The players warmed up on the pitch, split into two teams of eight. Byron remained on standby as a sub, available to either side.
Both teams wore the dark kits of Halles Sieger, one side with simple black shirts, the other overlaid with training bibs for contrast. Makeshift, but effective.
Paul watched from the sideline. There were things he hadn't covered in training that week, most due to time constraints, but what the main thing he wanted to touch on was diversity.
A smart coach knew the importance of switching up play. Mixing players who hadn't shared the field before. Throwing someone into an unfamiliar role. That was how you uncovered depth. Hidden chemistry. Flexibility.
He'd been focusing hard on developing a consistent starting eleven. But if he kept his vision too narrow, the moment one of those players dropped out, the rest would collapse trying to adjust.
That couldn't happen. Not under him.
The two teams lined up:
[Team A]
GK: Lance Aubergine
LB (Wingback): Arun Rafael Assunção
CB: Tobias Grist, Sr.
RB (Wingback): Shin Ha-Jun
CM: Liam Briar
DM: Everest Wallflower
CM: Xavier Leon Frederick
ST: Dorian Caldwell
[Team B]
GK: Vincent McGee Jr.
LB: Jabari Akinfola
CB: Clovis Siewe
RB: Daichi Yamada
LW: Nagisa Aoto
AM: Elke Aldehied
RW: Mateo Lorenzo Andrés Camila
ST: Benjamin Parker
Substitute: Byron Whitaker (Both Teams)
Both sides ran a loose 1–3–3 shape. Team A's was more compact, with a tighter midfield triangle. Team B, flush with wingers, played wider, more aggressively.
Paul looked on as the players stretched. They didn't even have enough for a full two-squad match. On paper, that was sad. In practice? Just more motivation to climb the leagues and build something real.
"No crazy tackles, no overly aggressive contact, we have a game on Friday!" Harriet called, stopwatch in hand. "I want a clean game with minimal pressure, is that understood? Alright. You have ten minutes per half... starting now!"
The whistle blew.
Tobias opened play for Team A, slotting a short ball to Xavier, who began pushing up as the team's defense dropped back to hold the line.
The pitch they played on wasn't glamorous, with patchy grass, no sprinklers, and no real dedicated groundskeeper, but it was regulation size. Just as large and dimensionally accurate as any stadium's.
And out here, with all this space, you could show the coach something. Prove you belonged in the XI. Prove you deserved the badge.
Nagisa clearly got the memo. He rushed Xavier early, but the midfielder drifted diagonally, pulling the ball with him.
Dorian raised a hand, sprinting toward the left channel. But Xavier didn't pass—not out of ego, not to show off. But because of what lay just behind him.
Jabari.
Nicknamed the spaceeater in the U18 league, the defender wasn't good at marking players or even chasing them down, his key talent lied in how effectively he shut down zones. Trying a lead pass over him would've been a gift-wrapped turnover.
So Xavier smiled, sweat running down his face, and knocked the ball backward.
Everest Wallflower, holding just above the backline, received it clean. He didn't play well when put in the pressure zone most defenders had to play in, so they'd positioned him deliberately, where he could see everything.
Where he could make the next move.
Arun and Shin surged up the flanks. Playing as wingbacks, they gave Team A much-needed width, and with Everest dropping slightly, the attack restarted. He slid a pass to Liam, who carried it forward.
But Benjamin was already pressing.
Liam wasn't careless with the ball. But his biggest flaw had always been obvious, and to his teammates even more so. He lacked the stamina of someone playing in his position, and his physical strength was average at best.
He shifted the ball sideways to Xavier, then darted forward, trying to sprint past Benjamin.
"Back!"
Liam called out, and right on cue, Xavier returned it—only the pass arced high, dropping into space just ahead of Liam.
Which meant for a second, the play stalled.
And in that pause, as Liam ran forward to catch.
Too high up his line.
Too high for a player of his position.
Jabari was already there.
Hands wide. Grin shining.
He intercepted with ease, slicing past the oncoming pressure. Within seconds, Benjamin spun around and took off beside him.
A counter.
Team A snapped into motion, racing to recover. But Jabari had already hit top gear.
He might've grown disillusioned with football over the past few seasons, but his technical touch and explosive pace hadn't gone anywhere. He slammed the ball forward—hard—and chased it down like a bullet.
Shin kept up from behind, out of position but just as fast. Still, Jabari shrugged off the pressure, steady as a freight train.
Tobias sat deep, the lone defender between them and the goal.
The cross came like a blade. Sharp and low.
Benjamin pulled back his foot, aiming for the top corner, until Tobias's outstretched leg blanketed the shot.
The defender's frame made the goal feel wrapped in netting, impossible to breach—
But Benjamin pivoted mid swing.
And just for a moment, Tobias hesitated. That moment was enough.
The ball curled past his boot, spinning clean into the net.
A beautiful goal.
"They seem pumped," Harriet said from beside Paul, lifting a small handheld camera to capture the session.
"I noticed it in the last match," Paul replied, eyes fixed on the pitch. "They're itching to prove something. Jabari especially."
"You planning to add them to the eleven?" she asked.
"Not yet."
"Seriously? Isn't this exactly what you were looking for?"
Paul didn't break his gaze. "Wanting to play and needing to play are two very different things."
