Valle Sol, Spain – The Morning of Departure
The morning sun spilled through the windows of the Cortez family's modest apartment, painting the walls with soft, golden light. Alvaro sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the packed duffel bag resting by his feet. The excitement that had fueled him since Mateo Herrera's offer was now mingled with a heavy sense of finality.
Today, he was leaving Valle Sol.
"Alvaro, breakfast is ready!" his mother, Elena, called from the kitchen.
Snapping out of his thoughts, he stood and grabbed the bag, slinging it over his shoulder.
The kitchen smelled of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread. Elena had gone out of her way to prepare Alvaro's favorite—pan con tomate and churros. Sitting at the small table were his father, Roberto, and his younger brother, Mateo, who bounced in his seat with barely contained energy.
"Are you excited, hermano?" Mateo asked, his wide eyes gleaming. "You're going to train with the best players in Spain!"
Alvaro smiled faintly. "I am. But I'll miss you guys."
"Don't get soft on us now," Roberto joked, though his voice carried an undertone of emotion.
Elena wiped her hands on a towel, sitting across from Alvaro. "We're proud of you, mi hijo. But remember, you have to visit us when you've break, okay?."
"I know, Mamá," Alvaro replied, his voice steady.
The family ate in relative silence, the air heavy with unspoken feelings.
---
After breakfast, Alvaro stepped out into the warm morning air. Luis and a few friends were waiting by the dusty field where they had spent countless afternoons playing football.
"This is weird," Luis said, scratching the back of his head. "You're really leaving, huh?"
"Just for now," Alvaro replied. "I'll visit when I can."
Carlos smirked. "You'd better. Otherwise, who's going to carry our team?"
The group laughed, but the mood quickly turned somber.
"Take this seriously, Alvaro," Luis said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "You've got the talent to make it, but this isn't going to be easy."
"I know," Alvaro said, looking at Luis with resolution in his eyes. "I'll give it everything, Remember this was my dream."
Before leaving, Alvaro walked to the center of the dirt field, running his fingers over the worn ball they always used. It felt like a part of him was staying behind.
As Alvaro turned to leave, Luis pulled something out of his bag—a small medallion on a simple cord.
"This was my dad's," Luis said, placing it in Alvaro's hand. "He used to say it brought him luck. You'll need it more than me."
Alvaro said, nodding. "Thanks, Luis. I'll take care of it."." Hope it give me an edge." He said smiling.
With that, he turned and walked away, not daring to look back.
---
The bus station in Valle Sol was small, just a single platform with a faded canopy. Roberto stood beside Alvaro, his hand resting on his son's shoulder.
"You've got this," Roberto said, his voice low. "Just remember why you're doing it."
Alvaro nodded, gripping the strap of his bag tightly.
When the bus finally pulled up, Elena embraced Alvaro tightly, her tears soaking into his shirt. "Take care, mi hijo. Be strong."
"I will, Mamá," he whispered, holding her just as tightly.
As the bus rumbled away, Alvaro pressed his forehead against the window, watching his family grow smaller and smaller until they disappeared entirely.
The ride to Madrid was long and uneventful, the scenery shifting from rolling hills to urban sprawl. Alvaro tried to focus on the excitement of what lay ahead, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Valle Sol.
He pulled out the medallion Luis had given him, running his fingers over the smooth surface.
"This is it," he thought. "No turning back now."
When the bus pulled into the station near La Fragua, Alvaro felt his stomach tighten. A sleek black car was waiting for him, and a man in a neatly pressed suit stepped out, holding a clipboard.
"Alvaro Cortez?" the man asked.
"Yes," Alvaro replied, his voice quiet.
"I'm Miguel Santos, academy coordinator. Welcome to La Fragua."
The drive to the academy was short but surreal. As the gates of La Fragua came into view, Alvaro's breath caught. The sprawling facility was a world apart from the dusty field of Valle Sol. Immaculate pitches stretched as far as the eye could see, flanked by modern buildings bearing the crest of Blanco Royal FC.
"This is where many legends are made," Miguel said, noticing Alvaro's awestruck expression.
Stepping out of the car, Alvaro was greeted by the distant sound of whistles and shouts from ongoing training sessions. Boys his age, dressed in crisp white kits, sprinted across the pristine fields with a precision and intensity that made his heart race.
"Follow me," Miguel said, leading Alvaro toward the main building.
Inside, the halls buzzed with activity. Coaches barked instructions, staff moved purposefully, and the walls were lined with photos of Blanco Royal legends—Zidan Khalif among them.
"This will be your dormitory," Miguel said, opening a door to a small but tidy room. "You'll meet your roommate later. For now, get settled. Training starts tomorrow at 6 a.m. sharp."
Once Miguel left, Alvaro sat on the edge of the neatly made bed, staring out the window at the sprawling pitches below.
The reality of what he had chosen was finally sinking in. He had left behind everything he knew for this chance—a chance to turn his dream into reality.
"This is just the beginning," he whispered.
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