A cold drizzle drifted across the main pitch of Sportcomplex De Toekomst as 3:00 PM neared, the grey skies hanging low and heavy over the stadium. Rain slicked the artificial turf, giving it a faint shimmer under the dull afternoon light. Despite the wet conditions, the stands buzzed with life. Unusually, Utrecht's traveling fans outnumbered the home support.
A sea of red and white Ajax scarves and flags dominated one side, but notably, a larger contingent of FC Utrecht supporters draped in scarves and flags over their jackets of a different shade of white and red of their own had made the trip. They filled the opposite stand, their voices loud and boisterous. The atmosphere was electric: drums thumped, fans chanted in dueling songs, and a nervous excitement crackled in the crisp April air.
You could swear this was not an academy game, and it would be believable.
They had waited years for a moment like this, and their energy crackled in the air. On the sidelines, Ruud Gullit, present as an honorary guest, took his seat with a broad smile, eyeing the teams warming up.
Rain tapped steadily on the thin plastic roof of the tunnel, a soft percussion that underscored the rising tension. The metallic scent of wet earth and synthetic turf drifted in with the wind, carried by the open mouth of the stadium ahead. Beyond the threshold, the pitch glistened with a fine sheen of rainwater, a slick battlefield waiting to test every touch and every step.
In the tunnel, Amani Hamadi closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. His heart thumped with a mix of nerves and resolve. This is it. All the extra drills, the early mornings, the weight of expectation – it all led to this final.
He could practically feel the next System's mission buzzing at the back of his mind: Win the Future Cup Final. Lead the team. Leave everything on the pitch. No other outcome was acceptable. Amani opened his eyes to find Malik grinning beside him, punching his shoulder lightly.
"Ready, bro?" Malik asked, voice low but charged with excitement. Amani cracked a slight smile. "More than ever." He rolled his shoulders, feeling the supple response of muscles honed to an A+ physical fitness. There was no fatigue today – only adrenaline and purpose.
Around them, teammates bounced on their toes. Tijmen, normally untouchably calm, was rubbing his hands nervously. Van der Heyden exhaled hard and then began a rhythmic jump to shake off tension. Sensing the jitters, Amani stepped into the middle of the huddle just before the team marched out.
"Hey, eyes here!" Amani's voice was firm, steady – belying his 15 years. A dozen heads turned toward him. "We've worked too hard to stop now. Play our game – our football. Keep composure and trust each other. Every tackle, every pass, we do it together." His tone was calm but carried an intensity that made each word sink in.
He looked around, meeting each set of eyes. One by one, the boys nodded. Shoulders loosened, chins raised. Elite Composure and Amani's unshakable calm spread through them like a soothing wave, slowing their pounding hearts. The effect was almost contagious. Even Tijmen managed a grin, slapping Amani's arm.
From the other end of the tunnel, Ajax's U17s were lining up – a collection of talented starlets on home soil. They were the favorites; Ajax always was in every tier. Many of them had won this tournament before or expected to. But Utrecht had a quiet confidence today, forged by their underdog journey.
Coach Boyd Pronk walked up, placing a hand on Amani's shoulder and another on Malik's. "Keep it tight early, boys. No freebies. Show them we're not here to be spectators," Pronk said, voice gruff but eyes proud.
Assistant coach De Vries added, with a quick nod, "And remember our plan: slow the tempo when you want, and speed it when you want. They play fast and loose; make them play our rhythm." Amani answered with a determined "Yes, coach," echoing the lessons drilled into him. Ajax thrives on chaos, so Utrecht would give them calm and control and then strike with precision.
The referee's signal came. The players emerged from the tunnel to a roar that belied the venue's modest size. The rain, still falling in a steady mist, glazed the stadium lights, casting a muted glow over the soaked terraces. On the stand was a sea of red-and-white colors; Ajax's faithful, loud and proud. Yet across from them, Utrecht's own red-and-white swath answered with thunderous chants, their drenched scarves held high, their voices unwavering despite the cold.
Amani glanced into the stands, blinking away the droplets that gathered on his lashes. He could pick out pockets of Utrecht supporters: some waved flags, others pounded drums, all of them determined to drown out the home crowd. these fans had traveled from Utrecht, believing in them. We won't let them down.
He caught sight of Ruud Gullit in the VIP row clapping politely as the players lined up. The Dutch legend's presence only heightened the sense of occasion; someone he looked up to and modelled his game after.
Out on the pitch, Ajax's U17 B1 squad looked every inch the talented favorites. Amani recognized several of their starlets: Anwar El Ghazi, tall and athletic on the right wing, casually rolling a ball under his foot; Branco van den Boomen, flicking his blond hair from his eyes as he tested the weight of a pass; and Kenny Tete, a defensive rock with a stern frown.
