The first light of dawn crept through the thin curtains of the dormitory, casting soft shadows over the sleeping figures of young footballers.
A quiet stillness lingered in the air, broken only by the distant sound of birds outside and the occasional creak of beds shifting under restless bodies.
Santi lay awake, staring at the ceiling as his mind already racing. Last night's conversation still echoed in his head.
"You have to suffer. You have to fail. You have to push past everything telling you to quit." Toro's words had stuck with him. Not because they were new but because he felt them deep in his bones.
He sat up, rubbing his face before glancing at the time. It was 5:32 AM. Too early for training but his body didn't care.
With a quiet exhale, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Across the room, Charlie and Solano were still out cold. Toro was already up, lacing up his boots at the foot of his bed. He and Santi's eyes met.
"You too?" Santi whispered.
Toro smirked. "Always."
They didn't need to say more.
The training pitch was empty when they arrived. The grass, still damp with morning dew, glistened under the dim glow of the academy floodlights. The silence of the field was almost intimidating but to Santi, it felt like home.
They started with simple passes and gentle touches. But within minutes, it escalated. First, the quick turns. Then, sharp dribbling drills. And finally, ended with finishing; hitting the ball with precision, power and intent.
Santi felt the burn in his legs and the slight sting in his lungs from the crisp morning air. He welcomed it. Toro stood by the goal, watching.
"Again," he said.
Santi adjusted his stance, took a step forward and let it fly. The ball rocketed toward the top corner but it curled just wide. He let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head.
"You hesitated," Toro said. "Hit it like you mean it."
Santi reset. He took a deep breath. Then, he struck the ball cleanly, sending it straight into the top corner with a loud thud against the net.
Toro smirked. "Better."
Santi wiped the sweat from his brow but he wasn't satisfied.
"Again," he muttered. And so they went on.
By the time the official morning session began, Santi was already drained. But he wouldn't show it.
Coach Herrera noticed them as the rest of the squad gathered on the pitch. He eyed Santi and Toro, their shirts were damp with sweat and breathing heavier than the others.
"You two been here long?" he asked.
"Not that long," Toro said casually.
Herrera gave a knowing nod before stepping forward to address the entire team. "You all dream of being professionals," he began, pacing in front of them. "But dreaming isn't enough."
He let the words settle. "Talent isn't enough." His gaze moved across the players, his voice steady and firm.
"You have to want it more than the person next to you. More than the opponent in front of you. More than the voice in your head telling you to stop."
Santi felt his heartbeat quicken. "That's why we train hard," Herrera continued. "That's why we suffer now so that when the moment comes, you're not hoping to be ready. You already are."
The team responded with a collective nod.
"Now," Herrera clapped his hands. "Let's get to work."
The session was brutal. A series of high-intensity small-sided games tested everything; stamina, decision-making and technique under pressure. Herrera shouted out instructions as the players pushed their limits, sweat dripping and lungs burning.
Santi was locked in. One-touch passes, quick turns, body feints and movement off the ball.
When he lost possession, he sprinted to win it back. When he received the ball, he made sure to do something with it, no wasted touches.
But the exhaustion crept in. His muscles screamed. His legs felt heavy.
Then came the last drill, one-on-one challenges. Santi lined up against Luis Solano. A midfielder with quick feet and a low center of gravity, Solano wasn't easy to beat.
Coach Herrera tossed the ball between them. "Go."
Santi shifted his weight, watching Solano's stance. He waited, then a quick step-over, a feint and a sudden change of pace. Solano reacted too late because Santi had already pushed the ball past him and exploded forward.
He could hear the murmurs from his teammates. He could feel Herrera watching. But he wasn't done yet.
A defender approached and he flicked the ball past him with a La Croqueta and cut inside. His eyes were locked on goal. He struck it cleanly and the ball curled into the top corner. A brief silence prevailed over the pitch.
Then, a whistle. Herrera nodded approvingly. "That," he said, "is what I need from you."
Santi lay on the grass as his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his muscles burning from the intense session. The midday sun hung high above the academy, draping everything in golden heat. Sweat dripped down his face but he didn't wipe it away. He welcomed the sting and the exhaustion. Because to him, it meant he was growing.
The fire inside him never stopped and it never even flickered. This was who he was now.
He turned his head slightly and saw Toro lying nearby with arms folded behind his head and staring at the sky like he could see his future in it. The rest of the team sprawled across the field, catching their breath after one of the hardest sessions yet.
The silence between them wasn't just exhaustion, it was respect. They had pushed themselves today. But Santi knew it still wasn't enough. Not yet.
Back in the locker room, the atmosphere was different. Some of the boys joked around, slapping each other on the back, recounting moments from training.
Charlie was laughing with Solano about a nutmeg he pulled off, while Diego and Luis sat on a bench discussing tactical plays from the morning's session.
Santi unwrapped the tape from his wrists as his mind replaying every moment of training. He had been good today but good wasn't enough. He needed to be exceptional.
That fire inside him? It wasn't satisfied. As he reached for his bag, a firm hand clapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see Coach Herrera standing beside him.
"You're not just here to play," Herrera said, his voice steady. "You're here to dominate. Every single session and every single moment."
Santi nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"That's the difference between a player and a champion," Herrera continued. "A player waits for his moment. A champion creates it."
Santi didn't need to respond. He just let the words sink in. As the coach walked away, Toro sat down next to him, lacing up his sneakers.
"You gettin' soft on me?" Toro smirked. Santi chuckled. "Never."
Toro nodded with satisfaction. "Good. Because tomorrow, we go again."
Santi tightened his grip on his bag strap. The fire inside him never stopped. And it never would.