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Chapter 2: A Scout in the Shadows
Santiago stood in the center of the makeshift pitch, sweat dripping down his face, his chest heaving with exhaustion. The crowd was dispersing now, kids chattering animatedly about the game they had just witnessed. But Santi wasn't listening. He turned his gaze toward the edge of the lot, where his brother Javier lingered with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
Javier's eyes darted nervously toward the alley where Rafa had disappeared moments ago. "You shouldn't have done that, hermano," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Done what?" Santi shot back, picking up his scuffed ball. "Win? What was I supposed to do, let him crush me?"
"You don't get it," Javier hissed, stepping closer. His voice dropped to a whisper. "People like Rafa don't take losing lightly. You might've embarrassed him in front of everyone, but he won't forget this. And neither will his boss."
Santi frowned, gripping the ball tighter. He wasn't afraid of Rafa, but the mention of Rafa's "boss" sent a chill down his spine. He knew what Javier meant: Emilio Vargas, the man who ran half the neighborhood. Rafa might have been the muscle, but Vargas was the one pulling the strings—and Santi had just made his enforcer look like a fool.
"I'll deal with it," Santi said quietly, but Javier just shook his head and walked off.
Santi sighed, watching his brother disappear into the maze of narrow streets. As he turned to leave, he felt a strange sensation, like someone was watching him. He scanned the crowd but saw nothing unusual—just a few stragglers lingering around the lot. He shrugged it off and started heading home, his bare feet slapping against the hot asphalt.
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The Delgado household was a cramped two-room apartment on the third floor of a crumbling building. The walls were peeling, and the air was heavy with the smell of fried plantains from the neighbors' kitchen. Santi sat at the small wooden table, staring at the plate of rice and beans in front of him. His mother, Rosa, was bustling around the kitchen, her apron dusted with flour.
"You're quiet tonight," Rosa said, glancing at him.
"Just tired," Santi replied, poking at his food with his fork.
Rosa frowned but didn't press him. She was used to her youngest son's moods. Instead, she turned her attention to the radio on the counter, which was playing highlights from a recent Primera División match.
"…and with that stunning goal, River Plate secures their place at the top of the table!" the announcer exclaimed.
Santi couldn't help but smile faintly. He had grown up idolizing players like Juanfer Quintero and Lionel Messi, dreaming of one day playing on pitches like the Monumental. But dreams like that felt impossibly far away, especially now.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"I'll get it," Rosa said, wiping her hands on her apron. She opened the door to reveal a middle-aged man in a neatly pressed suit. He had slicked-back hair, a thin mustache, and an air of quiet authority.
"Buenas noches," the man said, his voice smooth. "I'm looking for Santiago Delgado."
Rosa's brow furrowed. "What's this about?"
The man smiled politely. "I'm not here to cause trouble, señora. My name is Carlos Benitez, and I'm a scout for Club Atlético Lanús. I happened to be in the area today and saw your son play."
Santi's fork clattered onto his plate. He stared at the man in disbelief.
"You…you saw me?" he stammered.
"I did," Carlos said, stepping into the apartment. "And I'll be honest with you—I've seen a lot of raw talent in my time, but what I saw today was something special. You've got speed, control, creativity…skills you don't see every day, especially not on a street pitch like that."
Rosa crossed her arms, skeptical. "And what do you want with him?"
Carlos chuckled. "I'd like to offer him a trial at our youth academy. Lanús is always on the lookout for promising players, and I think Santiago has what it takes to succeed."
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Santi felt like the air had been knocked out of him. A trial? At a professional club? It was everything he had ever dreamed of, but it also felt surreal.
"You're serious?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Very serious," Carlos replied. "But I'll warn you—it won't be easy. The competition is fierce, and most players don't make it past the first week. But if you're willing to work hard, this could be the opportunity of a lifetime."
Rosa's expression softened as she glanced at her son. She knew how much football meant to him, but she also knew how unforgiving the world could be.
"And what does this cost?" she asked warily.
Carlos shook his head. "Nothing, señora. If Santiago proves himself, the club covers all expenses—housing, training, everything. But he'll have to earn his spot."
Santi's mind was racing. This was it. This was his chance to escape the slums, to make something of himself. But then he thought of Rafa and Vargas. If he left, would they come after Javier?
"I…I need time to think about it," he said finally.
Carlos nodded, unfazed. "Take the night to decide. I'll be at the bus station tomorrow morning at eight. If you're serious, be there."
With that, he handed Santi a business card and tipped his hat to Rosa. "Have a good evening, señora. And Santiago—think carefully. Talent like yours shouldn't go to waste."
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After Carlos left, Santi sat in silence, staring at the card in his hand. His mother placed a hand on his shoulder.
"It's your choice, mijo," she said gently. "But whatever you decide, I'm proud of you."
Santi nodded, though he didn't feel proud. He felt conflicted. Could he really leave his family behind? Could he risk making himself an even bigger target for Vargas's men?
He lay awake that night, staring at the cracked ceiling, the scout's words echoing in his mind: Talent like yours shouldn't go to waste.
By the time dawn broke, he had made his decision.
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End of Chapter 2