The thrill of passing the trial lingered with Carlos as he walked home, Chico bouncing lightly at his feet. Herrera's words echoed in his mind: "This is only the beginning."
Carlos had expected to feel victorious, but instead, unease shadowed his steps. The mysterious warning text, Navarro's caution, and the figure watching from the edge of the field haunted him. What had he gotten himself into?
The next morning, Carlos was summoned to Herrera's office, a sleek and imposing space in the heart of San Azura. Glass walls offered a panoramic view of the city, and the room was filled with framed jerseys and trophies from Atlético Gran Rey legends. Herrera sat behind a polished desk, exuding an air of authority.
"Carlos, welcome," Herrera said, gesturing for him to sit. "You've earned your place, but now the real work begins. I've arranged for you to join the junior academy full-time. Training will be intense, but the rewards will be worth it."
Carlos nodded, trying to suppress the overwhelming mixture of excitement and apprehension. "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down."
Herrera's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I know you won't. But understand this—success isn't just about skill. It's about discipline, loyalty, and knowing who to trust."
The last word hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Carlos shifted uncomfortably but managed to hold Herrera's gaze.
"I'll do whatever it takes," Carlos said, his voice steady.
"Good," Herrera replied, handing Carlos a folder. "Inside, you'll find your schedule and a list of expectations. Study it carefully."
As Carlos left the office, his grip on the folder tightened. This was everything he'd worked for, yet Herrera's words left him uneasy.
Over the next week, Carlos threw himself into the academy's rigorous training program. Early mornings started with fitness drills, followed by hours of technical training and tactical lessons. The academy players were the best he'd ever seen—sharp, fast, and relentless.
Carlos struggled to keep up at first, but his determination pushed him through. Slowly, he began to find his place. He earned the respect of his peers with his creativity and flair, but not everyone welcomed him warmly.
Miguel, the academy's star striker, took every opportunity to remind Carlos of his place.
"You're just a street kid," Miguel sneered after a scrimmage. "Don't think one good trial makes you special."
Carlos bit back a retort, letting his actions speak for him. During their next match, he delivered a perfect assist that left Miguel stunned.
One evening, as Carlos rested in the dormitory, his phone buzzed. It was another anonymous message:
"Herrera isn't your ally. Watch your back."
Carlos frowned, staring at the screen. Who was sending these warnings? And why? Before he could think further, his roommate Mateo spoke up.
"Everything okay, Carlos?" Mateo asked, setting down his book.
"Yeah," Carlos replied, slipping the phone into his pocket. "Just... tired."
Mateo nodded, but his concerned expression lingered.
The following day, Herrera called Carlos into his office again. This time, the atmosphere felt different. Herrera's sharp gaze seemed to pierce through him.
"You're doing well, Carlos," Herrera said, leaning back in his chair. "But I've been hearing things—whispers that you're receiving... outside interference."
Carlos' heart skipped a beat. "I don't know what you mean."
Herrera's smile was cold. "Let me be clear. In this world, loyalty is everything. Betray me, and you'll regret it."
Carlos nodded, his throat dry.
That night, Carlos couldn't sleep. The pressure was suffocating, and the anonymous warnings played on repeat in his mind. Who was telling the truth? Was Herrera the mentor he needed—or the danger Navarro had warned him about?
As dawn broke, Carlos made a decision. He needed answers. And the only way to find them was to confront whoever was sending the messages.
When his phone buzzed again later that day with a new warning—"Meet me at the old train yard tonight. Come alone."—Carlos knew this was his chance.
Clutching Chico tightly, Carlos whispered, "I hope this isn't a mistake."
The train yard was eerily quiet under the dim light of the moon. Rusted tracks crisscrossed the ground, and the shadows of abandoned cars loomed like silent sentinels. Carlos felt a chill as he stepped into the heart of the yard, his ears straining for any sound.
"Carlos."
The voice came from the shadows, low and firm. A figure emerged—a man in his mid-thirties, wearing a worn jacket and a serious expression. Carlos recognized him as the man from the trial.
"Who are you?" Carlos asked, keeping his distance.
"My name is Javier," the man replied. "I used to work for Herrera. I know what he's capable of, and I know the trap you're walking into."
Carlos tensed. "Trap? What do you mean?"
Javier sighed. "Herrera doesn't care about you. He uses players like pawns—promises them the world, then abandons them when they're no longer useful. I've seen it happen too many times."
Carlos' mind raced. Was this man telling the truth, or was he trying to manipulate him?
"Why should I believe you?" Carlos asked, his voice steady.
Javier stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. "Because I was you once. A young player with dreams, blinded by ambition. I'm trying to save you from making the same mistakes I did."
Carlos looked down at Chico, his heart torn. If Javier was right, his dream might cost more than he was willing to pay.
"Think carefully, Carlos," Javier said before turning to leave. "The choice is yours—but once you're in Herrera's world, getting out won't be easy."
As the man disappeared into the night, Carlos stood alone in the train yard, his thoughts a whirlwind of doubt and fear.
Returning to the dormitory, Carlos sat on his bed, staring at the folder Herrera had given him. The weight of his choices pressed heavily on his shoulders.
What would he do now?