The day of the match arrived.
Bayern Munich vs. Eintracht Frankfurt.A packed Allianz Arena.Seventy-five thousand fans, singing, roaring, living every heartbeat for their team.
The energy was overwhelming, electric, almost tangible.
Mateo sat quietly in the locker room, already in full kit.
The famous red jersey clung to his chest,the Bayern crest right above his heart.
He stared at it for a long moment.
So many legends had worn this shirt.
And now — it was his turn.
Coach Kompany gave his final talk.
Clear.Precise.
Control the tempo.Play with purpose.Trust each other.
His gaze swept the room — and when it landed briefly on Mateo, he gave the faintest nod.
A silent vote of confidence.
They lined up in the tunnel.
The rumble of the crowd was deafening.
Next to him, Thomas Müller grinned and whispered:
"First time out there feels like stepping onto Olympus, Junge."
Mateo chuckled nervously.
"You'll be fine. Just play your game," Jamal Musiala added, punching his arm lightly.
Harry Kane leaned in.
"And when the ball comes... trust your instincts. Don't think. Just fly."
The referee blew the whistle.
The teams marched out to the thunderous roar of the Allianz Arena.
Flags waving.Chants echoing across the steel and concrete.
The Bundesliga anthem played over the loudspeakers,and Mateo tilted his head back,breathing in the moment.
He was home.
The match kicked off.
The pace was blistering.Passes snapped from boot to boot like bullets.
Eintracht pressed hard, challenging Bayern physically and tactically.
Bayern responded with calm and precision, dominating possession but finding little space behind the defensive wall.
Minutes ticked by.
Mateo sat on the bench, helmeted in concentration.
Tracking every movement.
Visualizing every play.
Ready.
Hungry.
At the 65th minute, Kompany turned to the bench.
He spoke briefly with his assistants, then pointed directly at Mateo.
"Warm up," he said simply.
Mateo shot to his feet.
The adrenaline hit him like a jolt of electricity.
He jogged to the sideline, stretching, moving, feeling the fire ignite inside him.
The Bayern fans, noticing him, began to cheer — small at first, then louder.
"Mateo! Mateo! Mateo!"
The substitution board went up:
#31 OUT — #17 Mateo González IN.
The stadium roared.
Mateo tapped his chest twice, kissed his fingers, and pointed to the sky.
"For you, Papá," he thought.
Then he sprinted onto the field —onto his destiny.
The first pass came almost immediately.
Clean.Sharp.
He found Musiala with a slick one-touch pass that broke the press.
Then another — switching play across the field with confidence.
His teammates trusted him.
They gave him the ball again and again.
Inside the System, silent notifications blinked:
[Pass 1/10 Completed.][Pass 2/10 Completed.][Successful Touches: +5]
The ball felt alive under his boots.
The field no longer seemed massive or intimidating.
It felt right.
It felt like home.
As the minutes ticked forward, Mateo's heartbeat synced with the rhythm of the game.
This wasn't survival anymore.
This was flight.
And he was soaring.