The morning air in the city was sharp, but the bright blue sky provided a little visual warmth. Bima stood on the balcony of his small apartment, wearing his club training jacket and neatly laced running shoes. In his hand, a cup of black coffee steamed gently. In the distance, he could see the roof of the small stadium where his team trained—a place that had recently become his second home after campus.
"A good morning to get tired," he muttered, half-joking to himself.
His phone vibrated. Notifications from two different worlds appeared almost simultaneously:
- Team group: "Don't be late, today is a full 90-minute tactical simulation."
- Campus email: "Reminder: Progress report on sustainable construction management thesis due next week."
Bima smiled with a slight tilt of his lips. "Two worlds, one head."
He sipped his coffee, then took a deep breath. His body was tired, but there was an indescribable excitement every time he remembered that he would be wearing the number 17 jersey again today.
In the stadium locker room, the familiar scent of grass, sweat, and muscle balm greeted him. Some of his teammates had already arrived. Marco, the talkative Italian winger, waved excitedly.
"Bima! The coach's favorite Asian striker!" he exclaimed.
"The favorite who gets scolded the most, you mean," Bima replied with a laugh, patting Marco on the shoulder.
Jamal, the tall center back, chimed in, "If you don't go offside three times today, I'll treat you to dinner."
"Deal," Bima replied quickly. "I'll report to the coach if you make a stupid foul, and our bet is off."
The locker room was bustling with lighthearted banter, but it fell silent when Coach Donovan entered, carrying a tactics board.
"Okay, listen," Donovan began in a deep voice. "This season, our goal is to move up in the rankings. You guys are no longer school kids playing for Instagram photos. This is a serious league. Bima."
"Yes, Coach?" Bima spontaneously straightened his back.
"You're developing well. Speed, determination, and finishing. But you still have one major weakness."
Bima swallowed hard. "What is it, Coach?"
The coach pointed to his own head. "You sometimes forget to use this. You play too much with your heart and muscles. As a modern striker, you have to be the brain of the attack. Understand?"
Bima nodded. "I understand, Coach."
"Good. Today we'll simulate a full match. You'll be the focal point. If you can set the rhythm of the game, not just score goals, you'll be safe in the starting lineup next month."
Those words echoed in Bima's head. "Set the rhythm of the game." In his heart, he thought, "I'm not just running and kicking, I have to think like the center of the game."
The simulation was intense. Bima successfully picked up the ball several times, bounced it to the midfielder, then immediately ran to open up space. Once, he managed to sneak between two defenders, receive a through ball, and finish with a thin chip over the goalkeeper.
"Goal!" Marco shouted, jumping up to hug him. "See? Brain plus feet!"
On the sidelines, Donovan just nodded slightly, jotting something down in his little notebook. Bima caught that from a distance, and his heart felt a little relieved.
However, not everything went smoothly. In the final minutes of the simulation, fatigue caused his focus to wane. He was late to drop back when the team lost the ball, leaving a big gap in front. The defensive midfielder had to cover the space, and Donovan immediately blew his whistle loudly.
"Stop!" The coach stepped into the middle of the field, looking directly at Bima. "Do you know what you did wrong?"
Bima wiped the sweat from his face, breathing heavily. "I didn't drop back fast enough, Coach. I was too high up when we lost the ball."
Donovan nodded. "At least you realize it. Remember, Bima: in modern soccer, the striker is the first defender. If you're lazy about dropping back, the whole system will fall apart."
"Yes, Coach," Bima replied, this time more quietly.
Practice was over, and they returned to the locker room, their bodies nearly drained of energy. While the others joked around, Bima sat a little apart, opening his phone. There was a new message from the university—his advisor.
Advisor:
"Bima, I read your thesis outline. The concept of environmentally friendly bridge modeling in developing cities is interesting. But we need to have an online meeting tomorrow morning at 9. Don't let it conflict with your training."
Bima sighed softly. "Tomorrow's training is at 11... that's a little safer," he muttered.
Marco peeked over from the next bench. "University problems again?"
