SWNOVELXO Chapter 36: Portugal vs Germany
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Chapter 36 – Portugal vs Germany
The sun dipped low over the Estádio Nacional do Jamor, streaking the sky orange as the boys laced up for kickoff.
No time to settle in.
First day? Match day.
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Coach Filipe Ramos stood in front of the whiteboard, drawing quick circles and arrows.
"We're playing Germany. They press high. They run hard. You don't run harder—you run smarter."
João Félix's legs bounced under the bench. His stomach flipped.
This wasn't Sporting vs Benfica U15.
This was Portugal vs Germany.
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Assistant coach Joaquim Milheiro called out the lineup:
Starting XI – Portugal U16
1 – Diogo Costa (GK, FC Porto)
2 – Diogo Dalot (RB, FC Porto)
3 – Diogo Leite (CB, FC Porto)
4 – Gonçalo Loureiro (CB, Benfica)
5 – Florentino Luís (CDM, Benfica)
6 – Leandro Tipote (CM, Sporting CP)
7 – João Félix (CAM, Sporting CP)
8 – Jota (LW, Benfica)
9 – Rafael Leão (ST, Sporting CP)
11 – Miguel Luís (CM, Sporting CP)
10 – Umaro Embaló (RW, Benfica)
Bench players chewed gum and joked quietly, but the starters locked in.
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João swallowed hard. Number 7, Attacking Midfielder.
Right where he liked it—but tonight, under a bigger flag.
"Play between the lines," Milheiro reminded him, tapping the board. "And watch their 6—he'll try to bite your ankles."
João smirked. "I'll bite back."
"Just don't get sent off."
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In the tunnel, Rafa bounced on his toes.
"You ready, bro?"
João shrugged. "Ready enough."
Dalot grinned. "At least we look cool."
Jota adjusted his sleeve. "Cool doesn't win games."
João laughed. "Yeah, but it wins Instagram."
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The Germany U16 team lined up next to them, tall, broad, and already whispering in German.
João stared straight ahead, focusing on the grass.
Florentino whispered behind him. "Relax, Félix. They put their socks on the same way we do."
"Yeah," João whispered back. "But their socks look terrifying."
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Kickoff.
Portugal pressed fast.
João floated between the lines, checking his shoulder, feeling for space.
Diogo Costa shouted from the back: "Shift left! Shift left!"
Dalot slid into position, eyes sharp.
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Germany moved like machines—three-touch passing, high pressure, but João stayed calm.
In the 9th minute, Leandro Tipote won the ball and clipped it to Miguel Luís.
Miguel turned inside and found João.
One touch. Two.
He threaded a ball into space for Rafa Leão, who sprinted past the German center-back.
Leão slammed it low, bottom corner.
GOAL. 1–0 Portugal.
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Rafa jogged back, grinning at João. "See? Combo meal works."
João slapped his hand. "Super-sized."
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Germany responded hard, pushing high.
In the 20th minute, their number 10 curled one from outside the box.
Diogo Costa stretched—save!
"Vamos!" Costa roared, pumping his fists.
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João kept moving, drifting between Germany's midfielders, tapping passes to Jota and Embaló, pulling defenders out of position.
Florentino held the middle like a wall, stealing passes, barking orders.
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Second half.
Germany equalized with a scrappy header off a corner—1–1.
Filipe Ramos clapped his hands. "Stay focused! Stay compact!"
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In the 65th minute, João got the ball in the pocket.
He looked left—Jota.
Looked right—Embaló.
Instead, he flipped a no-look pass through the German center-backs.
Rafa Leão ran onto it like a train.
Bang.
2–1 Portugal.
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The bench exploded.
Dalot hugged Diogo Leite. "We're not losing today."
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Last 10 minutes, legs burned, lungs ached.
João defended from the front, tracking back, stealing a ball, and drawing a foul.
As the final whistle blew, he dropped to his knees, grinning, sweat dripping down his face.
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Rafa pulled him up. "Man of the match, number 7."
João laughed. "Nah, we all were."
Florentino smiled. "Even Dalot."
Dalot grinned. "Especially me."
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Back in the locker room, the boys cheered, throwing socks and towels like confetti.
Coach Ramos stood in the doorway.
"Good start, boys," he said. "Now let's make it a habit."
João leaned back against the wall, breathing hard.
Portugal U16.
First match.
First win.
And he wasn't just part of it.
He belonged.
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