Before the sun had even risen over Mexico City, Santiago Cruz was already awake. Not because of an alarm. Not because Felipe had knocked on his door.
But because his mind and body wouldn't let him sleep. Today wasn't just another training session.
Today, he would step onto the field with Club América's first-team prospects; the best young players in the academy. He had spent his life fighting for this moment.
Now, it was here. And he had no intention of wasting it.
Felipe led Santi through the massive Club América training complex in Coapa but today, they weren't heading toward the general training pitches.
Today, they were going to Nido Águila. Santi had heard of it before. The elite youth academy of Club América.
A place where only the best were allowed to train. If you were there, it meant the club believed in you. But belief didn't guarantee survival.
Many players had arrived at Nido Águila thinking they were special but only to be chewed up and sent home. Santi wasn't there to be another name on a list.
He was there to own the field. As they walked toward the entrance, Felipe clapped him on the shoulder.
"This is the deep end, kid," he said. "No more small tests. No more easy drills." Santi nodded. Felipe smirked.
"Let's see if you can swim."
Santi changed into his Club América training gear; a sharp blue and yellow kit with the club's crest stitched onto the chest. As he stepped onto the field, he noticed the intensity immediately.
The players here weren't just talented. They were machines. Even during warm-ups, their touches were clean and their movements sharp.
Some of them had already played for Mexico's U-15 and U-17 national teams. Some had agents waiting for them to turn professional.
And Santi? He was just the new kid. The outsider. And from the way some of them looked at him, he could tell that they didn't think he belonged there.
Good. That just meant he had more people to prove wrong.
Coach Herrera stood at the center of the field, watching as the players finished their drills.
"Listen up," he barked. "We have a new player joining us today."
Santi felt the stares on him. Some neutral. Some unimpressed. Some already decided that they were better than him.
Coach Herrera turned to Santi.
"You're 15, right?" Santi nodded.
Herrera gestured toward a group of 17-year-olds warming up on the far side of the field.
"Good. You'll be training with them today." Santi blinked.
The 17-year-olds? Bigger. Faster. Stronger. That wasn't just a test. It was a trial by fire.
Felipe, standing on the sideline, smirked.
"Welcome to Club América, kid," he muttered under his breath.
The first drill was a high-intensity possession game. A small 5v5 rondo. One-touch passing. If you lost the ball? You switched places with the defenders.
Santi's team had three academy veterans. And one other new player; a quiet, serious-looking midfielder named Nico. Across from them?
Five older players who had been in the system for years. The drill started fast. The ball zipped between players, moving like it was on a string. Santi kept his focus.
A bad first touch there? A second too slow? And he would be exposed. The ball went to him. A defender rushed in, trying to press him aggressively yet Santi didn't panic.
Instead, he let the defender commit, then used a quick body feint, shifting the ball to his other foot and passing cleanly to Nico.
"Nice," Nico muttered. Santi exhaled. He had survived the first touch. But the drill was relentless. The defenders were faster, stronger and smarter than anyone he had faced before.
For the next five minutes, Santi fought to keep up. To keep the ball moving. To not look out of place. Then, his moment came.
The ball went flying toward him, slightly behind his run. A normal player would stop, control and then pass.
But Santi? He adjusted mid-stride and flicked a no-look pass around the pressing defender, splitting the defense completely. Gasps from the sideline.
The assistant coach raised an eyebrow. One of the veterans, a tall striker named Diego, nodded slightly. Not approval. Not yet.
Santiago Cruz stood in the center of the rondo drill, his heart pounding but his mind calm.
He had just pulled off a no-look pass that cut through the pressing defenders and for the first time since stepping onto the pitch, the other players noticed him.
Not respect. Not yet. But at least they were looking.
That was enough for now. Coach Herrera blew the whistle.
"Switch it up!" he called. Santi took a deep breath. The drill was about to get harder.
The next round started immediately but now, the defenders were angry. They had just been embarrassed and they wanted payback.
Santi felt the pressure increase. The game moved even faster. Touches had to be perfect. Decisions had to be instant. A second too slow, and the ball was gone.
The defenders pressed harder, closing gaps quickly as their tackles sharper.
A tall, muscular midfielder named Mateo; one of the veterans, locked eyes with Santi and smirked.
"Let's see what you've got, rookie." The ball came to Santi.
Mateo rushed him, his body language screaming aggression. A challenge was coming. Santi knew it. He could feel it before it even happened.
Instead of taking a normal touch, he let the ball roll past him, using Mateo's own momentum against him.
At the last second, Santi flicked the ball behind his standing leg and executed a smooth La Croqueta.
Mateo lunged but Santi was already gone. The ball moved. The drill continued. But Mateo? He stopped, staring at Santi, eyebrows raised.
A few players chuckled. Coach Herrera smirked. Felipe, watching from the sideline, crossed his arms.
"That's my boy."
By the time the drill ended, Santi's shirt was soaked in sweat. His legs burned. His mind was racing and replaying every moment.
Had he done enough?
Had he proved he belonged?
One of the senior players, Diego, the tall striker who had been watching him closely walked to him.
He didn't say anything at first, just stared. Then, after a long pause.
"You're alright," Diego muttered. Santi exhaled.
Coming from a player who had been at Nido Águila for years, that was the closest thing to a compliment he was going to get. And he'd take it.
Coach Herrera clapped his hands.
"Enough small games," he said. "Let's see how you play for real. Full-field scrimmage."
The real test was about to begin. And Santi? He was ready.
Two teams. Eleven vs. eleven. No restrictions.
This wasn't a drill anymore. This was football. The assistant coach read out the starting lineups. Santi was placed on the second team.
The team filled with newer players, younger players; players still trying to prove themselves. The first team? The academy's best.