"Hmm," Bima nodded. "My advisor. Meeting tomorrow at 9 a.m. Practice at 11 a.m. Two hours is enough to switch modes from engineer to striker."
Marco laughed. "You're crazy too. But I admire you. I can only focus on one thing, and even that sometimes goes wrong."
Jamal chimed in, "The most important thing is not to faint on the field, Bim."
Bima chuckled, but behind that laughter, there was a tension that was not easy to shake off.
That night, at his small desk in his apartment, Bima opened his laptop and looked at his thesis file. On the screen were bridge diagrams, load graphs, and paragraphs about the concept of sustainability. Next to the laptop was a pair of worn-out soccer shoes.
"I'm building two bridges," he thought. "One real bridge, one bridge from dreams to reality."
A notification popped up from a small group of college friends from Indonesia living in the city.
Friend 1:
"Bim, let's hang out at the cafe at 7 p.m. tomorrow, okay? It's been a while since we last met."
Friend 2:
"Yeah, let's get together at least once a month. Don't just practice all the time."
Bima stared at the message for a long time. He typed:
"Sorry, I can't tomorrow. I have a thesis meeting in the morning, practice in the afternoon, and revisions in the evening. Maybe another time."
He deleted it and rewrote:
"I think I'll skip tomorrow. I'll try to make it next week. I miss hanging out too."
This time he sent it. "At least I'm being honest, I can't handle three things at once," he thought to himself.
His phone vibrated again—this time it was from Clara.
Clara:
"Bim, how are you feeling? Still training like crazy?"
Bima smiled slightly, typing while leaning back.
"Training, thesis, training. My body is still intact, but my head sometimes feels like it's going to explode."
Clara:
"Don't forget to rest. The double pressure is real, Bim. It's okay to take a break once in a while. You don't have to handle everything yourself, you know?"
Bima stared at the message for a long time, then replied:
"I know. But I also feel like now is a time I can't waste. Soccer won't wait for me to get old, and scholarships don't come twice."
Clara:
"I understand. I just don't want you to wake up one day and realize you're exhausted when it's already too late."
Bima took a deep breath. "You're right," he muttered softly, even though his fingers only typed:
"I'll be careful. Thanks, Clar."
After that conversation, he turned off his phone screen and returned to staring at his laptop screen. He wrote the first sentence of the introduction to his thesis:
"Every design decision in structural engineering is a compromise between strength, cost, and sustainability. There is no perfect solution—only the most balanced and responsible choice."
He reread the sentence, then smiled sadly.
"Just like my life right now," he whispered. "Nothing is perfect. The important thing is to be balanced and responsible."
As midnight approached, exhaustion finally won out. Bima lay down on his bed, turned off the light, leaving only the dim light from outside the window. Before falling asleep, he thought:
"If one day I fail at one of them—soccer or college—I can only hope that I can say to myself: I tried my best."
With that thought, his eyes slowly closed, while outside, the small stadium and the large campus stood silently—two worlds waiting for Bima every day, testing how strongly he walked the thin line between dreams and reality.
***
That morning, Bima's alarm went off earlier than usual. The clock on the wall showed only 5:30 a.m. when he was already sitting at the small table in his apartment, staring at his laptop screen displaying two different windows: on the left, a draft of his thesis progress report on sustainable bridge project management; on the right, a video recording of his team's last game sent by the coach via a group chat.
"Two worlds, two screens," he muttered softly, sipping his coffee, which had started to get cold.
He rewound the video to the 62nd minute—the moment when he failed to receive Marco's cross because he was one step too late. The ball passed in front of his feet and was swept away by the opposing defender. In the recording, Donovan could be heard shouting from the sidelines: "Read the space, Bima! Don't just chase the ball!"
Bima pursed his lips. "Yes, yes, I was in the wrong position," he commented to himself. "But their defenders are also good, Coach..."
He paused the video, then opened his thesis file. There, the wind load simulation graphics on the bridge structure were still red in several points—meaning the design was still not efficient.
