The atmosphere at Nido Águila was different today. The usual energy was still there; the intensity and the focus but something had shifted. It was real now.
A day more and the Liga MX U19 League would begin. No more scrimmages. No more training just to impress the coaches. Everything from this point on counted.
As Santiago Cruz stepped onto the pitch, he took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. For some of the players, this was just another season.
For Santi? This was the beginning of everything.
Herrera stood in the center of the field, arms crossed, watching as the squad gathered around. No one spoke. No one joked. They all knew this was serious.
Herrera let the silence settle before he spoke. "Tomorrow." One word. But it was enough to make every player stand taller.
"Tomorrow, we play our first match," Herrera continued. "Some of you have been waiting for this moment for months. Some of you have been waiting for it your whole lives." Santi felt those words hit deep.
"This is not a friendly. This is not training. This is real football." His gaze swept across the team.
"You will be tested. The pressure will be higher. The speed will be faster. The tackles will be harder." He took a step forward.
"If you are weak, you will be exposed."
The silence deepened. Santi clenched his fists. Weak? That wasn't him. That would never be him.
Herrera nodded once. "Let's begin."
The first drill was ball movement under pressure. No space. No time to think. Pass. Move. Pass. Move. One touch only. Any player who hesitated lost the ball immediately.
Toro and Solano pressed hard in midfield. Ochoa sprinted non-stop, cutting off passing lanes.
Santi had to be perfect. Every pass had to be sharp, quick and clean. And he was.
The ball barely left his foot before he already knew where to move next. But that was just the beginning.
Next, Herrera split the squad into two teams. Santiago Cruz could feel the energy shift the moment the scrimmage started.
This wasn't just another practice match. This was the last battle before the war. Players weren't holding back. Every tackle had a little extra weight behind it. Every pass was sharper. Every run was faster.
Because tomorrow, when they stepped onto the field, there would be no second chances.
Herrera stood on the sideline with arms crossed and watching everything. Measuring. Testing. He needed to know who was truly ready.
And Santi? He was determined to prove he belonged there.
From the first minute, Toro made his presence known. Every time Santi received the ball, Toro was on him instantly. A shove, body check and whispered insult. Trying to break him down.
But Santi wasn't the same player from a few weeks ago. He had adapted.
Instead of trying to outmuscle Toro, he used his quickness. Let Toro press too hard then spun away. Let him lunge and then flicked the ball over his foot.
And when the moment came? Santi didn't hesitate. He took one touch. Planted his foot. And hit the trivela pass.
The ball curled beautifully around the defender, bending into Nico's path on the wing. A quick cross. A clean finish. Goal.
The substitutes on the sideline whistled. Felipe smirked. Even Herrera gave a small nod. But Santi didn't celebrate. Because this wasn't the real match. Not yet.
And Toro? He wasn't done.
Minutes later, Santi collected the ball near midfield, already scanning his options. Before he could react, BAM!
A sharp, late tackle from behind. It was Toro. Santi hit the ground hard, pain jolting up his leg. The whistle blew. Players stopped. A few murmurs.
Felipe tensed on the sideline. Santi clenched his jaw. Not because of the pain. But because he knew what this was. A test.
Toro wanted to see if he would react. If he would lose control. If he would break under the pressure. Santi exhaled slowly. Then, he stood up. He didn't complain. Didn't say a word. He just picked up the ball, placed it down and got ready to play again.
Herrera watched him carefully. Toro smirked. "You'll break sooner or later," he muttered.
Santi just smiled.
"Then you'll be chasing me all season," he replied.
The scrimmage ended shortly after. Both teams walked toward the sideline, dripping in sweat and breathing hard.
Herrera waited for them as his expression was unreadable. He let the silence settle before he spoke.
"Good session," he said. "But good isn't enough."
His voice was sharp.
"Tomorrow, we don't get to say, 'We played well.' We either win or we lose. No excuses. No explanations."
He stepped forward, scanning each player.
"Some of you will start. Some of you will come off the bench. But when you step onto that pitch, I expect one thing from all of you." He paused.
Then, loud and clear.
"Fight for the badge!"
The players straightened. Then, together they shouted back. "Fight for the badge!"
Santi felt the words in his chest. This was more than a team. This was a battle unit. A squad ready to go to war.
Herrera nodded.
"Good. Now rest. Tomorrow, we start the season the right way."
With that, he blew the final whistle. The training was over. But Santi knew that the real test was about to begin.
As Santi walked off the field, wiping the sweat from his forehead, he heard footsteps behind him. It was Felipe.
Finally, Felipe exhaled.
"You handled that tackle well," he muttered. Santi smirked. "You thought I'd react?"
Felipe tilted his head. "Most guys would." Santi exhaled. "I'm not most guys." Felipe chuckled softly.
"I'm starting to believe that," he admitted.
They reached the benches, where a few players were still cooling down. Felipe leaned against the metal railing, taking another slow sip of coffee before glancing at Santi.
"You ready for tomorrow?"
Santi didn't hesitate. "Yeah."
Felipe raised an eyebrow. "Are you?" Santi frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
Felipe set his coffee cup down on the railing. "Listen, kid," he said, turning fully toward Santi.
"Tomorrow isn't just about playing well. It's not about impressing the coaches. It's not even about Toro or any of the guys who want your spot."
He paused.
"Tomorrow is about one thing, showing the league who you are." Santi swallowed hard. Felipe's voice dropped lower, sharper.
"You think the defenders tomorrow are going to care that you had a good preseason?" he asked. Santi shook his head.
"You think they're going to go easy on you because it's your debut?" Santi clenched his fists. "No."
Felipe nodded.
"Good. Because the moment you step onto that pitch, they're going to be looking for one thing, a weakness."
He took another sip of coffee, watching Santi carefully. "If they sense fear? They'll attack you."
"If they see hesitation? They'll shut you down."
"If they feel like you don't belong? They'll make damn sure you don't get another chance."
Santi's chest tightened. Because deep down? He knew Felipe was right.
"That's how football works," Felipe continued. "It's a jungle out there. And tomorrow?" He stared straight at Santi.
"You have to walk onto that field like you're the predator. Not the prey." Silence. Santi let the words sink in.
Because this was different from everything he'd heard before. Herrera had pushed them to train harder. Had challenged them to be warriors. But Felipe?
He was giving him the mental battle plan. Santi took a deep breath. "I'm ready," he said again. This time? He meant it. Felipe studied him for a moment longer.
Then, he smirked. "Good." He picked up his coffee cup and took one final sip.
"Because tomorrow?" he said, turning to walk away. "You're not just playing a game." He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes sharp. "You're making a statement." Then he left.
Santi stood there, heartbeat steady and his mind racing. A statement. That's what tomorrow was. Not just a match. But his arrival.