January 15th, 2005
The regional tournament semifinals arrived with freezing rain and a packed stadium.
Well, packed by U17 standards—nearly eight hundred spectators filling the metal bleachers at Bochum's academy complex. Scouts lined the upper rows, notepads protected from the drizzle by umbrellas. Among them, Marco spotted the now-familiar jackets: Bayern Munich, Schalke, and several others he didn't recognize.
The opponent was VfB Stuttgart U17, one of Germany's premier youth academies. Their record spoke volumes: thirteen wins, one draw, zero losses in regional competition. Their average margin of victory was three goals.
In the locker room, tension hung thick. Dennis fidgeted with his shin guards. Tobias retaped his ankles for the third time. Even Leon looked focused in a way that suggested nerves.
Coach Werner stood before them, tactics board in hand. "Stuttgart plays possession football. They'll try to strangle you with passing triangles, press aggressively when they lose the ball. Their center backs are strong but not particularly fast. That's where we exploit them."
His marker landed on the tactical diagram—specifically on the left wing position where Marco would start.
"Reus, this is your game. When we win the ball, I want immediate vertical passes to you. Use your pace to get behind their defense. Make them turn. Make them uncomfortable." Werner's eyes swept the team. "And the rest of you—support him. Overloads on the left side. We're attacking their weakness relentlessly."
The tactical approach was clear: use Marco as the primary weapon.
No pressure, Marco thought, but the thought carried no anxiety. Just acknowledgment of responsibility.
The match started at a blistering pace. Stuttgart came out pressing high, suffocating Dortmund's buildup play. Their technical quality was immediately apparent—first touch perfect, passing crisp, movement synchronized.
First ten minutes: Dortmund couldn't get out of their own half. Stuttgart completed forty-seven passes to Dortmund's twelve. Marco touched the ball twice, both times under immediate pressure that forced backwards passes.
Dortmund were struggling to find their rhythm, struggling to adapt. But Marco was calm, reading the game with clarity.
Eleventh minute: Henrik won a header in defense, nodding the ball forward to Leon. Leon, under pressure, played a simple pass square to Lars at left back. Stuttgart's press surged forward, expecting another backwards pass.
But Marco having already anticipated this, started his run.
He'd seen it before Leon even received the ball—Stuttgart's right center back was slow to adjust, creating a channel between him and the fullback. A half-second of space, maybe less.
Lars played the vertical pass instantly. Not to feet, but into space.
Marco accelerated.
The ball was slightly overhit, bouncing awkwardly on the wet surface. Stuttgart's center back read it, sprinting across to intercept. It would be close.
Marco got there first by a stride, controlling the ball with his left foot—his weak foot, trained relentlessly over four months—and pushing it past the recovering defender in one motion.
Now he was through. One-on-one with the goalkeeper, angle slightly tight but manageable.
Placed shot, inside foot, far post.
The technique was automatic, drilled through thousands of repetitions. Plant foot, hips open, strike through the ball's center, aim for the far corner.
The ball left his foot perfectly. The goalkeeper dove. But not even close.
Net rippled. 1-0.
The Dortmund bench erupted. Marco jogged back toward midfield, pumping his fist and high fiving. Leon met him with a grin.
"That's how you announce yourself. Scoring in the semifinals." Leon clapped his shoulder. "Keep doing that."
Stuttgart responded with fury. Their coach was shouting from the sideline, adjusting tactics. Within five minutes, Marco noticed the shift: whenever the ball was on Dortmund's left side, three Stuttgart players oriented toward him. A dedicated marker, plus two others ready to collapse.
They're scared now. Good.
Nineteenth minute: After a few horizontal passes in back and midfield, Marco received the ball wide left, and he was immediately doubled up on. Instead of forcing it, he played a simple square pass to Leon, who'd drifted left to provide support. The two Stuttgart players tracking Marco were now out of position.
Leon drove forward into the space Marco had vacated, drawing another defender. Then he played a diagonal through ball to Dennis on the right—completely unmarked because Stuttgart had overcommitted left.
Dennis's shot found the net.
2-0.
Secondary assist. The system would count it, but more importantly, Marco understood what he'd created: his movement, his threat, had collapsed Stuttgart's defensive structure. He didn't need to touch the ball to be effective.
Werner saw it too. At the next water break, he pulled Marco aside. "Exactly right. You're not just a goalscorer—you're a tactical problem they can't solve. Keep moving, keep dragging defenders, create space for others."
Stuttgart adjusted again at halftime. Whatever their coach said worked—they came out more compact, less aggressive in pressing Marco, more focused on team shape.
The game became a chess match. Stuttgart probed patiently, Dortmund defended deep and looked for counters. Neither team created clear chances for twenty minutes.
Then, sixty-eighth minute, fatigue started showing. Stuttgart's possession had them running more, working harder. Their passes were still accurate but their intensity dropped fractionally.
Marco noticed their left back was tiring—his recovery runs were slower, his positioning less aggressive.
Seventy-second minute: Henrik cleared a Stuttgart corner. The ball fell to Tobias, who immediately looked for Marco.
The through ball was weighted perfectly. Marco was already sprinting, the tired left back three steps behind. The center back tried to cover but Marco had the angle.
