The gym was buzzing with post-practice exhaustion. Players wiped sweat from their faces, some stretching, others gulping down water. It had been another brutal session, the kind that left their legs heavy and their lungs burning.
Coach Thompson stood near the whiteboard, arms crossed, waiting for everyone to settle. When he spoke, his voice was calm but firm, carrying the weight of something important.
"Listen up. You've trained hard, you've built chemistry, but training only tells me so much. It's time to see what you can do in a real match. Starting this weekend, we're entering the local friendly tournament."
For a second, silence.
Then, a murmur rippled through the team. Some players grinned, others exchanged excited glances, and a few straightened up, eyes sharp with focus.
Marco, standing near Alex, nodded slightly. Finally.
Coach held up two fingers. "Two group-stage matches. Top team advances to the final. No excuses, no second chances. You want to prove yourselves? Here's your shot."
Kai exhaled, rolling his shoulders like he was already feeling the pressure. David smirked. Miguel, standing near the back, clenched his fists, determination flickering in his eyes.
"We don't go into games blind," Coach continued. "Westfield High is our first opponent. They're physical, they press hard, and they don't let up. If you think you can win just by showing up, you're dead wrong."
A few players exchanged looks. They had heard of Westfield before. Tough, well-coached, hard to break down. This wasn't going to be easy.
"That means this week, we train with purpose," Coach said. "No wasted movements, no lazy passes. Everything we do prepares us for Saturday."
The excitement was still there, but now it had an edge of tension. This wasn't just another scrimmage. This was a test.
Preparation Begins
The next morning, the real work started.
The team gathered around the whiteboard as Coach Thompson laid out their formation.
Marco and Alex would control the midfield, setting the rhythm and covering ground.
David would lead the attack, with Kai playing behind him, looking for gaps.
The defense, led by Carlos and Zain, had to stay compact, organized, and ready for Westfield's aggressive pressing.
"We don't panic when they press," Coach instructed. "We play smart, move the ball quickly, and trust each other."
Easier said than done.
The next few practices were filled with relentless drills.
Corner kicks. Miguel barking orders, commanding his box.
Defensive walls. Players gritting their teeth as shots hammered toward them.
Free kicks. David curling shots toward the top corner, Diego stretching to tip them wide.
Repetition. Adjustment. Improvement.
By the end of the week, things were clicking.
Through it all, Marco found himself taking charge more than ever before.
During a passing drill, when the midfield struggled to connect, he stopped the drill himself.
"We're rushing it," he said. "Take an extra second if you need to. Move into space before calling for it."
Coach Thompson watched, arms crossed, but said nothing. He wanted to see if Marco could handle it.
Slowly, the drill improved. Players adjusted. The passes sharpened. The movement became cleaner.
After practice, Alex nudged Marco as they grabbed water bottles. "Look at you, captain material."
Marco chuckled. "Shut up and drink your water."
But deep down, he felt it too.
By Friday, the mood in the locker room had shifted.
The nervous energy was still there, but something else had settled in too—confidence.
Players had pushed through exhaustion, sharpened their skills, and started believing in each other.
As they packed up after the last practice before the match, Coach Thompson walked through the locker room, stopping at the door.
"Tomorrow, we see what you're made of."
The door swung shut behind him.
The room was silent for a beat.
Then David stretched, cracking his knuckles. "Guess we better make sure we don't suck, huh?"
A few laughs. A few nods.
Marco exhaled, rolling his shoulders. Tomorrow, it all began.