The locker room buzzed with energy as the players celebrated their 2-0 victory. Alvaro sat quietly amidst the chaos, a small but proud smile on his face. His first tournament match with La Fragua had been a success, but he knew there was no time to rest on his laurels.
Later that evening, back in his dorm room, Alvaro picked up his phone and dialed home. The call connected quickly, and Mateo's voice burst through the line with anticipation and excitement.
"Alvaro! Did you score? Did you win?"
Alvaro chuckled. "Yes, We won 2-0. I got an assist and a goal."
"¡Increíble!" Mateo shouted, his excitement palpable. "I told everyone in Valle Sol that my brother would score!"
Elena's voice came next, her tone warm and soothing. "We're so proud of you, mi hijo. You worked so hard for this."
"Gracias, Mamá," Alvaro replied, his voice softening. "It felt… incredible."
Roberto chimed in. "Enjoy the moment, Alvaro, but remember—it isn't over, That's just the first step. Stay focused and keep working hard."
"I will, Papá," Alvaro said,with a confident tone. "If we make it to the final, you'll come, right?"
"We wouldn't miss it for the world," Elena promised.
The call ended with a surge of warmth and determination filling Alvaro's chest. This was for them—for everything they had sacrificed for him.
---
The morning after the match, the team gathered on the training pitch under a soft, overcast sky. Coach Martinez had kept his word—today's session was focused on recovery.
"Light jogs, stretching, and some ball work," Martinez announced as the players warmed up. "Nothing intense. Let your bodies recover so we can push harder tomorrow."
The atmosphere was relaxed, with players exchanging playful banter as they passed the ball around in small groups.
"Not bad for your first tournament match, Cortez," Diego said, nudging Alvaro with his elbow. "Think you'll top it in the quarters?"
"I'll try," Alvaro replied with a faint smile. "But it'll take more than luck."
Diego laughed. "With Martinez pushing us, we'll need it."
The session ended with a series of light stretches, and Martinez gathered the team for a brief talk.
"You all played well yesterday," he said, his tone measured. "But the quarterfinals will be tougher. Use today to rest and recover—we'll be stepping it up tomorrow."
The next day's training was relentless. Martinez pushed the players through high-intensity drills, focusing on quick transitions, defensive organization, and finishing under pressure.
Alvaro worked tirelessly, his body straining as he sprinted, tackled, and passed with precision. But throughout the session, one moment from the previous match lingered in his mind—his missed free kick.
"Why are you so distracted?" Diego asked during a water break.
"That free kick," Alvaro admitted, shaking his head. "It could've been a goal."
Diego shrugged. "It was close. You'll get the next one."
After the main session ended, Alvaro stayed behind on the pitch, a bag of balls at his feet. Setting up one near the edge of the penalty area, he visualized the missed shot from the match.
"Focus," he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath.
He struck the ball cleanly, sending it curling toward the top corner. It clipped the crossbar and bounced out, drawing a frustrated groan from Alvaro.
Over and over, he practiced, adjusting his angle and technique until the ball sailed cleanly into the net. By the time he finished, the sun was dipping low on the horizon, and his legs ached with exhaustion.
---
The day before the quarterfinal arrived, and the training session was deliberately light. Martinez had the team run simple passing drills, followed by tactical exercises to reinforce their formation and strategy.
"Save your energy for tomorrow," Martinez reminded them as they wrapped up the session.
That evening, the players gathered in the tactical room, where Martinez stood beside a large screen displaying footage of their quarterfinal opponent: Roca Juniors Academy.
"Alright, pay attention," Martinez began, his tone sharp. "This is where the tournament gets serious. Roca Juniors are no pushovers—they're fast, aggressive, and they play with confidence."
He clicked the remote, showing clips of Roca's recent matches.
"Their striker, Pedro Alvarez, is their main threat. He's quick, technical, and a nightmare in one-on-one situations. Defenders, keep him under control. Don't give him space to turn or shoot."
The screen shifted to a shot of Roca's midfield.
"They rely heavily on their captain, Luis Moreno. He's their playmaker, and most of their attacks go through him. Midfielders, stick to him like glue. Cut off his passing lanes, and they'll struggle to create chances."
Martinez clicked again, revealing a diagram of Roca's defensive line.
"Their fullbacks are aggressive—they push high up the pitch, leaving gaps behind them. Wingers, exploit those spaces. Cortez," he said, turning to Alvaro, "your job is to combine with Diego and release the wingers quickly on the counter. Be sharp and decisive."
He paused, letting the players absorb the information.
"Key points: stay compact, transition quickly, and punish their mistakes. If we play as a team, we can beat them."
Finally, Martinez revealed the lineup, listing the starters and substitutes. Alvaro felt a surge of pride as his name was called once again.
"Get some rest," Martinez concluded. "Tomorrow, we show them what La Fragua is made of."
---
Back in his dorm room, Alvaro sat on the edge of his bed. The tactical meeting had been thorough, and he felt prepared, but the pressure of the tournament weighed heavily on his mind.
Taking a deep breath, he whispered to himself, "One step at a time, This is necessary to play in Blanco Royal." Thinking about his future, Playing in the team where his idol played gave him happiness.
With that, he lay down, letting the anticipation of the quarterfinal carry him into a restless sleep. 'Hope tomorrow will be a beautiful day' he thought before drifting to his dreams.
---