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The squad trekked out of the Skonto Indoor Stadium, still clad in their sweat-laden jerseys. They walked through the brightly-lit tunnel to the gate with a swagger in their steps, looking like they owned the entire world, chattering on about the match highlights.

Zachary, too, walked with a Cheshire cat\'s grin outlined on his face. His mind went over some of the defining moments of the game. His team had managed to qualify for the final and was only one step away from becoming champions.

He was only a step away from earning a sizeable sum of Juju-points—plus a tournament title that was rare in the youth careers of many professional players.

He couldn\'t help but recall some bits of his previous life that seemed to be from a century ago.

In his previous life, his grandma had passed on when he was only seventeen, leaving him struggling to keep himself in school. He\'d then dropped out and started searching for a local club to take him on. But, he\'d still failed due to the recurrent injuries that had started when he got involved in an accident two years prior.

He had then fallen into a period of depression, taking the local brew and drugs on a regular basis to escape his problems. His sports career seemed over, and many had thought him a gone case. However, in a lucky twist of fate, he\'d managed to make it to the pro level at TP Mazembe after receiving help from a retired Congolese national team player.

Arthur Afobe, the player in question, had shown him a way to overcome his recurring ankle injury problems by playing smarter. He had managed to develop the unique playing-style of his previous life by following that advice. He had learned to do more with the ball with a single touch rather than running through defenders. That\'s how he\'d managed to develop his high-level ball control and passing ability—two attributes that continued to serve him well even in his new life.

He had been able to sit in the defensive midfield and unleash defense-splitting passes to help his team win games without running around excessively. He had been akin to an upcoming Maestro, showing a lot of promise due to his tactical vision on the pitch. That was the reason TP Mazembe had offered him a contract, even when knowing he was—riddled with both injury and addiction problems.

Nonetheless, he had wasted the opportunity by relapsing back to his old habits. A glass of wine, a little bit of Cannabis sativa was how his fall restarted. And before he could benefit from his success, his career ended abruptly. What followed were events he would rather not remember.

But just when he thought it was all over, he had been given a second chance. Mysteriously, he traveled back in time accompanied by a system, to a time where he managed to grab on to an opportunity.

From then, he had worked relentlessly to achieve his previous life\'s goal of becoming a pro player in a European league.

Things couldn\'t have worked out any better. He now felt a deep sense of bliss on the field since he no longer feared injuring a weak ankle. Due to some perks of the system, he was more resilient, more agile, and more clinical with the ball than he had ever been in his previous life.

With his unique playing style, he had managed to secure the promise of a contract from a European team—Rosenborg before turning eighteen. And to top it all off, his youth team had just qualified for the Riga Cup finals. Zachary was on cloud nine.

Even with a system, he understood that the difference between ordinary and extraordinary was that little extra. He needed to continue working to surpass his own limits. He intended to be the sort of athlete who became a better version of his past self as he advanced in years.

Zachary felt like he could rise to the very top with his system at hand. All he needed to do was earn more Juju-points and maintain his work ethic, and eventually, the whole world would be at his feet.

"Those reporters are waiting for us once again." Zachary was broken out of his reflection by his teammate\'s hollering as they approached the gate.

"What\'s the point in reporters seeking us out when Coach Johansen is just going to keep turning them away?" Paul grumbled. "What a drag," he sighed, shaking his head.

Zachary inclined his head and noticed a varied bunch, some with cameras and microphones, waiting by the gate. They had begun stalking the NF Academy squad immediately after their win against Zenit in the quarter-final.

However, Coach Johansen always turned them away before they could approach any of the players. He\'d even banned players from holding private interviews with any journalist. He said he didn\'t want any media attention on the team before they even won the cup. Zachary inwardly approved since the team didn\'t need any more distractions in the middle of a tournament.

The squad continued towards the gate, trudging past the reporters, who\'d been pushed aside by the technical team. The reporters in Riga seemed very polite and didn\'t hound the players as they passed by.

When the squad exited the indoor stadium, Zachary felt a cold wind stroking his skin, chilling him to the bone. The sky above was washed with a grey tone. Watery light illuminated thin patches of it to brilliance.

Zachary alternated between watching his boots move over the frozen sidewalk\'s perfect concrete slabs, flat and square, and observing the transfixing interplay between cloud and sun above.

The continual slippage of his feet kept returning his gaze earthward, pulling his mind to the present. Zachary was glad all the Riga Cup matches were being—held indoors. He would have had a hard time playing in the cold.

As usual, a group of traveling fans, including friends and family of the NF Academy players, were waiting for them outside the arena. Zachary saw Marta, her sister, and their other traveling classmates in the small crowd. It had become a habit for the squad to greet their \'fans\' right after each game. However, on that day, Coach Johansen cut the reunion short.

"Hurry up and enter the bus," yelled Coach Johansen. "You need to get out of the cold as fast as possible. You\'ll get time with your friends and family after the tournament. For now, I need all of you on the bus."

Zachary grinned at Marta and his other classmates, waving his hand, before boarding the bus. The rest of the players followed suit, with renewed urgency.

After taking their places on the bus, the players shed their boots and shin guards, steaming up the glass windows. Coach Johansen stood up to address them.

"Okay, guys," he said, his voice throaty from yelling out commands at the top of his voice for the entire duration of the game. "I\'m proud of you, and I want you to enjoy this win. We have made it to the finals." He raised his voice towards the end.

Cheers erupted.

Coach Johansen held up his hand for silence and got it immediately. "ADO Den Haag was a tough nut to crack," he intoned, half-smiling. "They were a much stronger team than you\'d expected—than I\'d expected. However, you managed to keep focused despite facing relentless attacks for a full 90 minutes. All of you played as a team, and Zachary played well, as usual, scoring our two goals."

"Kendrick and our center-backs, plus all the others, stopped us from conceding many goals!" Zachary shouted, interrupting the coach. He didn\'t like being—singled out as the match-winner. There was a chance it could negatively impact their teamwork during the finals.

"And there, our star is scared of being the center of attention once again," Paul chipped in.

"He doesn\'t even want to be acknowledged for scoring the goals," Kendrick rhymed.

Everyone, except Zachary, laughed.

Coach Johansen smiled and held up his hand. "Zachary has a point," he said in a seemingly amused tone. "All of you played well in this game. Kendrick was superb in goal. Kasongo, Robin, Lars, Magnus, and the rest of you were hungry for a win and played at your best today. You all possessed that hunger—that determination needed to clinch the victory. And that is a lesson for us. As long as we remain focused, we can achieve anything we set our minds to. And that\'s how we are going to win the cup."

More cheers erupted, and Coach Johansen put up a hand once again. "For now, let\'s move to the hotel, clean up, pick our takeaway lunches, and hurry back to watch the next semifinal match" He paused, casting a glance at his watch. "We only have roughly an hour left to the beginning of the game. So, you\'ll need to be quick." He added, his tone turning somber.

"Yes, coach," the players replied in chorus.

The coach sat down as the driver put the bus in gear, and they sang all-the-way back to the hotel.