"On the field, I misread the space; here, I misread the load," he chuckled bitterly but honestly. "Consistency in the wrong place."
A notification popped up. It was a message from Prof. Harris, his advisor.
Prof. Harris:
"Bima, I've read the risk analysis section. It's interesting, but you're too optimistic. Add failure scenarios. A good engineer is always prepared for the worst."
Bima sighed deeply. "The worst-case scenario, huh. If I apply that to my life, there would be so many scenarios, Prof..."
That afternoon, he sat in a small cafe near campus with Alex. On their table were scattered bridge sketch papers and Bima's cell phone, which occasionally vibrated with messages from the team group.
Alex sipped his coffee. "Okay, so you want to create a project scheduling model that is cost-effective, time-efficient, and environmentally friendly. You know that's like asking for three miracles at once, right?"
Bima leaned back. "It's like my life right now. I want a good GPA, a successful soccer career, and to stay mentally healthy."
Alex chuckled. "I really don't understand how you can pursue two difficult things at once. I chose one—just college—and I still feel like I'm going to collapse."
Bima shrugged. "Maybe I'm afraid that if I choose one, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. Soccer has been with me since I was a kid. Civil engineering makes my mom proud. I don't know which one to sacrifice."
Alex looked at him more seriously. "But you also have to know, the more you divide your focus, the greater the chance that one of them will fall. You don't have to answer now. Just... don't wait until your body slows you down."
Before Bima could respond, his phone rang—this time it was a call from Coach Donovan.
"Sorry, hold on," Bima said to Alex and answered the call. "Hello, Coach?"
Donovan's voice sounded firm. "Bima, tomorrow we have a sudden trial match against the top league academy team. This is not an ordinary match. A lot of scouts are coming. I want you to be 100% ready."
"Tomorrow, Coach? I have a presentation at the university in the morning. Thesis progress," Bima replied, trying to sound calm.
"What time?" Donovan asked.
"From 9 to maybe 11, Coach."
"Kickoff is at 3. There's still time. But don't come to the stadium with your head full of formulas. On the field, your head should only be filled with the game. Understand?"
Bima swallowed hard. "Yes, Coach. I'll try."
After the call ended, he massaged his temples. Alex looked at him with concern. "When was the last time you had a full day off, Bim?"
Bima tried to remember, then chuckled. "I think it was when my plane was still in the air, before I got here."
The next day, early in the morning in the campus presentation room, Bima stood in front of the projector screen wearing a neat shirt and blazer. Behind him, the slide displayed the thesis title: "Optimization of Sustainable Bridge Project Scheduling in Developing Cities."
Prof. Harris and two other lecturers sat on the panel. Several classmates were present as the audience.
"Go ahead, Bima. You have 20 minutes," said Prof. Harris.
Bima took a breath and began. He explained the background, the importance of green infrastructure, the cost challenges, and the need for risk management. His words flowed smoothly. He even linked his research to the phenomenon of climate change and budget constraints in developing countries.
During the question and answer session, a lecturer asked, "What if the worst-case scenario occurs? Funding delays, social problems, and natural disasters all happen at the same time?"
Bima looked at the graph on the screen and replied, "No system is completely prepared for all the worst-case combinations. But our job as engineers is to reduce that possibility, prepare backup plans, and be honest about our design limitations. Just like in life, sir—sometimes all we can do is make the most responsible choice with the information we have."
The panel nodded. The presentation ended with a "good, continue" from Prof. Harris. As he left the room, several friends patted him on the shoulder.
Alex followed from behind. "You're good at talking about risk. Too bad you can't apply that to your own life schedule," he joked.
Bima laughed, but the fatigue he felt was different: not just physical exhaustion, but mental fatigue from feeling like he was walking on a tightrope that was getting thinner and thinner.
That afternoon, in the stadium locker room, he changed from a shirt and blazer to a jersey and soccer shoes. It was too quick a change of roles for one day.
Marco looked at him in awe. "You just presented your thesis, Now you want to compete against the top league academy team. Crazy. Are you sure your head won't explode?"
