After the final whistle, the field buzzed with post-match activity.
AZ Alkmaar players shook hands, exchanged pats on the back, and embraced one another, their joy evident.
The small contingent of away fans roared, their chants drowning out the groans of the Anzhi Makhachkala supporters.
Benjamin, who’s chest was still heaving from the exertion, stood near the sideline while wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve. His legs felt heavy, but the elation coursing through him was undeniable.
As the AZ Alkmaar players gathered in celebration, Benjamin found himself at the center of it all. His teammates clapped him on the back, their grins wide and their voices loud with praise.
Henriksen walked over, slapping him on the back. "That was sothing special, kid," he said with a grin.
The announcer’s voice crackled over the stadium speakers, announcing the Man of the Match award. "Tonight’s standout performance goes to... Benjamin Rijkaard!"
The away fans erupted in cheers, chanting his na again, their voices carrying over the Anzhi Arena.
Benjamin blinked in surprise and felt his chest tighten, not with nerves, but with pride.
For him, this was just the path to a greater walkway, but his only regret was not being able to share this mont with his parents and little sister, Ayo.
Stepping forward, his teammates parted to let him through.
One of the match officials approached him, and handed a silver trophy to him.
Benjamin took a good look at it and saw that its base was engraved with the UEFA Europa League logo. It felt heavier than he’d expected, its cold surface grounding him in this surreal mont.
As he raised it slightly, a cara crew rushed over. The bright flash of caras made his eyes blink rapidly, but he mustered a smile. ’I’ll get used to it eventually.’ he thought.
The photographer gestured for him to hold the award higher, and Benjamin complied, his grin widening as he posed.
Henriksen and Adam flanked him, jokingly pretending to snatch the award from his hands, their laughter infectious.
"One more shot!" the photographer called out, stepping back for a clearer fra.
Benjamin shifted to stand taller, and the award glead under the floodlights.
Once the photo session ended, Benjamin handed the trophy to a staff mber for safekeeping, but he barely had ti to breathe before he was cornered by a group of reporters.
Their microphones and recorders were shoved toward his face, and their voices overlapped as questions fired off like bullets.
[Benjamin! That was a stunning performance tonight! Can you talk us through the goal?]
[What was going through your mind when you took on those two defenders?]
[Do you think this performance solidifies your place in the starting XI?]
"Whoa..whoa, one at a ti. I’m not going to run away, am I?"
The reporters froze for a split second, surprised by Benjamin’s calm but cheeky response.
"Hahaha!~"
A ripple of laughter broke out among them, and a few even lowered their microphones slightly, shaking their heads with amused grins.
[Fair enough, Benjamin,] one of them chuckled, stepping back to give him so space. [But you can’t bla us for being eager. You’re the man of the mont!]
Another journalist, a younger one near the front, laughed as he adjusted his recorder. [Honestly, I think so of us were worried you’d bolt back into the locker room. You’ve got the speed for it!]
Benjamin smirked, leaning back slightly as if to play along with the joke. [I might save the running for the second leg,] he said, his tone light.
"Hahaha!~"
The group burst out laughing again, the tension easing noticeably.
[Alright, alright,] one veteran reporter said, still grinning. [Let’s take turns, folks. The kid’s not going anywhere—yet!]
The banter seed to loosen the atmosphere, and Benjamin, now more comfortable, nodded to the first reporter to fire away. "Okay, go ahead," he said. "What do you want to know?"
[How does it feel to be nad the Man of the Match in such a high-stakes ga at just 17 years old?]
"I feel very happy, but most of all, It was a team effort," he began, glancing toward his teammates, who were still celebrating nearby. "I couldn’t have done it without Henriksen’s pass or the support from the lads tonight. We fought hard for this win."
Another reporter leaned in, holding out a recorder. [Your composure in front of goal was incredible. Were you feeling any pressure in that mont?]
Benjamin chuckled softly, running a hand through his sweat-matted hair. "Of course there’s pressure," he admitted. "But once you’re in that position, instinct takes over. I just focused on doing what I do best, and as we know, it went in."
The questions kept coming, but before Benjamin could answer another, the crowd shifted slightly as Esteban Alvarado was ushered in, still clutching his gloves. The reporters imdiately split their attention.
[Alvarado! A penalty save against one as experienced as Samuel Eto’o—how do you even prepare for sothing like that? Talk us through it. What gave you the edge against soone like Eto’o?]
Alvarado smiled modestly, shrugging. "You can’t prepare for everything," he said, his tone calm. "You just have to trust your instincts and stay focused."
"Honestly? It’s all about reading the player. Eto’o is a legend no doubt, but I watched his body language and guessed right. The post helped too," he added with a chuckle.
[Two big saves and countless blocks,] another reporter noted. [Do you feel like this was one of your best gas?]
"Definitely one to rember," Alvarado said, nodding.
Benjamin was grateful for the brief reprieve, he glanced at Alvarado and nodded in appreciation. "You kept us in the ga tonight," he said quietly, just loud enough for the goalkeeper to hear.
Alvarado grinned, patting Benjamin on the shoulder. "And you gave us the win."
The reporters, sensing the camaraderie between the two, turned their questions toward the teamwork displayed on the pitch.
[How important was communication tonight, especially in those final minutes?]
"It was everything," Alvarado replied firmly. "The defense, the midfield, and even the forwards—we made sure we didn’t give them any easy chances. And when you’ve got soone like Benjamin scoring a goal and assisting up front, it takes a bit of the pressure off us at the back."
Benjamin smiled at the complint but quickly redirected the attention. "We’ve got a second leg to prepare for," he said. "Anzhi Makhachkala won’t make it easy for us, so we need to stay sharp and build on this result."
The reporters tried to squeeze in a few more questions, but a team official stepped in, gently ushering Benjamin and Alvarado toward the tunnel.
As they walked away, Benjamin caught one last glimpse of the stands, where the AZ Alkmaar fans were still singing, their scarves held high in the chilly night air. His heart swelled with pride.
This was the dream, but he knew it was only the beginning.
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