Valle Sol, Spain – A Small Suburb, 2005
The cicadas hummed in the dry heat as a dozen kids chased a worn, leather ball on a dirt field in Valle Sol, a quiet suburb near Madrid. Among them, 10-year-old Alvaro Cortez moved with a grace far beyond his years. Small but agile, he darted between defenders, the ball glued to his feet.
"Pass it, Alvaro!" Luis, his older cousin, shouted from the sidelines.
But Alvaro didn't. Instead, he feinted left, leaving his closest marker in the dust, and unleashed a curling shot that bounced off the makeshift goalpost—a crooked frame of iron rods.
Luis laughed. "Still trying to copy Zidan Khalif, huh?"
Alvaro grinned as he retrieved the ball. He idolized Zidan, the former captain of Blanco Royal FC. Every night, Alvaro replayed Zidan's famous moments in his mind—his pinpoint passes, his unshakable composure, and his legendary performances for the national team.
"I'll pass when they're open," Alvaro quipped.
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Later that evening, Alvaro sat cross-legged on the cool tile floor of his family's small living room, polishing his scuffed boots with meticulous care. His parents, Elena and Roberto Cortez, sat nearby, finishing their modest dinner.
"You'll wear those boots out one day, hijo," Roberto said with a laugh.
"If I don't practice, I won't make it to Blanco Royal," Alvaro replied, his voice steady.
Elena chuckled. "Let the boy dream, Roberto. He has your stubbornness and my passion. A dangerous mix."
"I'll play for Blanco Royal," Alvaro said with quiet determination. "One day, I'll walk out of El Monumento wearing their jersey, and you'll both be there to see it."
Roberto's smile softened. He recognized the fire in his son's eyes.
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The following morning, Alvaro joined Luis and their neighborhood friends for a youth tournament in the nearby park. The event wasn't grand—just a handful of scrappy teams and parents sitting on plastic chairs—but for Alvaro, it felt like the final of the Champions Crown.
His team played brilliantly, with Alvaro orchestrating every move. He scored twice, assisted another, and dazzled the crowd with his skill.He was like a little maestro in the making.
Unbeknownst to Alvaro, a man in his forties stood at the edge of the field, watching intently.He was like a camera, absorbing everything he needed.Dressed sharply in a white polo, he jotted notes on his clipboard, occasionally glancing up to observe the wiry boy with the quick feet. His name was Mateo Herrera, a junior scout for Blanco Royal FC, tasked with identifying young talents for their world-famous academy, The Forge.
By the final whistle, Alvaro's team had won 4-1, with him playing a pivotal role. The kids erupted into cheers, but Alvaro's focus remained calm. He walked over to the opposing goalkeeper, offering his hand.
"Good game," Alvaro said earnestly looking at the dejected keeper.
Mateo Herrera smiled. "Humility, too," he muttered.
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As the players began to disperse, Mateo approached Roberto Cortez, who stood smiling proudly on the sidelines.
"Señor Cortez?" Mateo asked, extending his hand.
Roberto hesitated, unsure who this man was. "Yes, that's me. What's this about?"
"I'm Mateo Herrera, a scout for Blanco Royal FC. I've been watching your son play, and I believe he has the potential to join our academy, The Forge."
Roberto blinked in disbelief. "The Forge? Are you serious?"
"Very," Mateo replied. "We'd like to invite him for a trial. If he succeeds, he'll join one of the best youth programs in the world."
Roberto's initial excitement gave way to caution. "Our family… we're not wealthy. We can't afford something like this."
Mateo shook his head. "Expenses will be covered if he makes it through. The Forge invests in its players."
At that moment, Alvaro jogged over, his boots slung over his shoulder. He glanced between his father and the stranger with confusion.
"Papa, who is this?" Alvaro asked.
Roberto turned to meet his son's curious gaze. "This is someone who thinks you're good enough to play for Blanco Royal."
Alvaro's eyes widened. "Blanco Royal? You mean—"
Mateo nodded with a kind smile. "Yes, Alvaro. The academy where Zidan Khalif started his journey."
Alvaro's heart raced. This was it—the opportunity he had dreamed of.
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