"If it does, please pick up the pieces in the middle of the field," replied Bima as he tied his shoelaces, trying to joke.
Donovan entered, staring at Bima a little longer than the others. "You just gave your presentation this morning?"
"Yes, Coach. But I'm ready," replied Bima reflexively.
Donovan approached, his voice slightly softer. "Listen to me. If at certain moments you feel your head is empty, don't force yourself to be a hero. Just play simply. Sometimes, the best decision is to pass, not to force a shot."
Bima nodded. Those words stuck—not just for the match, but felt like they applied to his life as a whole.
The trial match went by quickly. The opposing academy team played at a high tempo and pressed aggressively. Bima received the ball several times at the front line, his back to the goal, with two defenders marking him closely. He tried to hold on to the ball, then turned and passed to Marco. Several times he succeeded, several times he lost the ball.
In the second half, with the score tied at 1–1, a crucial moment arrived. Bima received a through ball, with only one defender in front of him and the goalkeeper advancing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his team's midfielder running free on the right side.
In a split second, two voices battled in his head:
"Score yourself! This is your chance!"
"Pass. Share the load. Keep it simple."
This time, he chose the latter. The ball was passed to the right, his teammate shot, and scored. The small stadium erupted with cheers from the local crowd. His teammates rushed to hug Bima.
"Great vision, Bima!" Marco exclaimed. "You finally didn't force yourself to be the hero!"
Donovan clapped from the sidelines, his face clearly satisfied this time. "That's football. And that's maturity," he said to the assistant coach.
After the match ended with a narrow 2–1 victory, Bima sat alone for a moment on the bench, looking at the field that was starting to darken. His sweat had started to cool, but his heart felt warm.
"Sometimes you don't need to score goals to be important," he muttered. "Sometimes... it's enough to make decisions that keep everyone safe."
That night, Bima was back in his apartment, opening his laptop to write a short report for Prof. Harris about the morning meeting. But before typing, he opened a chat window to Aiden and Clara.
Bima:
"Today's update: this morning I almost went crazy thinking about the risks of the bridge, in the afternoon I almost went crazy thinking about the risks of passing wrong. The result: the thesis is on track, the team won, I didn't faint. Progress, right?"
Clara replied first:
"Great progress. You're learning to share the burden, Bim. On the field and... hopefully in life too."
Aiden followed:
"Great. You made a decision that helped the team, not just your ego. That's an upgraded version of the old Bima."
Bima smiled and typed again:
"Maybe life is like that too. I don't have to win alone. The important thing is that I don't fall alone."
He paused for a moment, then added in his personal journal:
"The line between dreams and reality isn't always straight. Sometimes it's wavy, sometimes it's broken, but we can still connect it through small decisions that are honest to ourselves. Today, for the first time, I feel like I'm not just chasing—but also consciously choosing."
With that thought, the usual suffocating double pressure felt a little more bearable. It was still heavy, still exhausting, but now Bima knew one thing: he was beginning to learn when to run alone, and when to pass—on the field, and in life.
***
That morning, the sound of the alarm in Clara's apartment woke her from a heavy sleep. She pulled back the curtains, allowing the morning sunlight to slowly stream in, piercing through the thin fog that still enveloped the city. A day full of promise and challenges awaited her at the psychology clinic where she was doing her internship and completing her thesis research.
Clara stirred her black coffee slowly, sitting in a chair near the table. Her tired eyes stared at the laptop screen—today's patient list and seminar schedule. Amidst academic pressure and clinical responsibilities, she felt a complex flow of emotions; between hope, worry, and dreams that had not yet been fully realized.
At the clinic, she opened the first session, listening to the story of a student who was facing anxiety that was eating away at his days. In a soft voice, Clara said, "Remember, those feelings are not just a burden, but also a message. Let's learn together what your emotions are trying to tell you today."
After the session ended, Clara stepped out of the room and met Sarah, an old friend who was also a fellow young psychologist. They sat together in the small campus garden, fallen leaves scattered beneath their feet.
