The evening breeze swept gently across the FC Utrecht U18 training field, carrying the fresh scent of newly watered grass. The sun was nearly gone, but the players were still drenched in sweat, finishing their cooldown after an intense Monday session.
Richard sat on the edge of the pitch, breathing heavily. A cold water bottle rested in his hand. Every muscle in his legs burned, but he was used to it by now. His body was beginning to adapt to the European rhythm—fast, harsh, and unforgiving.
Coach Bram blew his whistle.
"Cooling down is done! Tomorrow we focus on defense-to-attack transition. Richard, stay for a bit. Coach De Vries wants to talk."
The other players dispersed—some wiping sweat, some joking around. Richard straightened his posture, steadying his breath.
Footsteps approached behind him.
"Richard," De Vries called.
"Yes, Coach?"
The early-forties coach stood with a clipboard in hand. His eyes were sharp—meaning he was being serious.
"I've analyzed your performance from the match yesterday. Your goal was good. Very good."
His tone was flat, but the praise was genuine. "But more importantly, your off-ball movement. You're starting to understand European patterns."
Richard swallowed. "Thank you, Coach."
De Vries looked over the empty field.
"Three games, two assists, two goals, and consistent involvement. You're starting to get… attention."
Richard frowned. "Attention?"
"A Jong Utrecht scout was present at your last match," De Vries said bluntly. "They noticed you."
The words hit Richard like a jolt of electricity.
Jong Utrecht? The second-tier professional team. The place where many future stars begin.
"Seriously, Coach?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" De Vries replied. "But don't celebrate yet. They're only… looking. It takes more than three games to earn a call-up."
Richard tried to hold back his smile. "I understand."
"Good." De Vries patted his shoulder. "Show me again tomorrow. I want to see if what they saw wasn't just a fluke… but something consistent."
He walked away, leaving Richard frozen in place.
---
As he exited the academy gate, two small voices shouted:
"RICHAARD!!"
Richard lifted his head.
Ivar— the 12-year-old blond kid with a messy mop of hair and a red-and-white Utrecht scarf—came running, waving wildly. Beside him, Justin, slightly taller and calmer, followed closely.
They always came together. Always stood in the small academy stands. Always screamed the loudest whenever Richard touched the ball.
"We saw your training!" Ivar said, panting. "That first touch was sick!"
Justin nodded, eyes sparkling. "The Jong Utrecht coach watched, right?"
Richard raised a brow. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Rumors," Justin replied. "Someone in the academy said a senior club scout showed up."
Ivar stared at Richard with unfiltered admiration.
"Bro… if you make it to Jong Utrecht, you'll be on TV!"
Richard ruffled Ivar's hair. "Relax. Still a long way."
"But you can do it!" Ivar shouted immediately. "Justin said so too!"
Justin looked away shyly but nodded. "You play differently from players here. Your first touch is like a Dutch player, but your dribbling… it feels Indonesian."
Richard blinked. "You know?"
"Yeah," Justin said. "Ivar too. He's mixed. He has Indonesian blood from his dad."
Ivar glared at him. "Bro! Why are you telling him everything?!"
Richard looked surprised. "You have Indonesian blood?"
Ivar scratched his nose. "Hehe… yeah. A little. From my grandpa."
Richard patted his shoulder. "Then we're kind of the same."
The two boys exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.
---
Days passed. Training intensity increased. Every passing drill, short sprint, pressing transition—everything felt twice as hard.
But the system in Richard's head kept progressing.
Ding!
System: +2 Ball Control
System: +1 Vision
System: +3 Stamina
Small increases every day.
And every increase made his body respond faster to European-style play.
On Thursday afternoon, something different happened.
Richard had just finished a finishing drill when Coach De Vries called him over.
"Richard, come here."
Beside him stood a man in a black suit, around his early thirties, holding a tablet.
Sharp eyes. Straight posture. Professional aura.
Richard's stomach twisted.
His heartbeat quickened.
De Vries introduced him, "This is Mark Veldman. Scout from… Jong Utrecht."
Mark extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, Richard."
Richard shook it, his hand cold. "Nice to meet you too."
Mark studied him with the keen, calculating look of a predator eyeing potential prey.
"We've been following your progress. Good movement. Quick decisions. And you have something many young players don't… grit."
Richard stayed silent. His throat felt dry.
"I'll be coming again tomorrow," Mark continued. "I want to see you in the match simulation. If you show consistent performance… we'll talk again."
A small smile crossed Mark's lips before he walked away.
De Vries patted Richard's shoulder. "Opportunities don't come twice. Don't embarrass me."
Richard could only nod. His voice wouldn't come out.
A golden chance—much sooner than he ever expected.
But it also meant pressure, eyes on him, and expectations weighing heavily on his shoulders.
---
That night, Richard sat in his dorm room, staring blankly through the window. Streetlights reflected off the glass.
He unlocked his phone and opened his gallery.
A picture of his mother, Sumi.
A picture of Lintang and Tasya, smiling with ice cream in their hands.
And one last photo… Aquila Van Den Mer.
His long-distance girlfriend in the Netherlands, with golden hair and bright blue eyes. Her warm smile tightened his chest.
"I have to make it," he whispered.
Ding!
The system notification popped up.
[New Quest: First Spotlight]
Show your best performance in the match simulation in front of the Jong Utrecht Scout.
Reward: +5 Overall, New Skill (???)
Richard clenched his fist.
"Alright. Tomorrow… I'll show them."