17 years.
Not a short time.
Seventeen years, Go Ahead Eagles were trapped in the second division. Every season, hope arose—and every season, that hope shattered.
But tonight?
Tonight is different.
In the center of Deventer, the red-yellow wave flooded the streets!
Flare lights blazed in every corner, the club's anthem echoed into the sky.
People climbed lampposts, stood on cars, hugged anyone near them—even strangers!
Tears flowed.
Tears of happiness, tears of victory.
In a small bar near the stadium, an old man with an Eagles scarf covered his face, his body trembling.
He had seen it all: the glory of the past, the downfall, near bankruptcy, and now... promotion.
"We're back," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "We're finally back."
In Deventer Ziekenhuis, the most complete healthcare facility in the city of Deventer.
Arghana opened his eyes.
Hmh... The smell of antiseptic. The rhythmic sound of medical monitors.
A hospital?
It took him a few seconds to fully regain his senses.
His head was heavy, his body felt empty. As he moved his hand, he felt something touch his skin.
A jersey. Still wearing the Go Ahead Eagles jersey.
That's when the memories hit him like a tidal wave—the match, the goal, his body collapsing...
"The match..." his voice was hoarse. "What's the result?"
The medical staff standing nearby turned.
A man in his 40s with a white coat and clipboard in his hand gave a small smile.
"You just woke up, and that's the first thing you ask?" he said, chuckling softly. "Don't worry... You won, kid."
Arghana stared at him, still confused.
"We won?"
"Not just won," the man said. "You've been promoted to Eredivisie."
Arghana fell silent.
It wasn't an outburst of emotions, not an overwhelming flood of joy. Just one long breath, then a slow exhale.
==
Outside, the city was celebrating this madness.
In the stands, his teammates were probably still shouting, jumping, crying. But here...
A thin smile appeared on his face. The eyes that had been empty now shone with satisfaction.
Not because he felt like a hero.
Not because this was the dream he had chased since childhood.
But because all the effort, all the suffering on the field... was not in vain.
And that was more than enough.
The door opened.
Eric Ten Hag entered first, followed by some staff and teammates.
Their faces still gleamed with sweat and remnants of match euphoria, but there was worry in their eyes.
"How's he doing?" Ten Hag asked the medical team directly.
"Stable. Just extreme fatigue," the doctor answered, looking at the notes in his hand.
"But for further certainty, we recommend additional testing. There could be factors we haven't detected yet."
Eric nodded and then looked at Arghana. "You heard that, right? You need to see a specialist."
Arghana paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. He knew this wasn't the first time his body had collapsed after scoring in a crucial moment.
And if Ten Hag mentioned further testing, it meant this wasn't something to be ignored.
No long farewells. After confirming Arghana's condition, they left the room.
Now, Arghana was alone again.
The lights on the ceiling still glowed softly, the sound of medical equipment still ringing faintly in the background.
He took a deep breath.
At least, this was Eerste Divisie. Not every one of their matches was broadcasted live on TV.
The image of his parents flashed in his mind.
They probably didn't know.
They wouldn't be worried.
Arghana closed his eyes.
Fatigue still weighed on his body, but for the first time in a long while… he felt at peace.
===
The next day...
Arghana stepped out of the hospital with slow steps.
The afternoon sun welcomed him warmly, as if it wanted to replace the coldness of the medical room that had accompanied him for the past day.
The small bag with a few of his belongings felt light on his back, but there was something still heavy—an exhaustion that hadn't fully disappeared.
The doctor had given him permission to go home, but with one condition.
"NOC*NSF," he muttered quietly, looking at the small flyer the doctor had handed him before he left.
The Dutch National Olympic Committee was the place where professional athletes underwent injury recovery and testing with the highest standards.
If he went there, there would be further tests, a more thorough examination.
He sighed.
Before leaving the hospital, he had already contacted his parents.
He didn't say much, just the important things—Go Ahead Eagles were promoted, and he was fine.
His mother had panicked for a moment but was relieved when Arghana assured her that everything was under control.
Luckily, Eerste Divisie wasn't always broadcasted on national TV.
No replays to make his family more worried.
The league's off-season had already started.
Other players were probably beginning to plan their vacations.
Some would surely return to their hometowns, others would enjoy some time at the beach or simply spend time with family.
But not Arghana.
After arriving at his apartment, he dropped the bag in the corner of the room and collapsed onto the sofa.
His back felt heavy, his muscles still protesting after that dramatic match.
His gaze returned to the flyer for NOC*NSF in his hand.