The sun was low, casting long shadows over Bastion Munich's training complex. The smell of damp grass and leather mingled in the crisp air as the squad gathered near the main pitch. Scott stood quietly in the back of the group, eyes locked on the lineups pinned beside the bench.
The scrimmage against Ingolstadt U-19 wasn't just a test. It was a statement.
Coach Voller's voice cut through the chatter. "We're not here to participate. We're here to dominate."
Scott nodded inwardly. The bench seat felt heavier than usual. A spot that promised opportunity but demanded patience. Today would be the first time he might step onto the pitch with the Bastion Munich Jugendzentrum A-team squad, even if only as a substitute.
As the players warmed up, Scott's thoughts drifted. The six weeks since arrival had been a relentless grind—early mornings, tactical drills, and fitness tests that burned muscle and will. He wasn't the top prospect yet, but every day chipped away at doubt.
He remembered the day he first saw the PLAYER screen, the stats glowing cold and factual. No promises, just numbers waiting to be earned. Now his overall sat at 75. Far from world-class, but respectable for a 17-year-old battling for minutes in a youth setup that churned out Bundesliga stars every season.
"Ready, Mason?"
Scott turned to see Mira Lenz, clipboard in hand. "You're on for the second half. No excuses. Control the midfield. Watch Schäfer. Learn."
Her tone was brisk but fair. Scott swallowed hard and nodded.
The whistle blew.
The first half was brutal. Ingolstadt pressed aggressively, their midfielders clashing and scrambling to disrupt Bastion's rhythm. Scott watched from the sidelines, noting positioning, player tendencies, and the stubborn resilience of the opposing midfield.
When halftime came, the scoreboard read 1-0 against Bastion.
"Stay sharp," Voller said. "We turn this around."
Scott pulled on his vest and stepped onto the grass. The cool earth felt alive beneath his boots, the roar of a small crowd in the distance. His heart hammered in rhythm with the pounding rain that had started again.
The coach called him over. "Mason, you're in for Lukas. Show me control, not haste."
Scott took his place in midfield. The ball came to him almost immediately. Time seemed to dilate. Scanning, he saw Schäfer making a run forward and a gap opening on the right flank.
He passed. A simple, crisp ball.
The team began to find its feet. Scott felt the difference between playing for himself and playing for the system. The flow, the give-and-go, the way midfielders breathed as one—this was the heartbeat of Bastion Munich.
Minutes passed like minutes, but Scott's confidence swelled. He tracked every challenge, pressed with purpose, distributed with care. The system had shown a physical stat of 69 and passing at 81, but it was the intangible timing—the moments between touches—that truly mattered.
Midway through the half, Schäfer found the ball again and sent a clever through ball to the forward line. The attacker's shot hit the post. Scott sprinted back, chest heaving.
"Good energy," Voller grunted from the sidelines.
As the match stretched on, Scott found himself in a fierce duel with Ingolstadt's captain, a towering defensive midfielder known for his ruthless tackles. The contact was harsh but fair, each collision a test of resolve.
With twenty minutes left, Bastion's persistence paid off. A corner kick whipped in, Schäfer leapt, heading the ball into the net. The crowd erupted.
Scott grinned, lungs burning but spirit soaring. The equalizer energized the team.
Coach Voller barked, "Push for the winner!"
The final minutes were a blur of sprints, tackles, and near misses. Scott found pockets of space, threading passes that kept Bastion ticking.
In stoppage time, Scott intercepted a loose ball near midfield, drove forward, and with one precise pass split the defense, setting up the winning goal.
The whistle blew. Bastion Munich Jugendzentrum won 2-1.
Back in the locker room, the atmosphere was electric. Scott's teammates patted his back, congratulating him on a solid debut.
Mira Lenz approached, clipboard in hand. "You showed control and vision. Keep this up."
Scott smiled, feeling the weight of the moment settle in his chest. This was just the beginning.
Every stat was a small victory, but Scott knew the climb had only just begun.
The next morning, the sun finally broke through a heavy blanket of clouds, casting a muted gold across the training pitches. Scott woke before dawn, the quiet hum of the Jugendzentrum stirring with the first light.
The match against Ingolstadt was behind him, but the day ahead promised no rest. Coach Voller had scheduled a video analysis session followed by intense tactical drills, designed to sharpen every player's instincts.
In the small, windowed room that served as their makeshift classroom, Scott and the others sat in silence as the footage played. Every pass, every movement dissected under Voller's sharp eye.
"Notice how the ball carrier must always scan for options," Voller explained, pointing to Scott's own run in the match. "But equally important—how your teammates position themselves. Anticipation is a weapon."
Scott nodded, absorbing the lesson. The mental side of the game was as demanding as the physical. He pulled out his notebook and made quick notes, the pen scratching faintly over the paper.
After the session, the rain returned briefly, turning the pitches slick. On the field, the drills tested endurance and precision. Passing sequences under pressure, 5v5 tight-space battles, and relentless pressing exercises pushed Scott to his limits.
His legs screamed after each sprint, lungs burning, but his mind stayed razor-sharp.
At one point, Voller called out, "Mason! Quick feet on the turn!"
Scott received a sharp ball near the penalty arc, twisted away from a defender, and delivered a low cross. The striker's volley grazed the post again.
Voller's rare smile cracked through. "Better."
As afternoon faded into evening, Scott found a moment alone near the sideline, staring out across the sprawling Munich skyline tinted by sunset hues.
He thought of home—England, the family, the life left behind. France, the nation he would someday represent. Dreams that once seemed distant now edged closer.
The PLAYER flickered quietly in his mind, a digital echo of progress:
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
SCOTT MASON
Overall: 76
Position: CM / CAM
Club: Bastion Munich (Jugendzentrum)
Nationality: French
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Pace: 72
Shooting: 66
Passing: 83
Dribbling: 74
Defending: 66
Physical: 70
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Progress was slow. But it was real.
The door creaked behind him. Mira Lenz stepped into the fading light.
"You're improving," she said quietly, voice low but sincere.
Scott looked up. "Thank you."
As the twilight deepened, Scott felt a quiet resolve settle in his chest. The climb was steep. The path uncertain.
But with every step, he was carving out his place—on the pitch, in Munich, and in the future of the game.