NOVEL NEXT Chapter 5: Jugendzentrum 1
The chill of an early spring morning seeped through the thin walls of the flat in London where Scott Mason sat, his gaze fixed on the letter sprawled across the wooden table. It was the same letter he'd read a dozen times already—official, terse, and heavy with expectations. Bastion Munich Jugendzentrum had accepted him for a three-month assessment, an opportunity few earned, and one he knew he had to seize. The looming weight of it twisted his stomach.
He had spent the past weeks recovering from the collapse that nearly ended his season. His body was fragile still, and the memories of that day—the overwhelming fatigue, the momentary blackout—haunted him. But beyond the physical pain was the sharper ache of uncertainty. Could he prove himself in a foreign land, away from family and familiar faces?
His mother's voice broke his thoughts as she entered the kitchen. "Scott, you should eat something."
"I'm not hungry," he replied, voice low but steady.
She frowned but didn't push. "Remember, you're not alone in this. We're all behind you."
He forced a small smile. "I know."
At that moment, his phone pinged—a message from Manny:: "Keep your head high. Munich is tough, but so are you."
His gaze shifted to the small digital screen that hovered faintly before him—his PLAYER SYSTEM interface. The display was simple and precise, like the stat cards . It showed his current numbers. Not glowing rewards or missions. Just cold facts.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Scott Mason
Overall: 74
Position: CM / CAM
Club: Suns Academy (England)
Nationality: French
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Pace: 70
Shooting: 63
Passing: 78
Dribbling: 71
Defending: 65
Physical: 68
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
He studied the numbers, each reflecting months of training, sacrifice, and setbacks. The pace was solid, a good foundation, but the shooting and defending stats showed the areas that needed urgent work. His passing and dribbling were his strengths, the skills that had caught Bastion's eye in the first place.
These were his strengths and weaknesses distilled into numbers. Scott had trained hard at Suns Academy, but he knew these stats placed him just on the edge. Good enough to attract attention, but far from guaranteed success at Bastion.
The academy's letter had been blunt—three months. No guarantees. Prove yourself, or return home.
His mother called from downstairs, her voice a mixture of pride and worry. "Breakfast, Scott. You need to eat."
He rose, pushed the stat card from his mind, and walked to the kitchen. His father was already there, reading a newspaper. John looked up and gave a firm nod.
"Everything ready?"
Scott nodded. "Flight's tonight. I'll call as soon as I land."
John's eyes held a rare softness. "Remember, this is more than just football. It's your future. Make it count."
Scott swallowed the lump in his throat. "I will."
The journey ahead was daunting, but Scott's mind was clear. No distractions. No doubts.
Later that day, at Heathrow Airport, the hustle of travelers surrounded him, but Scott felt detached, focused on the path ahead. He clutched his passport and ticket, the weight of the unknown settling on his shoulders.
The flight to Munich was short but felt interminable. Through the airplane window, the Bavarian landscape stretched out beneath thick clouds. New beginnings were never easy, he reminded hims
When the plane touched down in Munich, the cool spring air hit his face, sharp and crisp. A black Mercedes van awaited him, the Bastion crest polished and proud on the side.
Inside, Mira Lenz sat silently, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning the city as they drove.
"Three months," she said flatly. "To prove you belong. No injuries, no excuses. The Jugendzentrum is the first and only step. Fail here, and you're done."
Scott nodded, feeling the weight of those words settle deeper.
The training complex came into view: expansive green pitches perfectly manicured, high fences topped with cameras, dormitories looming behind. The banners of legends—Moller, Lamb, Schwannstainer—fluttered in the breeze, silent reminders of what was expected.