Chapter 5: A Mysterious Offer
Carlos stared at the sleek black card in his hand, his pulse quickening. The name "Emilio Herrera" glinted in bold, silver lettering under the sunlight. He flipped it over, but there was no other information apart from a phone number. Who was this man? And why had he singled Carlos out?
The sound of Chico thumping softly against his foot brought him back to reality. He tucked the card into his pocket and jogged home, his mind racing with possibilities. As much as he wanted answers, a gnawing uncertainty held him back. His mamá always warned him about strangers with grand promises.
By the time he reached the door of their cramped apartment, he'd decided to keep the card a secret for now.
The next morning, Carlos arrived at the park early, eager for his next training session with Navarro. But even as he focused on his drills, his thoughts drifted to the mysterious man. Each kick of Chico brought a new question. Did Herrera represent a professional club? Could this be the opportunity Carlos had dreamed of?
"Carlos! You're spacing out again!" Navarro's voice snapped him back to attention.
"Sorry, Coach," Carlos muttered, setting Chico down for the next drill.
Navarro studied him for a moment, then called for a water break. As Carlos sipped from his bottle, the coach approached.
"You've been distracted since yesterday. Something on your mind?" Navarro asked.
Carlos hesitated, his fingers brushing against the card in his pocket. Finally, he pulled it out and handed it to Navarro. The coach examined it carefully, his expression unreadable.
"Where'd you get this?" Navarro asked, his tone cautious.
"After the scrimmage yesterday," Carlos explained. "A man gave it to me. Said he's been watching me and that I have potential."
Navarro's brow furrowed. "Emilio Herrera... I've heard that name before. He's connected to Atlético Gran Rey."
Carlos' eyes widened. Atlético Gran Rey was one of the biggest clubs in the country, renowned for producing world-class players.
"But listen," Navarro continued, his tone serious. "Herrera's not someone you deal with lightly. He's a talent scout, yes, but he's also known for being ruthless. If you're not ready, he'll chew you up and spit you out."
Carlos felt a chill run down his spine. He'd never considered the risks of chasing his dream so blindly. "What should I do?"
Navarro sighed. "That's up to you, kid. If you want to pursue this, you'll need to prove to him—and yourself—that you're ready. But know this: if you call that number, there's no turning back."
Carlos nodded, gripping the card tightly.
That evening, Carlos sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his old flip phone. He'd thought about little else all day. This could be his chance to rise above the dusty courtyard, to make something of himself for his mamá. But what if Navarro was right? What if he wasn't ready?
With trembling fingers, he dialed the number.
The phone rang twice before a deep, smooth voice answered. "Emilio Herrera."
Carlos' voice wavered. "Uh, hi. This is Carlos Vargas. You gave me your card yesterday."
There was a pause, then Herrera's voice softened. "Ah, Carlos. I was hoping you'd call. Tell me, are you ready to take your first step toward greatness?"
Carlos swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Meet me tomorrow at 9 a.m., Hotel Palacio. Don't be late."
Before Carlos could respond, the line went dead.
The next morning, Carlos felt like a bundle of nerves as he stood outside the grand Hotel Palacio. The gleaming facade and revolving doors were a far cry from the modest streets of San Azura. Clutching Chico for comfort, he took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Herrera was waiting in the lounge, dressed sharply in a tailored suit. He motioned for Carlos to sit, his piercing gaze assessing him.
"Carlos," Herrera began, "I see raw talent in you. But talent alone won't get you to the top. I'm offering you a chance to join Atlético Gran Rey's junior academy. You'll train with the best, but it won't be easy. The competition is fierce, and only the strongest survive."
Carlos felt his heart soar. This was it—his dream within reach. But Herrera's next words brought him crashing back down.
"Before I recommend you, you'll need to pass a trial match against some of our academy's best players. Prove to me you can hold your own, and I'll open the door to your future."
"When is the trial?" Carlos asked, his determination outweighing his nerves.
"Two weeks from now," Herrera replied. "Prepare well, because failure is not an option."
As Carlos left the hotel, the weight of what lay ahead settled on his shoulders. Two weeks to prove he belonged. Two weeks to show Herrera—and himself—that he had what it took.
Looking down at Chico, he whispered, "We've got work to do, buddy."
Just as Carlos began his preparations, an unexpected message arrived on his phone: "Be careful. Herrera isn't who you think he is."