This time, no weak foot. Right foot, his natural side, same technique. Placed shot, far post.
2-0 became 3-0.
As Marco jogged back, he caught Coach Hoffmann's eye on the sideline. The assistant coach was nodding, making notes. This was the performance that mattered—not just scoring, but tactical intelligence, movement, decision-making under pressure.
Stuttgart pushed desperately in the final fifteen minutes. They pulled a goal back in the eighty-fourth minute—a well-worked move that beat Dortmund's high line.
3-1.
Nine minutes plus stoppage time remaining.
Werner made substitutions, bringing on fresh legs to close out the game. Sebastian came on for Dennis. When Marco saw the board go up with his number—being substituted off—he jogged to the sideline to applause from the Dortmund bench.
"Excellent work," Werner said simply as Marco took his seat. "That's how you perform when it matters."
The final whistle came with the score unchanged. 3-1. Dortmund through to the regional tournament final.
In the locker room, the mood was jubilant but controlled. This was a semifinal, not the championship. Werner let them celebrate briefly before calling for attention.
"Good performance. Reus, Schäfer, excellent games. But we're not done. The final is in two weeks. Rest, recover, and we prepare properly."
As players dispersed to shower, Leon caught Marco. "Two goals, one assist, and you created space that led to the second goal. Man of the match for sure."
"Well, I guess I deserve that."
"Don't be too proud. Though, I acknowledge you played well."
Marco paused, smiling. Leon was right—there was a difference between arrogance and acknowledging reality. Leon grinned. "You're going to be insufferable once you get comfortable with being good."
* * * * *
Outside the locker room, Werner was speaking with a man in a suit. As Marco emerged, Werner waved him over.
"Marco, this is Herr Schneider from the DFB—German Football Association. He wants a word."
Schneider extended his hand. "Impressive performance today, young man. The national youth team coaches asked me to attend this tournament. Your name has come up in discussions."
Marco shook his hand, maintaining calm outwardly despite the significance. DFB. National team interest. This was legitimate validation. This was a dream come true.
"Thank you, sir."
"We're assembling the U17 squad for the European qualifiers in March and April. Based on today's performance and your recent development, you're being considered for selection. We'll be in touch with the academy."
Schneider nodded to Werner. "Continue his development. He's showing the qualities we need—technical ability, tactical intelligence, composure."
After Schneider left, Werner studied Marco. "National team interest. You understand what that means?"
"More games, more exposure, more development opportunities."
"Also more pressure. More travel. More time away from club training." Werner's expression was serious. "And it means March's evaluation becomes even more critical. If you don't secure your place here, national team selection won't matter—you'll be playing in a lower division somewhere."
"I understand, Coach. Foundation first." Marco replied, even though he was sure he will pass the evaluation. Even system stats supported him.
[Overall Rating: 68.5 → 69.1 (+0.6)]
"Good. Keep that mentality."
The bus ride back to Dortmund was subdued compared to the pre-match energy. Players dozed, earphones in, recovering from the intense ninety minutes. Marco sat alone, staring out at the rain-slicked highway, processing the day.
Two goals. One secondary assist. National team interest. Scouts taking serious notes.
Four months ago, he'd been terrified of being released. Now he was being considered for Germany's youth national team.
He did a quick check with the system
[#Skill Improvements:
- Weak Foot Finishing: 7.3 → 7.6 (demonstrated in high-pressure match)
- Big Game Composure: 8.1 → 8.5
- Tactical Intelligence: 8.8 → 9.0
Overall Rating: 68.5 → 69.1 (+0.6)]
69.1. Less than one point from the target. Six weeks remaining.
The gap had narrowed from a daunting climb to a manageable sprint.
Marco closed his eyes, not to sleep but to visualize. The final in two weeks. The remaining training sessions. The March evaluation.
He could see the path clearly now. No uncertainty, no doubt.
When the bus pulled into the academy complex ninety minutes later, Marco's phone buzzed. A text from his mother:
"Heard about the game from Coach Werner's wife. Two goals! We're so proud. Come home for dinner tomorrow?"
Marco smiled and typed back:
"Yes. Will be there at 5. Love you both."
Foundation first. But family was part of that foundation.
As he headed toward his dorm, Tim jogged to catch up. "Dude, national team interest? That's incredible!"
"Oh, didn't I tell you that I am a genius?"
"Look at you becoming all smug. But I guess you deserve it, I guess. Now you're being looked at for German U17."
Inside their room, Marco went through his evening routine—shower, injury prevention yoga, journal entry. The familiar patterns that had carried him through four months.
January 15, 2005
Tournament semifinal: W 3-1
2 goals, 1 assist
Rating: 69.1 (+0.6)
DFB U17 interest confirmed
6 weeks to March evaluation
Target: 70.0 (need +0.9)
Next: Tournament final (2 weeks), maintain training intensity, continue weak foot development
Note: Everything is working. Stay the course.
He closed the journal and lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
National team possibilities.
Scout interest from major clubs.
A professional future that was no longer a hope but an approaching certainty.
Marco smiled in the darkness and let sleep take him.
Tomorrow would bring another training session. Another step forward. Another day closer to proving that the impossible wasn't impossible at all.
It was just work.
And Marco Reus had never been afraid of work.