The crowd's roar echoed in Neil Goyal's ears as he jogged back to the center circle, his chest heaving, sweat trailing down his brow.
His curling shot, fired from the edge of the box, had ripped into the top left corner of the net like a missile.
That goal, against Team A's stacked squad of senior academy players and new signings, wasn't just a stunner, it was proof.
Proof that even with his body still dragging behind in every category, if he got one clean shot, he could make it count.
"Three stat points earned," the system chimed inside his head, calm and almost smug.
Neil's pulse quickened. The match buzzed around him, but his mind was on that panel he'd seen earlier.
His Finishing stat might be maxed out at 20, but everything else was mediocre. Dribbling, Acceleration, Strength, First Touch—all stuck at 7.
Not terrible for a teenager, sure, but at the professional level? It was like trying to race Ferraris while driving a rusty scooter.
On the sideline, Coach Thomas Tuchel clapped with a grin. "Great finish, kid, but don't fly too high too early. We've got 60 more minutes."
Young Marco Reus called out with a thumbs-up, "Nice strike, Neil! One more like that, and you're buying dinner!"
Neil chuckled, hands on his knees, lungs burning. His mind was already recalculating. That goal was no fluke, but scoring again would take grit.
He couldn't rely on speed to burst past defenders or strength to hold them off. All he had, right now, was timing, positioning, and that lethal finishing.
Team A kicked off again, clearly annoyed. Jakub Błaszczykowski sprinted down the right, ball glued to his feet, crossing in sharply to Sven Bender.
Team B's defenders scrambled. A miscue, the ball popped loose. Neil read it a second before anyone else and darted in.
His First Touch faltered, heavy and awkward, nearly letting the ball bounce too far ahead. A defender lunged. Neil sidestepped, not cleanly but just enough.
He pushed forward, teeth gritted. At 15 yards out, he shot, low and fast. The keeper stretched but couldn't reach it.
"Three stat points," the system said again. Six now.
Tuchel punched the air. "That's two, Neil! Don't let up!"
Lukas jogged up, wide-eyed. "Mate, you're cooking out there! What did you eat for breakfast?"
Neil gave him a tired grin. "Regression stew with a side of second chances."
The crowd, mostly academy staff and players, had started to murmur. One of the scouts scribbled into a notebook. More eyes were turning Neil's way.
Team A pressed harder. They weren't happy. Mats Hummels, already earning a reputation as a rock in defense, began shadowing Neil. A long ball came Neil's way. He tried to sprint for it, but Hummels closed in easily.
Neil felt the difference. His Acceleration and Speed, still stuck at 7, just couldn't match Hummels' positioning and game sense. Hummels nudged him off balance and cleared the danger.
"Damn it," Neil muttered, biting his lip.
"Not every ball is yours," Lukas said from the flank. "Pick your battles."
A few minutes later, another chance. A mis pass by Team A fell to Jonas, Team B's wiry central midfielder. He slid a quick pass into space.
Neil anticipated, moved early, and just barely beat the offside trap.
Hummels was on his back again, shoulder to shoulder. Neil muscled forward, foot on the ball, twisted, and fired a curling shot toward the far post.
The keeper lunged, fingertips grazing the ball, but it wasn't enough. The net rippled.
"Three more points," the system buzzed. Total: Nine.
Tuchel was grinning now. "That nose for goal is no joke, Neil. You just might be the real deal."
Neil wiped his face, looked to the stands. That's when he saw him.
Jürgen Klopp. Cap on, arms folded, scribbling into a notepad. Watching. Studying.
Neil's stomach flipped. He sees me, Neil thought. Really sees me.
Back on the bench during a short water break, Lukas nudged him. "Klopp's watching you, man. And he doesn't waste time on flukes."
"Then I better prove I'm not one," Neil said.
The system flashed again. Finishing: 20 (max). Dribbling: 7. Stamina: 7. Acceleration: 7. Total Points Available: 9. Allocate now or save for later.
Neil considered. Agility, maybe. Or Dribbling. But not now. He'd save it. No need to rush.
Play resumed. Mario Götze, still young but already sparkling with promise, weaved past two Team B players, slid it wide. Błaszczykowski delivered a driven cross. Neil tracked back. Not his job, technically, but instinct pulled him.
He cut off a pass. The crowd gasped. He turned defense into attack.
He surged forward, defenders scrambling. His Composure, still raw, barely held. He shaped up, volleyed from 22 yards. A clean strike. The keeper didn't move. The net snapped.
"Three more points," said the system. Twelve now.
Reus jogged over, laughing. "Oi, save some goals for the rest of us!"
Neil grinned. "Catch up then."
A whistle blew. One of Team B's midfielders limped off with a rolled ankle. Klopp leaned over to an assistant, murmuring while pointing at Neil.
"That Indian kid has something. Not just the finishing. He reads the game well."
Tuchel caught Neil's attention. "Four goals in a training match against seniors. Keep your head, but keep pressing. Klopp's seeing everything."
Neil nodded. He felt it. The spotlight. The tension. The chance.
Late in the second half, a tired defender botched a clearance. The ball popped up, spinning. Neil raced to it. Hummels met him again. They collided, shoulder to shoulder. This time, Neil stayed upright, strength holding just enough. He cut in, unleashed a rocket. The keeper parried it, hard.
Jonas pounced on the rebound, smashing it home.
"Assist recorded," said the system. No stat points, but Neil didn't care. He threw his arms around Jonas. "Yes! That's how we play!"
The chants started again. "Neil! Neil! Neil!"
Tuchel turned to his assistant. "This kid's got a killer instinct. No polish yet, but he's dangerous."
Reus slapped Neil on the back. "Keep it up, rookie. Bundesliga's not ready."
The system buzzed once more. Twelve points available. Shape your legacy. Choose now or hold.
Neil took a deep breath. July 2008 had never smelled so sweet.
Four goals, one assist, and Klopp's gaze locked on him. His second chance was just getting started.