On the field, Dorian slotted in an equalizer for Team A. A clean assist from Liam who hit a volleyed suggestion, not the cleanest of finishes from the right winger now playing striker, but it was a good start.
"They want it because they feel left out," Paul said. "That alone doesn't mean anything."
Vincent quickly stood, gesturing to reset Team B's shape. His voice was commanding, so loud it could be heard from where they stood. In terms of commanding the defense, he might've had an edge over Lance.
"So you're just going to keep them on the bench until they're biting their fingers off from the sidelines?" Harriet asked.
Paul smiled. "Works every time."
He stood, pointing across the pitch. First at Mateo, then to the sideline, where Byron Whitaker waited. His small frame and blond hair glinted in the sun. If it weren't for the team kit, you'd mistake him for a ball boy.
"Whitaker!" Paul called out. "Your time to shine."
Harriet put her hands up, pausing the game, then looked at her watch. "Additional minute added, you have two more minutes before the end of the half. Go crazy guys!"
Byron jogged to the right flank. Dressed in a dark shirt with a long-sleeved base layer underneath, he didn't look out of place on a football field...
But he did look out of place on this team.
His records had shown so little and among the little details known about the player, his talents weren't one of them. Was he truly a just depth option, picked by a scrambling scout?
Or was he something more.
Paul would find that out today.
Harriet pulled down her hand then whistled.
THE GAME CONTINUED.
Elke stood alone at the center circle, ball at his feet. He tapped it backward to Byron, who had just come on.
Officially, Byron was a left winger. Paul liked his wide players to be flexible, to drift and switch sides, but that wasn't why Byron had been put on the right.
It was simple.
He wanted to see who'd claim the wing from the bench: Byron or Nagisa.
Setting up a battle to see who he could rely on off the switch.
And they both knew it.
In any team, performances in training were your loudest voice. If you couldn't make yourself heard there, you might as well quit.
Byron took off with the ball.
Faster than Paul expected, faster than anyone had.
And as he ran toward the opposing side, the ball seemed to gum to his feet.
His touch here was... different. Sharper. Cleaner. More confident than anything Paul had seen in prior sessions.
Team B surged forward, pressing high in a coordinated onslaught. Xavier, tracking back, kept his arms tight and his eyes sharp as the winger approached.
Byron looked at him once, still charging forward. Then—just before contact, just before Xavier could meet him—he flicked the ball with a sudden backheel to Yamada, who had slipped up just behind.
Yamada dashed forward to meet it, his movement awkward. Nothing in Byron's movement had hinted at the pass. No glance. No hesitation. And yet the ball landed perfectly in his path.
He hadn't even looked back.
Byron was already moving again, spinning past Xavier, peeling forward. Yamada, now composed, rolled the ball back into his stride like clockwork.
For a player who'd barely spoken a word or shown anything in training, that slick one-two was a revelation.
Nobody had seen that from him.
Not once.
But Arun was there. The left back shuffled forward, eyes locked, legs low and reaching.
Byron slowed, drawing him in, shifting the ball inward to hold play.
A quick glance to the side.
Then back to Arun.
"I'm different from Xavier," Arun said, inching closer. "Just because you got past him doesn't mean you're getting past me—!"
He burst forward, slicing through the air like a beyblade. Just as he lunged, Byron slipped the ball backward.
Arun instinctively glanced behind for Yamada.
But Yamada wasn't there.
And in the very next breath, Byron was gone. Gliding down the line like water through fingers.
Arun recovered instantly, hand rising to steady his momentum. And then—he slid.
A perfect tackle. It knocked the wind from Byron's lungs, flooring the winger. But while it took him down, it was a relatively soft move.
But it was too late.
The pass already left the wingers boot.
A slicing cross screamed through the air.
Two heads turned.
And there he was.
Benjamin.
The ball fell to him as if summoned, so perfectly placed it felt unreal.
He took a single touch.
Then hammered it into the net.
And as the sound of the strike echoed, he glanced sideways.
Staring at the winger.
"What a pass! His reports said nothing about that," Harriet said, whistle already in her mouth as she signaled for halftime.
Paul's hands were against his lips, suppressing a grin. "He's got photographic memory."
Harriet raised an eyebrow.
"He looked twice," Paul explained, "and he knew exactly where Yamada and Benjamin were going to be. And that's not even mentioning how clean his passing is."
"So why did Dag and Red let him go?" she asked, watching Benjamin give Byron an awkward thumbs up before running back into position.
"Because of his strength," Paul said, standing. "He avoids direct confrontations like the plague. That's why he's always laying it off and using fakes to get past his man."
"Isn't that passable? Wingers don't need to invite that much pressure."
"In a real match," Paul said, eyes still locked on the pitch, "the defenders aren't holding back. They'll go through you, double you, triple you if they have to. If he can't break past that when it matters—"
He exhaled slowly.
"—then that's a serious limitation."
Harriet gave him a look. "And I'm guessing this is the part where you say it's a good thing for us?"
Paul nodded.
"In my system, unless you're Benjamin, you don't need to win duels. As long as Liam can zero him out on the flank. He can give an easy ping to Benjamin for a goal."
Goosebumps popped up on the coaches skin.
"I have one hell of a scout."