The Ajax U-23 locker room was a mixture of exhaustion and frustration as the players sat in silence. The first half had ended with Heerenveen leading 1-0, and the team knew the second half would require more than just effort—it would require heart.
Coach Bakker stood in front of them, the intensity in his eyes matching the urgency in his voice.
"We're still in this. We've come too far to let it slip now," he said, pacing slowly. His eyes locked on Femi for a brief moment before shifting to the entire squad. "We control the game through the midfield, but we've got to be quicker. Move the ball, press higher. Get the crosses in, and we finish when it counts. Understand?"
The players nodded, absorbing his words. Lars de Groot, standing off to the side, placed a hand on Femi's shoulder. The young left-back's nerves were palpable, but Lars offered a reassuring smile.
"You've got this, Femi. You're a different player than when you first came here."
Femi swallowed, taking a deep breath. He glanced across the room, where Josip stood with his arms crossed, eyes focused ahead. The tension between the two was undeniable. Yet, the game was bigger than personal feelings. Femi's heart pounded as he steeled himself for the challenge ahead.
The halftime whistle blew, and the team shuffled back onto the pitch.
The Second Half Begins
Ajax came out strong, intent on showing Heerenveen they were not going to go down without a fight. The rain had softened slightly, but the pitch was slick, and every pass needed precision.
Femi, still high on adrenaline, surged forward early, pushing the ball down the left flank. Josip, who had started in his usual spot at left wing-back, mirrored his movements, trying to make overlapping runs. Yet, Heerenveen's defense was as solid as ever.
In midfield, Yassine Bouali was doing his best to dictate the tempo, but Heerenveen had adjusted their shape, crowding the middle and forcing Ajax to go wide. Diego Silva made a run to the edge of the box, but the final ball was too heavy.
Femi saw the chance to send a cross in, but it was too easily cleared by the Heerenveen defense. He turned to Josip, frustration simmering beneath the surface, but Josip was already jogging back to defend.
Then, in a moment that would have sent most players into a panic, Elias Rikken—Heerenveen's genius striker—danced around the edge of the Ajax box, ghosting between two defenders. He received the ball from midfield, and before anyone could react, he flicked it with a delicate touch toward the far post.
The crowd held Its breath as the ball clinked off the woodwork and away to safety. Femi, momentarily stunned, took a step back, his heart racing. This wasn't just a match; it was a battle.
Femi shook his head, steadying himself. It was time for Ajax to respond, and the second half was far from over. He squared up, ready to help his team push forward again.
Coach Bakker's tactical shift was subtle but effective. Josip, who had been stationed more defensively, was given more freedom to roam forward. Femi, playing with a sense of purpose, started pulling defenders out of position with his overlapping runs.
It was in the 75th minute that the breakthrough came. Timo van Loon intercepted a loose pass from Heerenveen and quickly shifted the ball out wide to Liam. The winger controlled it with ease before cutting inside and laying a perfectly weighted ball to Femi. Femi had the space to take on his defender, and he delivered a perfectly timed cross into the box.
Souleymane Traore leapt high, meeting the ball with his head and sending it into the back of the net.
1-1. The Ajax bench erupted in cheers, but Femi could only exhale with a sense of relief. His role in the assist didn't come with the same satisfaction as a goal, but the team was back in it.
Just as Ajax thought they might be able to seize the momentum, Elias Rikken slipped between the center-backs once again, firing a powerful shot that was narrowly saved by Ajax's keeper. The entire stadium held its breath as the ball bounced toward the edge of the box, with Rikken ready to pounce.
Femi's heart skipped a beat, but the Ajax defense held strong, clearing it out of danger. The final minutes were tense, with both teams pushing for the winner. The crowd could sense it—a goal was coming.
Josip, still visibly agitated from his earlier exchanges with Femi, continued to press forward, cutting inside when possible, but Heerenveen's defense was relentless.
End of Regulation
The final whistle blew, and the score was 1-1. It was now a battle of endurance, both physically and mentally. The players were drained, but the stakes had never been higher.
Coach Bakker called the team together on the sideline, his voice calm but urgent. "This is it. Extra time. We don't stop until the final whistle. Let's give everything."
Extra Time
The first period of extra time started with both teams looking tired but determined. Ajax held possession, but Heerenveen's defensive shape remained resolute. Femi, starting to feel the effects of the intense tempo, was visibly slower in his movements. His legs felt heavy, but his determination kept him fighting.
Josip was becoming more prominent, his confidence growing as he drifted into the space Ajax's midfield provided. He looked more dangerous with every touch, his eyes scanning the field for openings.
But despite his best efforts, the breakthrough did not come. Each side fought for control, each pass heavy with the weight of the game's importance.
At the 106th minute, Coach Bakker made the difficult decision.
"Femi, you've given everything," he said, his voice low but proud. "Rest now. We need you fresh for the final push."
Femi nodded, a tired but understanding look on his face. He'd played his heart out, but it was clear the fatigue had begun to take its toll. As he walked off the pitch, Lars gave him a supportive clap on the back.
Femi found his place on the bench, watching as Josip slid to the left-wing-back position. The game was still far from over.
With only minutes remaining, the tension was unbearable. Ajax's attack, though dangerous, seemed to lack the sharpness it had earlier in the game. Josip, now fully embedded in the midfield, surged forward in the final moments. His every movement seemed purposeful—he had a point to prove.
In a last-ditch effort, Ajax began their final assault, pushing everyone forward. Liam, who had been brilliant all game, picked up the ball in midfield and slotted a through pass to Bouali. Bouali quickly released Josip, who had drifted wide, just inside the left flank.
The air felt thick with rain and fatigue. Josip wiped his face with a quick swipe, his vision sharpening as the ball circled back to Ajax's midfield. The clock, a distant specter, loomed over his every movement.
He didn't hesitate.
A glance. A slight nod from Liam. A common understanding passed between them. When Bouali freed the ball, Josip was already in motion, not desperate, but surgical—like a blade finding its mark.
The Heerenveen right-back shadowed him, close enough to smell his gum. Josip feinted left, a quick twitch, then darted right, surging into the gap. The pass came like lightning, slashing the soaked pitch. He met it with the outside of his boot, deadening its speed just enough to bait the defender in.
A lunge. A miss.
Josip surged past, the crowd's roar a storm behind him. But then—Rikken. That bastard had tracked him all the way, breathing down his neck. A final slide, studs up. Josip leapt, the ball nudging beneath him as he fought to keep his footing.
The goal stretched wide ahead. Traore screamed for it at the near post. Liam hovered, a shadow waiting.
Josip didn't think. He swung the ball towards the opposition goal—a curve of sweat and defiance, slicing through the air.
For a heartbeat, there was only silence.
Then—
(The net ripples. Or it doesn't. Chapter 19 decides.)