Chapter 43: The Golden Generation
The rhythmic hum of treadmills filled the air, blending with the clinking of weights and the low grunts of exertion. The scent of sweat and rubber mixed with the crisp, air-conditioned chill of the FC Utrecht U17 gym.
This wasn’t just a training facility.
It was a battlefield.
A place where potential was carved into reality, where boys forged their bodies into weapons, where limits were shattered and rebuilt stronger.
Amani’s sneakers pounded against the treadmill. His breath was steady, and his focus was locked. His shirt clung to his body, drenched in sweat, but his posture remained upright, and his strides were precise. He wasn’t running to get through the session.
He was running to conquer it.
To his left, Tijmen moved with a smooth rhythm, his breathing sharp but controlled and every step calculated. To his right, Sofyan Amrabat powers through an incline sprint. His jaw was clenched, his muscles were taut, and his body moved like a machine that refused to break.
Around them, the rest of the squad was fully engaged as some were hammering out weighted squats, others rotating through core circuits and cycling drills. No one dragged their feet. No one coasted through reps.
This wasn’t a recovery session.
This was war.
At the back of the room, two figures watched in silence.