"Team Red ready! You play Blue in two minutes." He heard another coach call out teams for the next phase.
He stood as his bib was stuck to his back now and soaked. His socks were already starting to itch from the heat, and his thighs felt a little heavier. But none of that mattered.
This next round, Phase Two, was where the separation really started. Two-touch limits were gone. The pitch would be bigger and the pressure higher. And the errors? They'd be amplified.
He tightened his boots, adjusted his bib and rolled his shoulders. It wasn't about surviving anymore but it was about standing out.
He took one last breath and stepped forward. Phase Two was calling and Yanis was walking in.
The ball rolled onto the pitch. Yanis took his position just inside midfield, scanning the field while the whistle settled in the coach's mouth. The teams lined up: six versus six. No substitutes and no reset button. Just 10 minutes of raw competition but to scouts, this was gold.
This was where players revealed what they were—beyond drills and beyond potential. This was the game inside the game.
The whistle blew and Yanis moved instantly, pressing forward, not chasing the ball but chasing the angles. He wasn't here to run aimlessly. He was here to shape the match.
Within twenty seconds, the ball found him. He touched the ball first with his inside foot, it was clean and sharp. Then he bounced a pass into the midfielder on his left, then spun away into space to receive the return.
Everything was faster now—not in speed, but in flow. There were no cones to trap them and no drills to follow. They just had to read space, talk, press, and recover.
Yanis could feel the difference. This was where players either breathed football or got swallowed by it. He didn't try to do too much and didn't force shots. He kept his head on a swivel, always scanning.
"Back!"
"Man on!"
"Line!"
His voice cut across the pitch; it was short, sharp and useful. Others were calling too but Yanis's timing made his words matter.
Seven minutes in, the pace picked up. The opposing team started pressing higher, forcing his defenders into quick decisions. A bad pass fell loose in the middle.
Yanis didn't freeze. He read it early, stepped in, and took a quick touch wide. Two blue bibs closed in fast and he couldn't turn or pass back. So he pivoted left, shielded the ball, and slipped it forward on the half-turn—just enough space for his teammate to drive.
He didn't need praise. He just needed another play.
In the ninth minute, the ball was worked into the corner. Yanis drifted just inside the box, unchecked. A low cross came in too fast and too tight. He reached it with the tip of his right boot and redirected it off balance toward the near post.
It clipped the outside netting. He missed but it was so close. The sideline scouts looked up and one of them scribbled faster.
Ten minutes gone and the whistle blew again.
Yanis walked off without show, no fist pump and no look around but just control. His chest was rising slower now and he could feel the fatigue building in his thighs.
But he wasn't done. And neither were they.
The call came again: "Red stays." Yanis stayed on the pitch, breathing slower now. His legs were heavier, but his mind was sharper than ever.
Across from them stepped Team White , they looked confident, talkative and buzzing with energy. A few of them wore matching track jackets from a youth academy outside Toulon and they looked like a real team.
And their midfielder, Bib 6. He slapped hands with teammates and stared straight at Yanis like he'd already chosen who to target.
Five minutes later, the game started at pace. Team White pressed high, forcing early mistakes. One of Yanis's teammates lost the ball in transition, and within seconds, White had a shot on goal but it went off target.
The scouts noticed and so did Yanis. He dropped deeper, adjusting his position and not waiting to be told; he was just reading the flow. That's what separated players now, it was not how they ran, but how they thought.
Three minutes in, and the ball recycled from the back. Yanis drifted into the left channel, quietly behind his marker. The pass came, skipping low across the grass.
With one touch to bring it under, a short glance up and then a long switch right across the pitch, into the path of his winger.
No one applauded but one of the coaches leaned forward, and he was starting to watch closely.
Then the moment came as Yanis pressed high, forcing the ball wide. His teammate trapped it and poked it forward.
Suddenly with a turnover, the winger clipped it low across the box. It bounced once, then again. The ball came too fast for a clean hit and too slow to ignore.
Yanis didn't hesitate, he slid with his left foot forward and boot low. The ball hit clean—skimming off the grass and straight inside the near post.
Goal.
It wasn't beautiful and it wasn't planned, but it counted. The field went silent as one coach stood up and another nodded.
The camera behind the goal followed Yanis as he rose to his feet, brushed the grass off his knee, and jogged back without celebration, actting like it's normal. Because for players like him, it was.
Now, Team White tried to push back. They pressed harder as Bib 6 got more aggressive and even clipped Yanis's ankle on one play but Yanis didn't react. He just passed quicker, smarter and cleaner.
By the final whistle, the scouts didn't need to look for him. They already had him because Yanis didn't just survive Phase Two. He put his name in ink.
And with one phase left—the most tactical and the most brutal, Yanis knew one thing: He was still standing and they were watching now.
For the last phase, the entire energy of the stadium shifted. The cones were gone and small zones were cleared. Now it was just football.
A full half-pitch was laid out and boxed in by temporary sidelines and regulation goals at each end. The teams would now play 8v8 for 20 minutes with no substitutions and no restrictions.
Phase Three wasn't a drill, it was a match. Team Red stayed mostly intact, with two new players added, a striker and a left-back. Yanis remained in midfield, now wearing a new bib with same number: 19, only now outlined in black to mark him as a central player to watch.
The opposing team, Team Black, had the size, pace, and confidence. Three of their players came from a regional academy near Montpellier. They were organized, loud and favored to win.
The scouts gathered around the main touchline with their phones out and or ns down. They weren't taking notes anymore, they were watching.
The whistle blew and Team Black dominated early. Their strong midfielders pressed high and suffocated the space. Within six minutes, they were 1–0 up with a low shot into the corner off a quick break.
But Yanis stayed calm, he didn't panic and didn't chase the ball. He just adjusted. He started dropping deeper to collect and started switching fields, dictating rhythm.
In minute 10, he called for the ball at the edge of the final third. He received it with his back to goal, touched once inside and let it roll across his body. Then he fired a low shot into the near post.
1–1. The goal was simple, sharp and clinical.
In the second half, the pace picked up, tackles sharpened and voices rose. Yanis stayed quiet but deadly.
In minute 16, he saw the striker check short. Instead of feeding him, Yanis clipped a pass behind him. The striker turned, raced in and cut back as Yanis was already arriving.
Then, Yanis met it and struck with his left foot as the ball dove into the bottom corner.
2–1.
This time, a few heads turned on the sidelines as one of the scouts looked at another and mouthed something. Another wrote, "19 – calm finish, off-ball run and smart."
Team Black pushed. They came forward in waves but Yanis dropped into a double pivot, helping close gaps. He didn't chase tackles; he intercepted lanes and spoke up more now.
"Shift left!"
"Back in line!"
"Drop now!"
He didn't just play well but he played like a leader. And when the final whistle blew, Team Red had won 2–1 with both goals by Yanis; the amazing player midfielder from Bellevue.