The first rays of sunlight barely touched the fields of Nido Águila, but Santiago Cruz was already awake, tying his boots with steady hands. His legs were sore. Today marked his seventh day at the academy and he was getting used to the routine.
His body ached from the brutal scrimmage he went through days before. But the pain?
The pain reminded him he was still standing. That he had stepped onto the field with the academy's best and walked off with their attention. That bicycle kick had changed everything.
Yesterday, they had seen him as an outsider. Today? Today, he had a target on his back.
Felipe leaned against the wall outside the dorms, sipping his black coffee.
Santi stepped out, stretching his arms and rolling out his shoulders. Felipe didn't greet him. Didn't ask if he had slept. He just smirked.
"You know what today is, right?" Santi nodded.
"They're coming for me."
Felipe took another slow sip of coffee.
"Good. Then you already understand."
Santi exhaled, shaking out his legs.
"Let them come."
Felipe studied him, eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to read something deeper. Then he chuckled.
"You really don't back down from anything, do you?" Santi smirked.
"Not my style." Felipe clapped him on the back.
"Good," he said. "Because today? They're gonna test you in ways you've never been tested before."
Santi just smiled. "Good. I need a challenge." Felipe raised an eyebrow.
"Careful what you wish for, kid."
When Santi stepped onto the training ground, he felt it immediately. The shift.
Yesterday, players had ignored him. Today? Now, he caught every glance. Some were curious. Some were amused. Some were filled with something else. Rivalry. Jealousy.
A few players whispered to each other when he walked past. He didn't care. Let them talk. He wasn't there for words. He was there to take his place.
Coach Herrera walked onto the field, his usual unreadable expression in place.
"Alright, listen up," he barked. "Yesterday, we saw who stepped up in the scrimmage. But football isn't about one good day."
He let the words sink in before continuing. "It's about who does it every day. No excuses."
Santi felt the message hit him directly. Herrera's eyes flicked toward him for half a second. He knew. Everyone knew.
"Some of you think you've proved something," Herrera said. "Let's find out if you actually have." Santi squared his shoulders. He knew what was coming.
"Today, we're going small-sided with high-intensity and constant pressure. If you can't handle it, you don't belong here."
Felipe, standing on the sideline, smirked.
"Let's see if you can survive."
The first drill was 3v3 possession battles. No goals, just keep the ball, survive and dominate.
Santi's team?
Nico; the midfielder he had worked well with yesterday.
Raúl; a solid but quiet defender.
Their opponents?
Toro Vargas; the strongest and most aggressive defender in the academy.
Luis Solano; the creative midfielder with deadly footwork.
Javier Ochoa; the fastest winger in the squad.
Santi exhaled. "Of course." They weren't testing him. They were hunting him.
The assistant coach blew the whistle and hell broke loose.
The ball barely touched Santi's foot before Toro smashed into him. Not a clean challenge. A message. Santi stumbled, barely keeping his balance. The ball rolled loose.
Ochoa darted in, stealing it easily. Laughter from the sideline. Toro smirked.
"Too slow, rookie."
Santi clenched his jaw. This wasn't about skill. This was about breaking him. And for the next five minutes? It felt like they were succeeding.
Toro bullied them physically. Solano picked them apart with quick passing. Ochoa was a blur of movement and impossible to track.
Santi? He was losing. And everyone was watching. Waiting. Expecting him to fold.
Santi wiped the sweat from his forehead. Then, he adjusted. He stopped playing how they wanted him to.
The next time Toro tried to shove him? Santi rolled with the hit using the momentum to spin away.
The next time Solano pressed him? Santi let the ball roll past his foot before flicking it behind his standing leg; a move straight out of Ronaldinho's playbook. And gone.
And when Ochoa tried to burn past him again? Santi didn't chase. He anticipated. Read the pass. Intercepted it before it could reach him. Then? He attacked. A quick feint. A burst of speed.
And suddenly, his team was in control.
In the final minute of the drill, the score was tied in possession time. Whoever kept the ball now won.
The ball came to Santi. Toro was on him instantly. Pressing hard. Pushing. Waiting for him to panic.
Santi took a deep breath. Then, he baited the challenge. A small shift to his right, just enough to make Toro lunge. And the moment he did, Santi chipped the ball over his leg, spun around him and collected it on the other side.
The entire drill stopped for a half-second. Even the assistant coach raised an eyebrow. Some of the players on the sideline whistled.
Toro? He stood there, frozen. Humiliated. And Santi? He didn't even celebrate. He just kept playing.
Because he wasn't there to show off. He was there to take over.
The whistle blew. The drill was over. Santi's team had won. The players jogged back toward the sideline, some shaking their heads.
Toro avoided eye contact. Solano looked impressed but didn't say anything. Ochoa just stared.
The players stood in a loose circle, their jerseys damp with sweat, their breathing heavy. The intensity of the drill still lingered in the air.
Coach Herrera let the silence stretch before he spoke.
"Some of you stepped up today," he said, scanning the group with a sharp gaze.
His eyes stopped on Santi for a fraction of a second, just long enough for everyone to notice.
"Some of you refused to be pushed around," Herrera continued. "That's good." His tone hardened.
"But don't think for a second that you've made it." The air around them felt heavier.
"You think one good scrimmage, one good drill, means anything?" Herrera scoffed. "It doesn't. You're only as good as your last game. And if your next one is weak, I won't remember what you did today." Santi held his breath.
"You want respect here?" Herrera continued. "Earn it. Every. Single. Day." He turned sharply toward his assistant coach.
"Session over!" he called out. "Back here tomorrow. No excuses."
With that, Herrera walked off the field, leaving the players standing there, some stretching and others shaking their heads.
Santi exhaled. The drill was over. The fight? Far from it.
As Santi turned to walk toward the locker room, he felt the weight of the moment settling in. The players around him reacted in different ways. Some ignored him completely. Some eyed him with quiet curiosity.
And then there were the ones who weren't happy. Toro walked past him, muttering under his breath, "Enjoy it while it lasts, rookie."
Ochoa didn't even look at him. But Solano? The creative midfielder who had tested him all session? He smirked.
"You're better than I thought," Solano said, rolling his shoulders. "But let's see if you can do it again tomorrow."
Santi nodded. "I will." Solano chuckled.
"I like your confidence," he said. "Let's see if it holds up." Then he walked off, leaving Santi standing there, heart still racing from the battle.
Santi made his way toward the benches, where Felipe stood waiting, arms crossed. Felipe didn't say anything at first.
Just studied him. Then, he smirked.
"You handled yourself well today," he said.
Santi wiped sweat from his forehead. "That sounded almost like a compliment." Felipe chuckled. "Don't get used to it."
Santi dropped onto the bench, rubbing his sore legs.
"They were targeting me," he said. Felipe nodded.
"Of course they were. You made them look bad yesterday. That's how it works." Santi exhaled.
"So this doesn't stop?" Felipe raised an eyebrow. "Did you think one goal was going to make them accept you?" Santi shook his head. Felipe smirked.
"Good. Because this is your new normal." Santi leaned back, staring at the sky.
Weeks ago, he had been playing on the streets. Now? He was fighting for respect in one of the best academies in Mexico.
And the battles were only beginning. Felipe clapped him on the shoulder.
"Get some rest, kid. Tomorrow, it starts all over again."
Santi closed his eyes for a second. Then he stood up.
"I'm ready." Felipe laughed. "That's what I like to hear."
Santi walked toward the locker room, his mind already focused on tomorrow. He had survived today. But at Nido Águila, survival wasn't enough. He had to dominate.
And that? That was exactly what he planned to do.