VFB (1 - 1) SGE 72'
Substitutions:
SGE
OUT: (#10) Leonidas Ilias Tsiokos
IN: (#24) Josef Haßfeld
VFB
OUT: (#7) Leon Sonnenblick
IN: (#17) Brayann Kenmoe
OUT: (#10) Sohrab Samandari
IN: (#15) Mykola Petrovskyi
OUT: (#9) Felix Bauer
IN: (#19) Che Louw
Before stepping onto the pitch, the assistant coach pulls Petrovskyi and Che aside.
"Mykie, we need you to control the midfield—stay central, don't push too far forward. Just distribute to the front three or whoever's open."
"Che, since Mykie will be holding the middle, I want you linking up when we have possession. Think of it like a false 9—you'll need to create for the wide players while supporting the midfield."
Both nod in agreement.
Che steps in. The others follow.
His heart pounds—this is his chance to prove himself, just like always. But this time, it feels different.
The pressure is heavier. The atmosphere is thicker.
Watching from the bench was one thing—playing in it feels like an entirely different world.
His legs suddenly feel heavier. Players are moving faster. Everything blurs for a moment.
How did Leon make it look so easy?
It was his first match too, yet he handled it so much better.
"Louw!"
Che snaps his head up.
His coach is calling him.
"Focus! You need to press faster!"
Che nods and regroups.
Frankfurt remains in possession inside Stuttgart's half, shifting the ball around. Their right-back dictates the play, constantly connecting with his teammates.
Then, from the left wing, he switches the ball to the right side, isolating the winger.
The winger takes on Stuttgart's defender—charging forward, attempting a dribble.
Futile.
The left-back times it perfectly, sticking out his foot and stealing possession.
Immediately, Stuttgart launches a counter. The left-back sprints forward down the wing—but doesn't get far. A midfielder steps in, blocking his path.
He quickly lays it off to Speidel, stationed on the touchline.
Speidel takes the ball, kicks it ahead, and accelerates—blazing down the wing.
The defender tries to keep up.
He can't.
Speidel breaks away and whips a cross into the box.
But no one's there.
Frankfurt easily clears the danger and regains possession.
With space in midfield, their player takes control, carrying it into Stuttgart's half.
One defender beaten.
Two midfielders bypassed.
Now, only the two center-backs stand between him and goal.
He has options—his attacking midfielder on the left, his striker ahead.
The striker receives it and immediately chips a pass forward, looking to set up the run.
One of Stuttgart's defenders reads it perfectly—stepping in, heading the ball back to the keeper, who calmly collects.
"Che! That attack started because you didn't close him down fast enough! Stay sharp!"
Che flinches but nods.
On the bench, Felix taps Leon's shoulder.
"You think he'll be okay?"
"And you don't?"
"I don't. He looks nervous out there."
"He's not. He just needs to understand the ball first."
"Understand the ball?"
"You'll get it when it happens."
Felix raises a brow.
"Whatever you say, man."
Stuttgart regains possession.
Petrovskyi takes control, threading quick, one-touch passes across the midfield.
Che watches the ball circulate—his heartbeat rising with each rotation.
It's bound to come to him.
He steps in deeper, silently calling for it.
Finally—Yigit notices him.
Che nods, pointing at his feet.
Yigit fires a fast ball toward him.
Che takes a deep breath, scanning his surroundings just before touching it.
A defender closes in from behind—Che senses him.
Everything slows down.
He taps the ball, changing direction with his left.
The defender loses him—still staring at the number on his shirt.
Che accelerates—charging into the open space ahead.
Euphoria floods his mind.
This is it.
His moment.
"See? I told you."
Leon smirks at Felix, watching closely.
Felix leans forward—fully locked in now.
"Let's see what happens next."