"Clara, I see you're strong with your patients, but what about yourself?" Sarah asked attentively.
Clara took a breath. "I'm human too, Sarah. Every night I struggle with my own fears and confusion. Especially about the three of us," she said softly.
Sarah nodded, handing her a glass of mineral water. "They, Aiden and Bima, don't understand how much pressure you're under. You have to take better care of yourself. Not just for them or your patients."
Clara smiled slightly, "I'm learning, Sarah. Learning to accept my own shortcomings and limitations."
That afternoon, in the campus library, Clara read the latest psychology journal discussing the mental health of students struggling with dual pressures: academic and social. Each page reminded her of her own struggles and her patients' stories.
Her phone vibrated—a message from Bima: "Update? Are practice and lectures still going on at the same time?"
Clara typed quickly: "Yes. How are you? Are you starting to feel comfortable in the field?"
Bima's reply came shortly after: "Not bad, still learning to control myself. Like you, who keeps learning to maintain boundaries when you're in the clinic."
The conversation warmed Clara's heart, though longing and uncertainty still lurked in every unspoken word.
When night fell, she opened her personal journal and began writing in black ink under the light of her desk lamp.
"Today's tension reminds me that life is not just about survival, but also about growth. I see patients struggling between hope and despair, and I am there to help them. But I am also a human being with wounds that I must respect and care for."
Her cell phone rang. Aiden appeared on a video call, his face looking tired but smiling.
"Clara, I just finished my presentation. I want to rest, but I want to see you first," he said softly.
Clara smiled and sat down.
"Tonight I want to talk about us. About the small steps that I think are important. I learned from you and Bima that sometimes we have to give space, not squeeze it," said Aiden.
Clara smiled at Aiden, "I'm also learning to take care of myself and our relationship, not just demand perfection."
Their discussion flowed warmly, opening old wounds and planting new hopes. They agreed that even though their paths had changed, the bond they had built was still valuable.
When Aiden's video call ended, Clara gazed at the night sky from her apartment window. In her heart, she felt grateful, finding strength in imperfection, and accepting that the thin line between dreams and reality is a space for growth and healing.
***
In a quiet corner of the campus library, Aiden stared intently at his laptop screen. The AI graphics and code he was developing became an abstract reality behind his efforts to realize his thesis on predictive public health models. However, his heart and mind were preoccupied with the final decision he had just made—to reject an offer from Freiburg II in Bundesliga 3 in order to complete his master's degree.
That afternoon, as a light rain outside made the atmosphere even quieter, Aiden's phone vibrated. A message from Clara:
"Den, I'm proud of you. You know how hard it is to choose a path. I also..."
Aiden replied quickly, "Thanks, Clar. We're all in the process of learning to be the best versions of ourselves."
That brief dialogue was an oasis amid the academic pressure and moral responsibility that continued to weigh on Aiden. He knew that rejecting the soccer offer he had once dreamed of was not an easy decision. However, he found peace in his commitment to becoming an ethical and influential scientist, which meant so much to him.
That night, Aiden met with his advisor, Prof. Elena, in her office.
"Tomorrow's presentation will be the final test of your project. Prepare thoroughly," Prof. Elena said with a supportive smile.
"I'm ready, Prof. But sometimes I feel, is all this enough? Or is it just an escape?"
Prof. Elena looked at him deeply. "Aiden, that struggle is normal. But you have lived your choice honestly and responsibly. Just focus on what you can control—science, ethics, and the impact you can make."
Aiden nodded. The short conversation gave him new energy to face his next task.
On the day of the presentation, the campus hall was filled with lecturers, students, and young researchers. When it was Aiden's turn, he stepped forward confidently, starting with the background of his research connecting technology, health, and ethics.
"Our model is not only accurate, but also considers aspects of fairness and privacy. Technological science without morals is a boomerang," Aiden said loudly.
The Q&A session was challenging. A professor asked, "How do you overcome data bias that may arise from different social environments?"
