did. Slowly, his timing sharpened. He began anticipating Kessler's movement, using La Pausa more deliberately, pulling him in just enough to create passing lanes. One particular moment drew cheers: Noah stopped just inside the half-space, baited Kessler forward, then released a perfectly weighted diagonal ball to Leo, bypassing three Salzburg players in one motion. The Ajax bench jumped to their feet as Leo's cross led to their first real shot on goal.
The half ended still scoreless, but Ajax had weathered the storm. As the whistle blew, Noah jogged to the locker room with sweat dripping down his face, his lungs burning but his mind sharper than ever. For all the chaos Salzburg threw at them, he hadn't broken. He had bent, yes—but not broken. And for the first time all match, Noah allowed himself a small smile.