They had the calm, confident aura of an academy giant, a team used to winning. Yet Amani's Utrecht side had arrived with underdog grit and a surging belief, fueled by a defiant desire to topple the mighty Ajax on their own turf.
At the center circle, under the sharp gaze of the referee and surrounded by the buzz of an expectant crowd, Amani stood tall, the Utrecht captain's armband wrapped firmly around his left bicep. Across from him stood Donny van de Beek, Ajax's captain, calm and composed, with years of academy polish etched into his posture.
They exchanged pennants with quiet professionalism, then shook hands with a firm, respectful grip that carried more than just sportsmanship. It was the calm before war.
The coin flipped high into the morning sun. Amani called tails. It landed true.
"We'll take the kick," Amani said confidently.
The referee nodded, and the players began spreading out across the pitch. Amani jogged back to his team's half, scanning the formation as he moved, feeling the hum of the crowd behind him and the thrum of adrenaline building in his chest.
Malik to his left, boots scraping at the turf, already bouncing with energy. Tijmen up top for the first time, locked in, eyes sharp, jaw set. Van der Heyden on the right flank, cracking his knuckles as he checked his shin guards. Amrabat and Dani anchored the midfield behind him, reliable as ever. The backline stood alert. Every man was in place.
Amani clapped his hands twice. Loud and Crisp.
Then his voice rang out, deep and clear across the field: "Together, lads! One team, one trophy!"
The reply was instant: a unified roar from his teammates, a surge of belief echoing through every chest in black and orange.
As Amani jogged back, he scanned his formation. Malik, boots scraping against the turf, bristled with energy up front. Tijmen, the team's creative spark, cut a lean figure near the center circle, waiting to link up play. Van der Heyden paced the left flank, warming his muscles for the bursts to come. In midfield, Amrabat and Dani anchored the spine, ready to lock down the center. Defensively, the back four looked poised, scanning the Ajax ranks for signs of early pressure.
Amani stopped near Malik. They shared a nod there was no need for extra words now. The plan was clear. Amani lifted his arms and clapped twice, sharp and echoing, pulling every Utrecht player to the present moment.
"Together, lads!" he shouted. "One team, one trophy!"
The reply was a visceral roar of "Utrecht!" from his teammates. The fans responded in kind, ramping up their chants. The referee placed his whistle to his lips, and the crisp shrill sliced through the clamor.
The Aegon Future Cup final had begun.
As Amani jogged back to position, he heard a swell from the Ajax supporters. The home crowd was expectant; Ajax was the favorite by far. But then the Utrecht fans answered with a booming cheer of their own for their boys.
This was no ordinary youth match. The tension and excitement were too high it made Amani's skin tingle from it more than the cold. He took his spot in central midfield for the kickoff. Malik stood over the ball at the center circle, ready to tap it to him. Across the midfield line, Amani noticed an Ajax midfielder already watching him intently, clearly tasked with shadowing him.
He had expected as much. Word had surely gotten around the tournament about Utrecht's #37, who ran the show. Ajax's plan was obvious: man-mark Amani and force him onto his "weaker" foot. A small smile tugged at Amani's lips. They'll be in for a surprise. Weak foot? He flexed his calves, feeling the energy coiled in his legs. Left or right, it didn't matter; he had no weak foot, and he couldn't wait to show it.
Just as the referee lifted his whistle to his lips to start the game, Amani's vision shimmered. Time seemed to slow for an instant as a familiar translucent screen appeared in front of him, visible to him alone:
***
Mission Activated:
* Score or assist 3+ goals
* Win 8+ ground duels
* Maintain 85%+ pass accuracy
* Contribute 2+ defensive clearances or blocks
The reward will be calculated upon finishing
Bonus Objective:
🏆 Winning the match will unlock a Legendary Skill
Penalty:
3 Months Extra Training Simulation (No Progress Bar Tracking)
***
Amani blinked, tightening his fists. So that's the mission. He felt a fresh surge of determination. This was no ordinary final; it was the culmination of all his training, the dream fueling his every early-morning drill. He tasted the adrenaline on his tongue, felt the churn in his stomach. His mind sharpened into a single, unwavering focus: they had to win, and he had to lead them there.
With a grim set of his jaw, Amani sprinted forward to receive Tijmen's return pass. His heart pounded in sync with the chants of the Utrecht faithful. Today, beneath the steady April rain, on this storied field in Amsterdam, he would leave everything on the pitch. The roar of the crowd rose in his ears.
Legendary Skill? No other outcome was acceptable.
***
Any Kind of Engagement is appreciated.