The ones who had been playing together for years. The ones already being scouted by professional clubs.
Felipe, standing near the coaching staff nodded.
"They want to see if he can survive." Coach Herrera called for the whistle.
The game began. And Santi immediately understood that this wasn't going to be easy.
The first few minutes were brutal. The first team controlled possession, moving the ball effortlessly and making the second team chase.
Santi barely touched the ball. Every time his team won possession, it was gone in seconds. The difference in quality was clear.
This wasn't a group of good players. This was a team of future professionals. Santi gritted his teeth.
"I need to find a way in."
Ten minutes in, Santi finally got his moment. A loose pass. A mistake. The ball bounced in midfield and Santi pounced.
He sprinted toward it before anyone else could react, intercepting the pass with his outstretched foot. A defender rushed toward him, fast and aggressive.
Santi took a quick touch, then pulled out a sharp body feint, freezing the defender in place. Then, he exploded forward.
A burst of speed. An opening in the defense. Santi looked up. Diego, the tall striker was making a run. Santi didn't hesitate.
A perfectly weighted through-ball, slicing between two defenders, landing exactly where Diego needed it.
Diego took one touch and then blasted it into the top corner. GOOOOOAL!
The assistant coach raised an eyebrow. Felipe grinned.
Diego jogged back, barely looking at Santi before muttering.
"Do that again." Santi nodded.
"I will."
Something changed after that goal. Santi's team started playing through him.
He was no longer just trying to keep up. He was controlling the tempo. Every time he got the ball, he kept it moving.
Every pass was sharp, precise and dangerous. And then, with five minutes left, he got his final chance.
Santi received the ball near the edge of the box.
A defender closed in fast. A big experienced center-back. A second too slow and Santi would get crushed.
But he was ready. A quick first touch. A sharp cut inside. The defender lunged too late.
Santi had already placed the ball perfectly in front of him. One shot. One moment.
Santi hit the ball cleanly. It curled beautifully toward the far post, unstoppable.
The net rippled. The field went silent. Then, cheers. Santi barely had time to celebrate before Diego grabbed him by the shoulder.
"You play like that every day," Diego said, "and you'll survive here."
Santi nodded, chest heaving. "I don't plan on just surviving," he said. Diego smirked. "Good."
When the scrimmage ended, Coach Herrera called the players together. He looked at Santi for a long moment.
"You have a lot to learn," Herrera said. Santi's stomach dropped slightly.
"But," the coach continued, smirking, "you might be worth the time." He turned to Felipe.
"Put him in full-time training. He's staying." Santi exhaled.
He had done it. Step one was complete. But he knew this was only the beginning. The players stood in a loose circle, sweat dripping, chests heaving and legs burning.
The scrimmage had ended, but the intensity in the air hadn't faded.
Coach Herrera slowly paced in front of them, his sharp eyes scanning each player, analyzing and evaluating.
Then, his gaze locked onto Santiago Cruz. Santi straightened, keeping his breathing steady. He could feel the weight of the moment. The judgment. The decision.
Herrera studied him for a long time before finally speaking.
"You have a lot to learn," he said, voice even. Santi felt something tighten in his chest. But he didn't react. Didn't drop his head. Didn't let doubt creep in. He waited.
"But," Herrera continued, smirking slightly, "you might be worth the time."
Santi exhaled. It wasn't a praise. It wasn't a celebration. But it was enough.
Herrera turned to Felipe, nodding.
"Put him in full-time training. He's staying."
A few murmurs rippled through the group. Some players nodded in quiet approval. Others exchanged skeptical glances. Santi felt every single reaction.
Some of them thought he deserved it. Some of them didn't. But it didn't matter. He wasn't there to make friends. He was there to take his place.
As the players jogged off the field toward the locker rooms, Felipe strolled up beside Santi, hands in his pockets, looking as relaxed as ever.
"Well, that was fun," he said casually. Santi let out a short laugh, still catching his breath.
"You knew they were going to throw me in with the older guys, didn't you?" Felipe smirked.
"Of course." Santi shook his head. "Didn't even warn me." Felipe shrugged. "Would it have made a difference?"
Santi thought for a moment. Then, he shook his head. "No." Felipe patted him on the back.
"Then stop complaining. You did what you had to do."
Santi nodded but his mind was already racing. Now that he was in, he had to stay in.
Inside the Nido Águila locker room, the atmosphere was a mix of tension and quiet acceptance.
Players sat on benches, untying boots, hydrating and chatting in low voices. Some ignored Santi completely.
Others threw him quick glances as if still deciding what to think about him.
Then, Diego the tall striker who had scored off Santi's assist walked past, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
"That pass was clean," he said. "Do that every game, and you'll be fine."
Santi nodded. It wasn't friendship. It wasn't full respect. But it was a step.
And in a place like Club América, every step mattered.
Later that night, as Santi sat outside the dorms, staring at the night sky, Felipe joined him. For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then, Felipe broke the silence. "You know today was just the beginning, right?" Santi nodded.
Felipe stretched his legs out, staring at the moon.
"Making it past one training session means nothing here," he continued. "Players have had good days before. Some of them even get lucky and impress the coaches once or twice."
Felipe turned his head, his expression serious. "But staying? That's a different battle." Santi clenched his fists.
"I'm not here to be a one-day wonder." Felipe grinned.
"Good," he said. "Because tomorrow, you train with the starters." Santi blinked.
His heart jumped not in fear, but in excitement. The best of the best. The academy's top players. The ones who were already on the path to professional contracts.
Felipe stood, stretching.
"Get some sleep, kid. You're about to see what real competition looks like."
Santi nodded but deep down, he knew that sleep wouldn't come easy tonight.