The air at Nido Águila was thick with tension. It wasn't just another training session. Something felt different.
Santiago Cruz sensed it the moment he stepped onto the field. There was no usual banter between players. No casual warm-ups. Just focus. Just pressure.
Every player knew something was coming. And then, Coach Herrera blew his whistle.
"Gather up!" he barked. The squad quickly formed a tight circle around him, eyes locked in. Herrera let the silence stretch before speaking.
"You've all been working hard," he said, his voice even. "But none of that matters anymore." Santi's stomach tightened.
"Because in one week," Herrera continued, "we start our campaign in the Liga MX U19 League." Silence. Then, a shift.
A few players exchanged glances. Some nodded to themselves. Some clenched their fists. And some? Some had fear in their eyes. Santi felt his heartbeat quicken. The real competition was here. Now, everything changed.
Herrera crossed his arms, scanning every face in the squad.
"This isn't just training anymore," he said.
"This isn't about trying to prove you belong here." His eyes flicked to Santi for just a second.
"This is about who plays. And who doesn't." A heavy silence fell over the team. Because everyone understood exactly what that meant.
Some players had been starters last season. They had experience. They had minutes. They had history. And now? Now they had to defend their spots.
Because players like Santi? They were coming for them. Santi clenched his fists. He wasn't just fighting to make the squad anymore. He was fighting to start.
From the very first drill, the intensity doubled. Players weren't just competing. They were fighting. Every pass? Had to be perfect. Every touch? Had to be sharp. Every duel? Felt like a final.
Nobody wanted to look weak. Because today, a bad session wasn't just a bad session. It was a reason to get benched.
Santi sprinted through a dribbling drill, weaving through cones with his movements sharp and precise.
Next to him, Ochoa moved just as fast, eyes locked ahead, treating the drill like it was life or death.
A few meters away, Solano and Nico exchanged quick one-touch passes, moving with machine-like precision.
Across the field, Toro and Diego clashed in a defensive drill, their battle so fierce that Herrera had to step in and separate them. That was a war.
And Santi? He thrived in it.
As training continued, Santi felt a shift. Something subtle. Something small. But something important. Coach Herrera was watching him more. Not just casually. Not just when he had the ball. All the time.
Santi felt the weight of Herrera's gaze as he moved through drills. As he pressed high up the field. As he won back possession.
As he turned quickly in midfield and played a perfectly weighted through-ball to Nico.
Then a whistle. The drill stopped. Herrera motioned for the group to gather. He didn't look at anyone else. Just Santi.
"That's the kind of ball we need," Herrera said, his voice steady but approving.
A few players glanced at Santi. Some with curiosity. Some with respect. Some with jealousy. Santi exhaled, his chest burning from the effort. That was new.
Herrera didn't give out praise easily. He was starting to like what he saw. And that? That made Santi even hungrier.
Santiago Cruz jogged into position, his breath steady and his heart pounding.
Across the field stood the starters from last season; the players who had already proven themselves. The ones who had already worn the Club América jersey in official matches.
The ones who expected to start again this season. And then there was his team. The challengers.
The ones who had spent the past few months fighting for respect. The ones who were hungry to take those spots.
Santi rolled his shoulders. This wasn't just about playing well. It wasn't just about showing effort. This was about proving, right here, right now that he belonged there.
Herrera blew the whistle. The game started.
The match started at an intense pace. No testing each other out. No slow buildup. Just war. The starters controlled possession early, moving the ball with precision and their chemistry was so clear.
Santi's team had to work harder. Pressing relentlessly. Closing down spaces.
Trying to break through a team that already knew each other inside out.
And then, in the opening minutes, a warning shot. Ochoa received the ball on the wing, sprinted past his defender and cut inside. He fired a low shot but it was saved by the keeper.
But the message was clear. The starters weren't there to mess around. They were there to remind everyone why they were the first choice.
Santi exhaled. "Alright then." Time to remind them why he was there, too.
