Carlos woke up the next morning feeling an odd mix of pride and unease. The scrimmage had been a success, but the cryptic messages and Javier's warnings loomed over him like dark clouds. Herrera's praise had been brief but impactful, and whispers of his performance had already spread through the academy.
Still, the message he received after the game haunted him: "Every choice has consequences."
Carlos couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him.
Training that day was grueling. The coaches pushed the players to their limits, clearly expecting more now that scouts had taken notice. Miguel, for once, had dropped his sneering comments, focusing instead on keeping pace with Carlos during drills.
"Don't think you've won me over, Vargas," Miguel muttered during a water break. "But yesterday… you earned your spot."
Carlos nodded, surprised but appreciative of the begrudging respect.
As the session wrapped up, Herrera called Carlos aside.
"I've arranged a special opportunity for you," Herrera said, his tone sharp. "There's a private match tomorrow evening—an elite showcase. Only a handful of players are invited, and the stakes are high. You'll be playing against some of the best young talents in the country. If you perform well, doors will open. But if you falter…" He trailed off, his piercing gaze saying everything.
Carlos swallowed hard. "I'll be there."
Herrera nodded, then leaned in slightly. "Remember, Carlos, this is your chance to show you're more than just potential. Make sure you're ready."
That evening, Carlos returned to his dorm room and found a note slipped under his door. The handwriting was unfamiliar, the message brief:
"Be careful tomorrow. Herrera's deals come at a cost."
Carlos crumpled the note, frustration bubbling inside him. The warnings were relentless, but no one would explain what they meant. He was tired of the cryptic messages and half-truths.
He turned to his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found Javier's number.
They met at a small café in the heart of San Azura. Javier greeted Carlos with a firm handshake and a wary look.
"So, you've decided to listen," Javier said, taking a sip of coffee.
"I'm tired of the games," Carlos replied. "If you have something to say, just say it."
Javier leaned back in his chair, studying Carlos for a moment. "Herrera's world isn't about nurturing talent. It's about control. He finds players with potential, builds them up, and then uses them for his gain. Contracts with impossible clauses, promises that come with strings attached—it's all about profit for him."
Carlos frowned. "But isn't that how professional football works? Everyone wants something."
"True," Javier admitted. "But Herrera goes further. He doesn't just want your talent—he wants your loyalty. And if you cross him…" He didn't finish the sentence, letting the implication hang in the air.
Carlos felt a chill run down his spine. "Then why warn me? What's in it for you?"
Javier hesitated, then leaned forward. "I was where you are once. Young, talented, full of dreams. Herrera found me, promised me the world. And for a while, it was great. But when I got injured—when I couldn't deliver anymore—he cut me loose. No support, no second chances. Just gone."
Carlos looked down at his hands. The weight of Javier's story settled heavily on him.
"I can't just walk away," Carlos said finally. "This is my shot."
"I'm not telling you to quit," Javier said. "Just go in with your eyes open. Don't let Herrera own you."
The following evening, Carlos arrived at the private match venue, a sleek indoor arena buzzing with activity. The players warming up on the field exuded confidence, their skill evident even in simple drills.
Herrera greeted Carlos with a rare smile. "Good to see you made it. This is your stage, Carlos. Show them what you're made of."
As the match began, Carlos felt the pressure like never before. The pace was blistering, the players relentless. Every mistake was punished, every hesitation exploited.
But Carlos held his own. He intercepted passes, created chances, and even scored a goal. His training with Navarro and the academy had honed his instincts, and Chico's lessons still guided his touch.
Midway through the second half, he noticed something strange. Two men in suits sat near the sidelines, their eyes never leaving him. They spoke in hushed tones, occasionally glancing at Herrera.
A bad feeling settled in Carlos' gut, but he pushed it aside. Focus. The game came first.
When the final whistle blew, Carlos' team had edged out a narrow victory. Herrera clapped as he approached Carlos.
"Well done," Herrera said, his tone measured. "You've proven you belong."
Carlos nodded, too exhausted to speak. But as Herrera walked away, he noticed the two men approach him. They exchanged a few words, then Herrera gestured toward Carlos.
The men nodded, their expressions unreadable, and left without another word.
Back in his dorm that night, Carlos replayed the game in his mind, trying to ignore the unease creeping into his thoughts. What had Javier said? "Don't let Herrera own you."
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Another message:
"Good performance, but the real test is coming. Be ready."
Carlos stared at the screen, his chest tightening. Whatever he had stepped into, he knew it was deeper than just football. The choices ahead would shape not only his career but his future.
Looking at Chico in the corner of the room, Carlos whispered, "We have to be ready for anything."