Carlos barely slept after the encounter at the train yard. Javier's words echoed in his mind: "Once you're in Herrera's world, getting out won't be easy." Was he truly walking into a trap? Or was this all some elaborate scheme to scare him off?
The next day at the academy, Carlos went through training on autopilot. Even as he worked on passing drills and scrimmages, his focus wavered. Miguel, sensing weakness, took every opportunity to target him.
"Hey, Vargas," Miguel sneered after a particularly rough challenge. "Maybe you should stick to playing with your pet ball. This isn't the streets anymore."
Carlos clenched his fists but stayed silent. He couldn't afford to let Miguel's taunts distract him—not with so much else on his mind.
Later that evening, Carlos found himself in the park where it all began. The dusty field, the worn-out goalposts, the memories of countless hours spent practicing with Chico—it felt like another life now.
Navarro was there, setting up cones for his younger trainees. When he saw Carlos, his expression softened.
"Carlos, what brings you here?" Navarro asked, his tone concerned.
Carlos hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. But the weight of his thoughts was too heavy to carry alone. He explained everything—the trial, the anonymous messages, Javier's warning.
Navarro listened intently, his face growing more serious with each word. When Carlos finished, the coach let out a heavy sigh.
"I was afraid of this," Navarro said. "Herrera's reputation precedes him. He's a man who values power above all else. If you succeed, he'll profit from your talent. But if you falter…" Navarro shook his head. "He'll move on without a second thought."
Carlos stared at the ground, his chest tightening. "What should I do, Coach? This was supposed to be my dream."
Navarro placed a hand on his shoulder. "Dreams are worth chasing, Carlos, but not at any cost. If you stay, you'll need to be cautious—protect yourself and your values. If you leave, there will be other opportunities, but it'll be a harder road."
Carlos nodded, feeling no closer to a decision.
The next few days passed in a blur. Carlos pushed himself harder than ever in training, desperate to prove he belonged. His performance improved, earning grudging respect from Miguel and the other players.
But the warnings continued. Another message arrived on his phone one evening: "Herrera is already watching you. Be careful what you choose."
Carlos stared at the words, frustration boiling over. He felt like a pawn in a game he didn't understand, caught between conflicting loyalties and his own ambition.
One afternoon, during a team meeting, Herrera entered the room, his presence commanding as always.
"Gentlemen," Herrera began, "we have an opportunity to showcase our talent. Next week, Atlético Gran Rey's senior scouts will be watching your scrimmage. This is your chance to stand out—to show you belong in the professional ranks."
The room buzzed with excitement, but Carlos felt a knot tighten in his stomach. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, but it also meant the stakes had never been higher.
After the meeting, Herrera pulled Carlos aside.
"You've been doing well," Herrera said, his voice low. "I see potential in you, but potential means nothing without results. Show the scouts why you deserve to be here—or don't bother showing up at all."
Carlos nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I'll be ready."
As the week went on, Carlos devoted every waking moment to preparation. He stayed late after practice, running drills and reviewing game footage. He wanted to prove himself—not just to Herrera and the scouts, but to Javier, Navarro, and himself.
The night before the scrimmage, Carlos sat alone in his dorm, staring at Chico.
"This is it," he whispered. "This is our chance."
But as he lay in bed, sleep eluded him. Doubts crept in, gnawing at his confidence. What if Javier was right? What if succeeding here meant losing himself?
The day of the scrimmage arrived, and the tension in the air was palpable. The stands were filled with academy staff, scouts, and even a few reporters. Herrera stood on the sidelines, his sharp gaze fixed on the players.
Carlos took a deep breath as he stepped onto the field. The sun was bright, the grass freshly cut, and the roar of the crowd reminded him why he loved this game.
From the first whistle, the match was intense. The opposing team, led by Miguel, came out strong, pressing hard and testing their defense. Carlos struggled to find his rhythm at first, but his determination kept him going.
Midway through the first half, an opportunity arose. Carlos intercepted a pass near midfield, sprinting past two defenders with Chico-like control. He spotted Miguel making a run and hesitated for a split second.
Would Miguel take the credit for the goal? Did it matter?
Shoving aside his doubts, Carlos delivered a perfect through ball. Miguel's strike was clinical, and the crowd erupted in cheers.
"Nice pass, Vargas," Miguel muttered grudgingly as they jogged back to position.
By the second half, Carlos was in his element. He orchestrated plays, linked up with his teammates, and even scored a goal of his own. When the final whistle blew, their team had won 4-2.
As the players gathered on the field, Herrera approached Carlos, his expression unreadable.
"You've impressed me today," Herrera said. "The scouts have taken notice. But remember—this is just the beginning. The real challenges lie ahead."
Carlos nodded, his chest swelling with pride and apprehension.
Later, as he left the field, his phone buzzed once again. This time, the message was different: "You played well, but don't forget—every choice has consequences."
Carlos stopped in his tracks, the weight of the words sinking in. As much as he wanted to celebrate his victory, the road ahead felt more uncertain than ever.
Looking at Chico, he murmured, "What do we do now?"