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[USA Team Hotel, 20:20]
Yunus clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Matteo saw the frustration boiling behind his eyes, but he didn't care. He had said his piece. Reyna, on the side no longer stayed calm as he let out a slow breath and shook his head. "You really think that, huh?" Reyna muttered, his voice quieter now.
Matteo smirked. "I don't think it—I know it. The moment I step on that field tomorrow, everything else disappears. It's just me, the ball, and the back of the net. That's all that matters as everything else disappears."
"You sound just like him," Yunus snapped. "You sound just like Rakim and neither of you cares about the country." Matteo's smile froze.
"Except, you're not," Yunus added, eyes burning into Matteo's. "And that eats you up inside."
For a moment, neither of them moved and it looked like someone would throw a punch at any moment. The hallway was empty, save for the faint hum of the vending machines and the distant murmurs of teammates in their rooms. Matteo's blood ran hot, but he forced himself to stay relaxed.
"See, that's where you're wrong," Matteo finally said, voice dripping with confidence.
"I'm not like Rakim. I don't dance around defenders for the cameras. I don't care about highlight reels. I don't need some scripted documentary to make people believe I'm great. I just score goals. And tomorrow, against France, I'll do it again."
He paused for a second before he continued speaking. "You're right though I don't care about the country, I didn't grow up here and just because my deadbeat dad is from here, doesn't make me obligated to risk it all. If not for my agent and sponsors pushing me to play with y'all all I would be doing my thing in the LaLiga so don't expect anything other than my professionalism on the pitch."
Reyna let out a humourless chuckle. "You think that makes you better than him?"
Matteo leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower. "No! I think that makes me the only one who really matters."
Yunus exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disappointment. "Whatever, man. Just don't screw this up for us." He turned, walking away before he lost his temper. Reyna gave Matteo one last unreadable glance before following.
Matteo stood there for a moment, watching them disappear down the hallway. He could still hear Yunus muttering curses under his breath. Shrugging his shoulders he made his way towards his room not thinking of this little audience more than he had to.
[Zdzisław-Krzyszkowiak-Stadion, 16:20, USA U-20 vs. France U-20 – Round of 16]
The stadium was buzzing. The crowd was a mix of Polish neutrals and passionate travelling fans, who came to support their respective teams. The tension rippled through the USA squad as they stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the tunnel.
The echoes of the French players exchanging quick words in their native tongue made Matteo's blood simmer. His fingers twitched. He wanted this more than anything. The chance to beat some of the best players in his age group and prove his worth. The crowd roared as both teams stepped onto the field as both sides neatly walked onto the field.
Under the floodlights, Matteo Smith rolled his shoulders, shaking out the tension in his muscles. His eyes scanned the French lineup as they shook hands. Camavinga. Soumaré. Olise. He had heard of the midfield trio and was looking forward to crushing them since they weren't some no-name players he was about to run circles around.
His gaze flickered to Benoît Badiashile, France's towering centre-back. 'So that's the guy I have to break today.' Matteo smirked. 'Fine.' At the halfway line, Gio Reyna and Yunus Musah stood in silence as the teams lined up for the pre-match formalities. Matteo could feel their eyes on him, but he didn't care. They had their doubts. Let them. All he cared about was his own goals. Both teams quickly went into positions after going through all the formalities none of which aroused much attention from Matteo.
USA Starting XI: 4-2-3-1
GK: Brady Scott (FC Köln – Germany)
RB: Sergiño Dest (Ajax – Netherlands)
CB: Chris Richards (Bayern Munich – Germany)
CB: Mark McKenzie (Philadelphia Union – USA)
LB: George Bello (Atlanta United – USA)
CDM: Weston McKennie (Schalke 04 – Germany)
CDM: Yunus Musah (Arsenal Youth – England)
RW: Timothy Weah (Lille – France)
CAM: Giovanni Reyna (Borussia Dortmund – Germany)
LW: Christian Pulisic (Chelsea – England)
ST: Matteo Smith (Valencia – Spain)
France Starting XI: 4-3-3
GK: Alban Lafont (Nantes, on loan from Fiorentina – France/Italy)
RB: Pierre Kalulu (Olympique Lyonnais – France)
CB: Benoît Badiashile (AS Monaco – France)
CB: Loïc Badé (Le Havre – France)
LB: Rayan Aït-Nouri (Angers – France)
CM: Boubakary Soumaré (Lille – France)
CM: Eduardo Camavinga (Rennes – France)
CM: Michael Olise (Reading – England)
RW: Rayan Cherki (Olympique Lyonnais – France)
LW: Amine Gouiri (Olympique Lyonnais – France)
ST: Matthis Abline (Rennes – France)
[Zdzisław-Krzyszkowiak-Stadion, 16:30, USA U-20 vs. France U-20 – Round of 16]
(Fweet) The referee blew his whistle announcing the Kick-off. France didn't waste time. They immediately settled into a possession-based rhythm, Eduardo Camavinga dictating the tempo with ease. USA tried pressing high, but Boubakary Soumaré absorbed pressure like a brick wall, spraying passes wide to Rayan Cherki and Amine Gouiri.
They didn't take long to threaten the US goals as Cherki wriggled past George Bello on the right and swung in a cross to Matthis Abline, but Chris Richards rose highest, clearing with a firm header. The rebound fell to Michael Olise at the edge of the box—he didn't hesitate. A curling left-footed strike was headed straight for the top corner until Brady Scott parried it away with a sharp save.
"Wake up, boys!" Scott barked, as he started giving out instructions to his back line. None of them took it to heart and simply started adjusting to their keepers' instructions vowing to do better. Being the reason your country goes behind in an international competition wasn't something they were willing to carry with them.
The USA struggled to maintain possession in the opening minutes, their midfield caught between pressing and keeping their defensive shape. France, fluid and composed, moved the ball quickly, with Camavinga orchestrating from the centre. Michael Olise found pockets of space between the lines, his quick turns unsettling McKennie and Musah.
Then, in the ninth minute, a breakthrough nearly arrived. Camavinga lifted a clever ball over the top, dissecting the American defence. Amine Gouiri timed his run perfectly, sprinting in behind McKenzie. With a single touch, he brought the ball down inside the box and fired low toward the far post—but Brady Scott reacted quickly, diving to his left and pushing it wide for a corner.
"That's too easy!" McKennie shouted, glaring at his teammates as they jogged back into position.
France took the corner short, Olise exchanging passes with Cherki before curling a dangerous ball toward the back post. Badiashile powered through the crowd, meeting it with a towering header—only to see Dest lunge in at the last second, deflecting the ball wide. The USA finally had a moment to breathe.
A shift in momentum came when Musah intercepted a loose pass from Soumaré and immediately played forward to Reyna, who turned sharply away from Camavinga and drove at the French backline. Pulisic made a darting run on the left, dragging Kalulu with him, while Weah sprinted into the space on the right.
Scanning their runs Reyna spotted an opportunity and threaded a pass through the middle to Matteo Smith. He lost his man with a simple but clever movement and calmly controlled the ball. Smith took one touch, then another, trying to create space, but Badiashile shadowed him tightly. Pulisic to his left exclaimed calling for a pass and Matteo turned his way prompting Badiashile to do the same.
It was all a trap as Smith nearly used his teammate as a decoy baiting Badiashile to move and cover that passing lane. Before the defender could react, Matteo had nudged the ball the other way and taken a step to create some separation. Without hesitation, he took aim from the top of the penalty box as he swung his foot letting a cannon of a shot fly.