"Here we are!"
Noa sprinted through the streets of Eindhoven like he'd just been released from prison, weaving past confused cyclists and nearly colliding with an old man walking his dog. His arms were spread wide as he admired everything around him, yelling at random pedestrians like he'd lived there his whole life.
"WE MADE IT, EUROPE!"
A woman walking past pulled her child slightly closer.
I adjusted the strap of my bag and stared around the city with far less enthusiasm. It wasn't what I expected at all.
For some reason, I had imagined endless luxury apartments, futuristic stadiums, and football prodigies casually juggling balls down the street.
Instead, parts of the city felt… normal.
Almost rough in places.
Graffiti covered sections of brick walls near train stations, older apartment blocks sat squeezed between modern stores, and some streets felt worn down in a way that reminded me a little too much of home.
"Looks more… rough than I thought it'd be," I muttered while rubbing the back of my head. "What tickets did he even get us anyway?"
Noa finally slowed down and pulled the envelope Carlo had given us from his jacket pocket. He stared at the contents dramatically before his eyes widened.
"Ohhh…"
"What?"
He slowly turned the tickets toward me.
"KNVB Cup Final."
I blinked.
"What?"
Noa practically vibrated with excitement.
"Ajax versus PSV Eindhoven."
My eyes widened.
"What?"
"Exactly."
He looked back down at the tickets like they were made of gold.
"This is insane. A clash between Dutch giants."
He pointed at the Ajax logo first.
"This club produced Johan Cruyff."
Then he pointed at PSV Eindhoven.
"And this one produced Arjen Robben."
He kept flipping through the envelope before pausing again.
"There's more."
I frowned.
"What do you mean more?"
"There are also tickets for matches in England and Germany."
I stared at him.
"…how rich is Carlo actually?"
Noa thought about it for a moment.
"Bugatti-under-a-sheet rich."
"Fair."
The moment of excitement disappeared when my stomach violently growled loud enough for a nearby couple to glance at me.
I froze.
Noa looked at me.
I looked at Noa.
Then my stomach growled again somehow louder than before.
Noa burst into laughter.
"That plane food was criminal," I muttered.
"That chicken tasted like wet cardboard."
"You could've eaten the bread roll."
"It bounced when I dropped it."
"That's fair."
I scanned the street before spotting a small shop with a glowing sign above it.
"How about we pop into that frites shop…"
I let out a tired sigh as my stomach twisted again.
"I'm so hungry I could eat a full zebra."
Noa stared at me.
"A zebra?"
"I panicked."
"That's such a weird hunger animal."
"What's your hunger animal then?"
Noa thought deeply.
"…an elephant."
"That's significantly worse."
He pointed toward the shop.
"Race you there."
Before I could respond, he sprinted off again.
"Oh come on."
I chased after him as we both ran toward the tiny frites shop, completely unaware that someone inside was already watching us through the window.
Noa burst through the doors of the frites shop with the urgency of a man responding to a national emergency.
The bell above the entrance rang so aggressively it sounded offended by his presence as he practically slid across the tiled floor toward the front counter. A few customers turned to stare while I stumbled in behind him, trying to catch my breath after sprinting halfway down the street because apparently walking like a normal person was illegal to him.
"I would like…" Noa slammed both hands onto the counter dramatically, breathing heavily. "a large frites."
The woman behind the register blinked at him.
Noa raised one finger.
"And…"
He leaned in like he was revealing classified information.
"Frite sauce."
The cashier stared at him for a long moment before slowly nodding. "Okay…"
Noa looked back at me with the biggest grin on his face like he'd just completed a life-changing business deal. Meanwhile, I bent over slightly with my hands on my knees, trying not to pass out.
"You ran for fries."
"You said you were dying."
"That doesn't mean sprint."
"It absolutely means sprint."
I walked up beside him and looked at the menu hanging above the counter, most of which I couldn't pronounce properly. There were toppings I'd never seen before, strange combinations of meats and sauces, and something that looked aggressively spicy enough to permanently alter my life.
"What are you getting?" Noa asked.
"One frite with ketchup, please."
The cashier nodded like this was the most normal interaction she'd witnessed all day and began punching my order into the register. Behind me, Noa was still laughing like he'd just witnessed the greatest moment of his life.
A boy by the window let out a quiet laugh before standing up from his seat. He grabbed his tray and walked toward us, and the closer he got, the more obvious it became that this guy was an athlete.
"You're not from here, are you?"
He smiled at me a little too deeply, like he already knew something I didn't. There was an odd confidence in the way he looked at me, as if this entire interaction had been expected on his end and we were the only ones playing catch-up.
"I could tell by the way you came in here," he continued, glancing toward Noa. "No one from the Netherlands would ever walk into a frites shop like… that."
Everything about how he moved felt balanced and controlled, like his body was constantly prepared for something.
He stopped directly in front of me.
Up close, he was taller than I thought.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked me up and down.
The cashier awkwardly slid our food onto the counter like she wanted no involvement in whatever this was becoming.
"You speak English?"
His finger rested dramatically against his chin as he studied him.
The boy blinked.
"Well… yes."
He looked genuinely confused by the question.
"Why wouldn't I?"
Noa opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"I don't know, I just thought you'd be aggressively Dutch."
The boy stared at him.
"What does that even mean?"
Noa shrugged.
"Wooden shoes. Windmills. Cheese."
I buried my face in my hands.
"Oh my God."
The boy laughed under his breath while the cashier physically turned away to hide her smile.
"You two are definitely going to struggle here."
He reached down and picked up the training bag resting beside his chair before casually turning it so we could fully see the crest.
PSV Eindhoven
Both me and Noa immediately went quiet.
The smugness in his expression grew.
"There it is," he said softly. "That look."
"What look?" I asked.
"The one where people realise I'm not just some random guy in a frites shop."
He extended his hand toward me first.
"Jay."
I stared at his hand for a second before shaking it.
"Gabriel."
He looked at Noa.
"Noa."
Jay nodded slowly like he was mentally filing our names away.
Then his smile returned.
"So…"
He stole a fry directly from my tray before I could react.
"Think you'd like to meet a friend of mine. Ryan Sickens."