Aiden replied, "We use a multi-pronged approach, including evaluations from ethics experts and community representatives, to ensure that this model is truly inclusive."
After the presentation, Aiden received warm applause and invitations to collaborate from several senior researchers. He felt that this was not only recognition, but also a door to the future.
That night, Aiden relaxed in the campus park. His cell phone rang with a message from Bima:
"Den, I watched your video yesterday. Your presentation was cool. It was a lesson for me."
Aiden smiled as he replied:
"Thanks, Bro. You're also solid in the field. We're on the same path even though we're on different tracks."
The calm evening atmosphere prompted Aiden to open an old message from Clara:
"Don't forget to rest, Den. We all need time for ourselves."
Aiden sighed and replied:
"I'm learning that, Clar. Slowly, learning to not be the fastest, but to be the one who lasts."
He closed the message and stared at the faint stars that were beginning to appear.
"Sometimes winning isn't about being number one, but about choosing the right path for yourself," he thought to himself.
***
The sound of the alarm woke Aiden from his deep sleep. The morning sun had not yet penetrated the windows of his simple dorm room. A big day awaited him: the final presentation of his master's project in front of an international panel, including a notoriously harsh professor and industry practitioners.
Slowly, he stretched, then stared at the laptop screen filled with presentation slides. His heart was beating fast, but his eyes shone with the decision he had made: to focus on the world of research and temporarily distance himself from the lure of soccer.
Before leaving for campus, his phone vibrated. A message from Bima appeared on the screen:
"Are you ready, Den? I support you from here."
Aiden smiled and replied:
"Thanks, Bro. I need that. We each have to walk our own path."
In the conference hall, Aiden walked steadily despite his nervousness. The panel consisted of senior professors, practitioners, and other students waiting for their turn. As he began with a quote from the philosophy of technology, the audience fell silent, riveted by his meaningful speech.
"Technology without ethics is like a ship without a compass," he said. "My AI model aims not only for accuracy, but also for fairness and privacy. Data must be valued like the humans who produce it."
During the Q&A session, a professor asked about the risk of bias in public health data.
Aiden replied in detail:
"We use a fairness testing framework and involve the community as ethical validators. Advanced technology without inclusivity means failure."
The response earned warm applause and several satisfied smiles from the panel.
After the presentation, Aiden walked out of the hall and video called Clara in the lobby.
"That was awesome, Den. I was nervous watching you, even though it was only online," Clara said proudly.
Aiden chuckled softly. "I was nervous too, but I'm relieved now. This isn't about competing against Bima or anyone else. It's about steering my own ship."
Clara looked at him intently. "So, what now? Do you still watch Bima's videos often? Or are you 100% focused now?"
Aiden sighed. "I still see him. I can't deny that he's a source of inspiration. But I don't want to compare myself anymore. My focus is here. And this is my path..."
That night, Aiden spoke to Bima via video call.
"I finished my presentation. The panel said my model was innovative. This is a big step," he said.
Bima smiled broadly. "Awesome, Den! I played again today too. Did you see the video I made for the team?"
Aiden laughed. "Of course I did. You're getting better. I'm proud of you, Bim."
Bima was serious. "But I have a question. Have you thought about playing soccer again? From the bottom, like when we were young?"
Aiden stared at the ceiling of his room.
"I already told you, Bim. I have to choose. It's not that I don't love soccer, but this time my priority is knowledge and real impact."
Bima nodded slowly. "I understand. We each have our own path. But... I still miss dueling with you on the field."
Aiden smiled sadly. "Me too, Bro. Someday we can play together again."
They ended the call with a promise to support each other, even though their paths were different.
In the silence of the night, Aiden wrote in his personal journal:
"Being a winner isn't about who is the fastest or the strongest. It's about who dares to choose their own path. I learned that love for what I do and the courage to leave the old behind are the keys to true peace and meaning."
With the sound of light rain hitting the window, Aiden closed his journal, turned off the light, and gazed at the night sky. Behind the darkness, a small light within him shone—the difficult test had been passed, and a future full of hope awaited.