The first time Santi got the ball, he felt immediate pressure. Solano. He was fast, aggressive and closing in quickly. Santi didn't panic. He didn't rush.
He simply let Solano come. Then, a sharp body feint. Solano bit. Santi spun away, accelerating into open space.
One move. One second. And he had already made one of the best midfielders in the academy miss.
Felipe, standing on the sideline, smirked.
Coach Herrera? No reaction. Just watching. Santi played a quick pass to Nico, then darted forward, already thinking about his next move.
The game had barely started. But he was locked in.
As the scrimmage wore on, the battle in midfield grew more intense. The veterans didn't like what was happening.
They expected an easy game. Expected to control possession and show why they were the first-choice players.
But Santi's team? They weren't backing down. The duels became harder. The tackles were sharper.
And then, Toro made his move.
Santi received a pass in midfield, quickly scanning for options. He barely had time to react before…..WHAM! A heavy shoulder into his back.
Santi stumbled forward, losing his footing and the ball rolling loose. Toro jogged away like nothing had happened.
Ochoa recovered the ball, counterattacking instantly. A few of the starters laughed. Herrera didn't blow the whistle. The message was clear.
"Welcome to the real fight."
Santi gritted his teeth. Fine. If that's how they wanted to play? Then he'd play that game, too.
The next time Santi got the ball, he knew Toro would come again. So he planned for it. He let Toro press in, fast and aggressively.
Then, at the last second, he rolled the ball behind his standing leg and spun away. Gone.
Toro lunged but Santi was already past him. A few whistles from the sideline. Herrera raised an eyebrow.
Felipe? Still smirking. But Santi wasn't done.
With a burst of speed, he drove forward, cutting through midfield. He saw Diego making a run and played a perfect through-ball.
Diego took one touch and then slotted the ball past the keeper. "GOOOOOOAL!" 1-0.
Santi clenched his fists. He had announced himself. The response was immediate. Solano pressed harder. Toro became even more physical. Ochoa and the wingers pushed forward aggressively.
The starters were playing as if their spots depended on it. But so was Santi.
And in the 35th minute, he had his moment. The ball bounced loose in midfield. Santi reacted first, charging toward it.
Solano rushed in. Nico, too. The ball was there for the taking. Santi took a controlled touch forward.
Then, he saw it. A small window of space between two defenders. A split-second to make a decision. He took it.
A quick flick of his foot. The ball popped up and he was gone. A sharp one-two with Nico. Then, he saw Diego sprinting ahead. Santi didn't hesitate. A perfectly timed chip over the defense.
Diego got there first. One touch and a powerful banger. "GOOOOOAL!"
2-0.
And now? Now, even the starters looked worried.
The game ended minutes later. Santi's team had won. And more importantly? Santi had been at the heart of it.
The players shook hands but the tension was thick. Some of the starters barely looked at the challengers.
Toro, jaw clenched, muttered, "It's not over." Solano exhaled sharply, nodding at Santi. "You're better than I thought," he admitted. "But this was just a scrimmage."
Santi nodded.
"Then I guess I'll have to do it again next time." Solano smirked, shaking his head.
Herrera blew his whistle.
"Good work today. Go recover. Tomorrow, we make final decisions." Then, without another word, he walked away. The players dispersed.
But Santi knew this wasn't over. Tomorrow would decide everything. And he was ready.
As Santi walked toward the locker room, Felipe appeared beside him.
"Not bad," Felipe muttered.
Santi smirked. "Not bad?"
Felipe shrugged.
"You controlled the game. Created two goals. Took on the best guys in the academy." He glanced at Santi.
"You think you did enough?" Santi exhaled. "I think I made my case." Felipe chuckled.
"Good," he said. "Because tomorrow? The real decisions get made." Santi nodded.
He had done everything he could. Now, it was up to Herrera. And in 24 hours, he'd know if his name was in the starting eleven.