The pitch buzzed with energy as the referee blew the whistle. The game started.
Santiago Cruz barely had time to settle before the ball was already moving fast. The opposing team, Pachuca U19, wasted no time.
Straight from kickoff, they launched a counterattack. A quick through-ball. A winger sprinting down the right flank.
Santi turned, tracking back as Pachuca surged forward. Their striker broke free.
A clean pass split the América's defense, danger.
The ball rolled perfectly into the path of a Pachuca forward, who wound up for the shot. But before he could strike, BANG!
Toro came flying in with a crunching tackle. The ball was cleared violently upfield. The Pachuca striker hit the ground, furious. Toro stood over him, shaking his head.
"Not today," he muttered before jogging back into position.
Santi exhaled. That was going to be a battle.
For the next 30 minutes, both teams fought for control.
Midfield duels were brutal. Every pass was contested. No one had space to breathe.
Santi was pressured constantly. Every time he touched the ball, a defender was on him. But he was patient. He didn't force plays. He kept the ball moving. He waited for his moment.
Then, in the 41st minute, it came. A fast break down the left. Charlie Domínguez cut inside and fired a shot but it was blocked. The ball deflected out for a corner.
Santi jogged over to take it, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He carefully placed the ball down near the corner flag.
He lifted his head, scanning the box.
Tall bodies jostled for position; Ríos, Solano and at the center of it all, Toro. Santi locked eyes with him. Toro gave a slight nod. No words. Just an understanding.
The referee blew the whistle. Santi took two steps back. One deep breath. Then, he delivered. A perfect in-swinging corner, curling toward the penalty spot.
Toro timed his jump perfectly. He rose above everyone, towering over the defenders. His forehead met the ball with brutal force. BOOM!
The ball rocketed into the net. The goalkeeper barely moved. América led by 1-0. The pitch exploded.
Toro didn't celebrate much. A simple fist pump. A quick nod toward Santi. As if to say: "Good pass. Do it again." Santi smirked.
Pachuca didn't crumble. They fought back hard. Every time América had possession, they pressed aggressively.
Every time Santi tried to create space, they closed it instantly.
By the 75th minute, the match had turned into a physical war. Toro was everywhere in defense, shutting down attacks.
Santi was taking hits in midfield but he kept going. Then, a disaster. A quick Pachuca attack. A low cross whipped into the box.
A striker rushed forward. Then a shot.
Goal. 1-1. Just like that Pachuca found the equalizer. The pitch fell into a stunned silence.
Santi gritted his teeth, frustration settling in. But there were still minutes left. One more chance. And when it came? Santi wasn't going to miss it.
Minute 89. Pachuca pushed forward, trying to steal the win. Their winger surged down the right flank. One last attack.
A dangerous cross into the box but it was cleared by Toro. The ball landed at Diego Silva's feet. Santi took off. He saw the space and so he sprinted into it. Diego didn't hesitate.
A perfect pass, slicing through Pachuca's midfield and straight to Santi. The defenders backpedaled. They expected a pass. They expected a safe play but they were wrong.
Santi took one touch then he hit it. A knuckleball rocket. Pure power. The ball dipped violently in mid-air, swerving unpredictably. The goalkeeper reacted too late. BOOM! Into the top corner.
"GOOOOOOAL!" The pitch erupted.
The América bench went wild. Santi stood frozen, chest heaving. Because that wasn't just a goal. That was his moment.
The referee blew the final whistle. The match ended in a 2-1 advantage to Club América.
A hard-fought win. Santi exhaled, exhausted but victorious. As he walked off the field, Herrera was waiting for him.
The coach didn't smile. Didn't celebrate. He just looked at Santi and nodded.
"You stepped up today," he said.
Santi wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"But now?" Herrera continued. His eyes were sharp.
"Now, I expect you to do it every match."
Santi nodded. Because he wouldn't have it any other way.
The locker room was buzzing. Some players were celebrating. Some were exhausted. Santi was unlacing his boots when Toro walked over.
The older defender leaned against the bench with arms crossed.
"You did well today," Toro said.
Santi looked up, slightly surprised.
"Thanks," he replied. Toro was quiet for a moment, then sighed.
"You know why I've been so hard on you?" Santi hesitated. Because you're an arrogant bastard? But he didn't say that. Instead, he shrugged.
Toro sat down across from him.
"Because success isn't given," he said. "It's earned." Santi stayed silent.
"You think talent is enough?" Toro continued. "It's not. This league… this sport… it doesn't care how good you are one day."
His eyes locked onto Santi's.
"It only cares if you can keep doing it." Santi swallowed. Toro leaned forward.
"The goal? That was great. The assist? Solid!" He narrowed his eyes.
"But if you don't train harder tomorrow? If you don't push yourself the next match?" Toro smirked slightly.
"Then you're just another player who had one good game." Santi exhaled.
Because he knew Toro was right. He hadn't made it yet. Not even close. Toro stood up, patting Santi's shoulder.
"Remember, Cruz," he said as he walked away.
"The great ones don't celebrate too long. They just get ready for the next fight."
Santi sat there, staring at the floor, heart still racing from the match. Tomorrow?
He was going to train harder. Because if he wanted to be great? Then, he had to earn it. Every single day.
A tough, ugly win but a win nonetheless. Santi was still catching his breath. His legs ached. His body burned.
But the feeling of scoring the winning goal made it all worth it.
"Bro, that shot…" Ochoa shook his head, still in disbelief.
"That ball was moving like a damn missile," Ríos added. "I swear it changed direction twice."
"It's called a knuckleball," Santi smirked, stretching out his legs.
Solano; the captain walked past and gave him a pat on the head. "Keep hitting them like that, and you'll be taking all our free kicks soon." Santi laughed.