The Borussia Dortmund academy buzzed with a rare energy on July 16, 2008, the air thick with anticipation. A friendly match loomed— not just any scrimmage, but a clash against a Premier League giant, Chelsea FC.
Chelsea had brought a mixed squad of stars and youth to Germany for a pre-season test. Neil Goyal, now a name whispered among the academy, felt the weight of the moment.
A chance to prove himself against world-class talent. A shot to catch Jürgen Klopp's eye for the main team.
The Signal Iduna Park stands held a modest crowd—scouts, staff, and diehard fans— but the stakes felt colossal.
Chelsea's lineup glittered: John Terry, the grizzled captain, anchored defense alongside a young David Luiz. Midfield maestro Frank Lampard dictated play, while winger Florent Malouda and striker Nicolas Anelka prowled for goals.
Their youth prospects, like a tricky 18-year-old Ryan Bertrand, added pace. Dortmund's side mixed academy hopefuls with fringe first-teamers: Mats Hummels and Sven Bender in defense, Jakub Błaszczykowski on the wing, and Neil, still an academy striker, itching for minutes.
Neil stretched on the sideline, heart pounding, the system panel flickering in his mind.
Neil Goyal – GOAT System Interface
Finishing: 20 (MAX)
Ball Control: 13
Dribbling: 13
All Other Stats: 7
Stat Points Available: 0
Legacy Counter: 0.01%
Current Global GOAT Rank: Unlisted
He'd burned through his 12 points after the last match, boosting Ball Control and Dribbling to 13— decent, but against Chelsea's pedigree, his pace and strength felt like liabilities.
"Score here, and it's 3 points per goal," the system's mature female voice echoed. "They're a stronger team. Make it count."
Coach Thomas Tuchel paced nearby, barking orders. "Neil, you're on the bench to start. Stay sharp— strikers rotate if we need a spark."
Neil nodded, eyes flicking to Jürgen Klopp in the stands, cap low, notepad ready. A substitute role could be his ticket, but he'd need a moment to seize.
The whistle blew. Chelsea struck fast. Lampard sprayed a pinpoint pass to Malouda, who danced past a lunging Bender and crossed. Anelka, lethal as ever, volleyed it home, 1-0 in the fifth minute.
Dortmund's youngsters fought back. Błaszczykowski whipped in a cross, but Lukas, Neil's roommate, scuffed the shot, drawing groans.
Chelsea dominated possession, Terry's booming commands shutting down attacks. By the 30th minute, Lampard rifled a 25-yard screamer, 2-0. The gap in class was glaring.
Neil's boots twitched. His maxed Finishing begged for a chance. Halftime came, the score still 2-0.
Tuchel huddled the squad. "We're flat up top. Lukas, you're struggling. Neil, warm up— you're on at the 60th if we're still chasing." Klopp's gaze lingered from above, unreadable but intense.
The second half kicked off. Dortmund clawed back. Mario Götze, the young prodigy, weaved through midfield, slipping a ball to Błaszczykowski.
His shot stung Petr Cech's palms, the rebound cleared by Terry. Neil jogged on the touchline, pulse racing, visualizing runs.
Chelsea countered, Bertrand dashed down the left, crossing for Anelka, but Hummels headed it clear. A scrap ensued. Götze nicked the ball, lofting it toward the box.
"Neil, now!" Tuchel roared. The clock hit 62 minutes. Lukas trudged off, muttering, "Go get 'em." Neil sprinted on, yellow and black kit gleaming, the crowd's murmur rising.
"The Indian kid's in," a fan noted. His first touch came quick, a long ball from Hummels. Neil chested it, Ball Control at 13 steadying the drop.
David Luiz charged, all power and poise. Neil jinked left, Dribbling just sharp enough to slip past, but Luiz's recovery pace, miles ahead of Neil's 7, clipped his heel. He stumbled, ball lost.
"Damn," Neil hissed, scrambling up. The system buzzed: "Focus. Positioning and Movement Off the Ball. Wait for your moment." He adjusted, darting between Terry and Luiz, eyes scanning.
Chelsea pushed again, Lampard to Malouda, a low cross. Hummels blocked it, the ball spinning loose. Götze pounced, threading a pass into the box.
Neil moved, instinct screaming. He beat the offside trap by a hair, Terry a step behind. The ball rolled to his feet; 12 yards out, Cech looming large.
Time slowed. Neil's Finishing flared, maxed at 20. He faked right, then struck— a low, driven shot, curling inside the near post. Cech dove, fingertips brushing air. The net bulged. 2-1.
The crowd erupted, chants of "Neil! Neil!" ringing. Tuchel fist-pumped. Klopp's pen scratched faster. "Three stat points earned," the system chimed. Neil jogged back, chest heaving, a grin breaking through. Reus slapped his back. "You're a menace, mate!"
Chelsea turned up the heat. Lampard carved open Dortmund's midfield, feeding Anelka, whose shot clanged off the bar. Neil tracked back, lungs burning, Stamina at 7 failing him. He needed points, and soon. Minutes ticked down, 80th now.
Dortmund pressed. Błaszczykowski crossed, Terry headed it half-clear. The ball fell to Neil, 18 yards out, defenders closing.
His First Touch, still a weak 7, bobbled, but Ball Control saved him, nudging it into place. He twisted, Dribbling at 13 evading Bertrand's lunge. Čech narrowed the angle.
Neil breathed deep, Composure shaky at 7. He unleashed a rising shot; pure instinct, power arcing to the top corner.
Cech leapt, but too late. The net rippled. 2-2. The stadium shook. "Three more points," the system sang. Six total. Tuchel roared, "That's it, kid!" Klopp leaned forward, eyes locked on Neil.
Final minutes loomed. Chelsea pushed, Lampard's free kick tipped over by Dortmund's keeper. Neil, gassed, fought on, Movement Off the Ball guiding him.
A late chance came, Götze's pass, Neil's run. Terry muscled him off, Strength at 7 no match. The whistle blew: 2-2. A draw, but Neil's brace stole the show.
In the locker room, sweat-soaked and grinning, Neil sat as Reus crowed, "Two against Chelsea? You're insane!" Lukas nudged him.
"Klopp couldn't look away, man." Tuchel approached. "Neil, that's main-team quality. We're talking to Jürgen, you're in the conversation now. Stay hungry."
Neil nodded, heart racing. The system flared:
Stat Points: 6 Available
Legacy Counter: 0.05%
Next Rank: Recognized Academy Talent (1.00%)
He'd save the points, build smarter, not faster. Klopp's stare lingered in his mind. The main team beckoned, a substitute spot shimmering on the horizon. But one question burned: could he keep this fire alive against the world's best?