Four weeks had passed since Noah Carter was moved to Ajax's second string, and those weeks blurred together in a haze of heavy training, aching muscles, and an emotional tug-of-war between self-doubt and determination.
When Vermeer first demoted him, it had stung worse than any tackle. He had spent the first week training in silence, feeling invisible among teammates who played like street footballers with no fear of mistakes. But slowly, change crept in. Ali Moussa, the cocky striker whose default expression was a smirk, had gone from mocking his safe passing to actively shouting for the ball. Lars Koopman, a tall and stoic defender, had even offered rare nods of approval. The "new guy" stigma was fading, replaced by a growing respect built on repetition and perseverance.
By the fourth week, Vermeer summoned Noah into his office, a spartan space lined with tactical whiteboards and stacks of coaching manuals. The coach sat behind his desk, eyes sharp but not unkind, and motioned for Noah to sit.
"Do you know why I brought you in?" Vermeer asked.
Noah fidgeted slightly and replied, "Training?"
Vermeer tapped on a tablet, projecting a short match replay onto the office monitor. "Look here." The footage showed Noah receiving a pass near the edge of the box. He had a split-second window to drive forward, but he turned back instead, playing a safe square ball to Ali. The replay paused on Vermeer's command.
"This is where you hesitate," Vermeer said. He rewound it, playing it again from another angle. "You had two defenders shifting out of position. A touch inside and you had space for a shot. Instead, you looked safe. You think you made the right decision because the team kept possession. But in reality, you killed the momentum."
Noah winced as the clip rolled on to another sequence. He intercepted a pass but quickly offloaded it to the nearest teammate instead of driving into open space. Vermeer froze the frame again. "You see this? You had five yards of grass to attack. Five yards! Instead, you turned back. Why? Fear of losing the ball? Fear of missing?"
"I… I just didn't want to mess up," Noah admitted quietly.
Vermeer's gaze hardened. "That's exactly your problem, Carter. You don't play to win. You play not to lose. And that's why I demoted you." He set the tablet down and folded his hands. "You have vision, better than most players your age. You find passing lanes others can't even see. But at this level, hesitation is as bad as giving the ball away. If you keep playing safe, you'll become invisible—and invisible players disappear quickly."
The words hit Noah like a gut punch, heavier than any foul he'd endured.
"I'm trying to improve," he said quietly, but Vermeer's expression didn't soften.
"Not fast enough. Do you know what happens if you don't change? You won't last here. Not on the first string. Eventually, not even on the second. Professional football eats safe players alive. You'll be that guy who people praise for neat passing but never notice when the whistle blows. Is that what you want?"
Noah shook his head firmly.
Vermeer leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You came here because you wanted to grow. That means facing discomfort, even failure. I know you're an Iniesta fan—you wear it in the way you pause, the way you slip passes no one expects. But I don't need another Iniesta copy. I need you—your own game, your own risk, your own mark on the pitch. Stop hiding behind safe passes and start showing me who you really are."
Noah nodded slowly, absorbing every word. "What happens now?" he asked.
"Now you work," Vermeer said. "Another month on the second string. Three shots minimum every scrimmage. I don't care if you hit the fence behind the goal—you shoot. Extra gym sessions: leg strength, core, rotational power. And use your passing not just to maintain possession, but to break defenses. If you don't? We start talking about loan moves. Do you understand?"
The word loan dropped like a stone in Noah's chest, chilling him more than expected. It felt like exile.
"I understand," he said, voice low but firm.
"Good," Vermeer replied, his expression easing slightly. "You have potential, Carter, but potential is worthless without risk. Break your ceiling before it hardens."
The following weeks became a relentless grind.
Mornings were spent in the gym, squats and explosive lunges to build a stronger base, rotational core work for striking power. Afternoons were brutal sessions with the second string where Vermeer shouted every time Noah passed up a shooting chance: "Again! Take the risk!" Every scrimmage saw Noah forcing himself into uncomfortable positions, taking three or four shots regardless of how ugly they were. Ali ribbed him for every miss, but the teasing was playful now, almost encouraging. "One day, maestro, you'll actually score, and then what will I tease you about?"
Evenings were dedicated to match footage, not just highlights but full Iniesta games, where Noah studied how the Spaniard manipulated space, how he attacked when others expected a pass. The Console itself now reflected his growth—not in shooting, but in decision-making.
[Football Vision Console Update]
Spatial Awareness → Lv2 (Stable)
Weighted Passing → Lv2 (Reinforced)
La Pausa → Lv1 (Stable)
New Module Unlocked: Match Review Archive
Stored Footage: Ajax Second-String Scrimmage #12, Player Performance Focus – Noah Carter
Replay Options: Shooting Opportunities (5) / Risk Passing Opportunities (7) / Positional Errors (3)
For the first time, the Console allowed him to directly rewatch his own movements, overlaying optimal decision paths in ghostly blue lines. He could see every moment Vermeer had pointed out, not from memory, but with a digital analysis showing "what could have been." Each clip stung, but each clip also showed exactly where he needed to improve.
By week six, subtle improvements showed. His balance when striking was better, his contact cleaner, and while the shots weren't lethal, they carried intent. Ali even gave him a thumbs-up after a half-volley forced a save. "You're getting dangerous, maestro," he said with a grin. "One day, I'm gonna lose my crown."
Lars, always sparing with praise, offered a rare nod. "You're not hiding anymore. Keep it that way." Those words carried more weight than Noah expected.
That night, lying in bed with sore muscles and calloused feet, he thought about what Vermeer said: Stop hiding behind safe passes. Start showing me who you really are.
Maybe his fear wasn't just about football—it was about life. He had spent years avoiding mistakes, avoiding separation, even hesitating to accept Ajax's offer at first because it meant leaving his friends.
But now, for the first time, he was facing discomfort head-on, and it felt strangely liberating. He wasn't safe anymore, and for the first time in his career, he actually felt alive.