The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wet grass as Santi laced up his boots. His muscles still held the echoes of last night's extra session but his mind was sharper than ever. The next match was approaching fast and the weight of expectation pressed against his shoulders.
This wasn't just another game. It was a chance to prove that the last one wasn't luck.
Inside the locker room, the energy was different. The usual banter was there but there was an underlying seriousness in the way everyone moved. Some players sat in silence, staring at the floor, lost in thought. Others went through their rituals; taping their wrists, adjusting their shin guards and bouncing their knees to shake off the nerves.
Toro leaned against his locker with arms crossed. "Big match tomorrow," he said, his voice steady.
Charlie, who sat nearby tying his boots, nodded. "Yeah. Coach is expecting more from us."
Solano, always the calmest in the room, smirked. "That's what we signed up for, isn't it?"
Santi listened, absorbing their words. They all felt it. The pressure, the responsibility and the hunger.
The room fell into a quiet rhythm. The sound of cleats tapping the floor. The faint hum of distant voices outside. The anticipation of what was coming.
Then the door opened and Coach Herrera stepped in.
Herrera's presence alone commanded attention. He didn't need to raise his voice. He just looked at them with his sharp eyes scanning the room, before finally speaking.
"You want to play at the top?" he asked. No one answered. They all knew it was a rhetorical question.
"You think you worked hard yesterday?" His eyes landed on Santi for a moment before sweeping across the room. "Then work harder today."
He paced slowly. "The match tomorrow will not wait for you to be ready. The game will not slow down just because you are tired. And your opponent? He doesn't care about your dreams. He only cares about beating you." The silence continued.
"Every touch, every pass and every movement, you either control the game or you watch it pass you by." He paused. "So which is it going to be?"
The fire was set. They knew what they had to do.
Santi stepped onto the field with a different energy. His mind replayed the coach's words over and over. Control the game. Don't let it pass you by.
The drills started.
First, close control. Cones lined up in tight rows, forcing him to weave the ball between them at speed. He kept his focus.
Then passing sequences; one-touch, two-touch and switching play under pressure. He felt the rhythm of the game, the connection between teammates and the flow of movement.
But where he really came alive was in the finishing drills.
Charlie sent a pass rolling towards him at the edge of the box. Santi's mind calculated in an instant. One touch to set up. One glance at the keeper's positioning. Then, boom!
His shot rocketed toward the top corner, the ball slicing through the air like a bullet before smashing against the net.
The players on the sideline let out a few whistles. Even Coach Herrera gave a small nod of approval.
But Santi wasn't satisfied. He wanted more so he tried it again and again.
This time, a ball came from the left. He let it roll across his body then struck it with the outside of his foot, a perfect trivela that curled into the far post.
And again, he tried a volley. It was so clean and precise. A strike that dipped just under the crossbar.
As the sun began to set, many of the players started winding down. Some grabbed water, others stretched out on the grass. But Santi was still going.
Toro walked over, shaking his head. "You're not stopping?"
Santi wiped the sweat from his face. "Not yet."
Toro chuckled. "You're crazy." But there was respect in his tone.
Felipe was watching from the sidelines with arms crossed and nodding approvingly. Santi could feel his uncle's pride but also his silent reminder: work hard but work smart.
Toro lingered a few yards away, stretching his calves. "You should take it easy, hermano. Big game tomorrow."
Santi wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I need to be ready."
Toro smirked. "You already are."
But Santi didn't believe in 'enough.' Enough was for satisfied players. Enough was for those who settled. And he wasn't there to settle.
He set up another ball at the edge of the box. This time, he focused on precision. Not just power but placement.
He inhaled deeply, took three controlled steps back, then drove his foot through the ball.
The shot curled, bending around an imaginary defender before slamming into the top corner. The net rippled violently, the kind of shot that made keepers throw their hands up in defeat.
Felipe let out a low whistle but Santi wasn't done.
He grabbed another ball and dribbled toward the edge of the penalty area with quick feet then a step-over.
Another, he faked right, then dragged the ball left with an elastico. His left foot planted but his right foot did the strike.
The ball dipped, swerved unpredictably and smacked against the crossbar before bouncing in.
Even Toro raised his eyebrows at that one. "Damn."
Santi exhaled but his mind was already racing to the next move.
His body was screaming now. His legs felt heavier with each touch. His lungs burned as sweat dripped from his chin onto the grass.
Felipe stepped closer. "That's enough, Santi."
"No," Santi said between breaths. "One more."
Felipe sighed, but there was admiration in his eyes. "Just don't kill yourself before the game."
Santi lined up another shot, ignoring the exhaustion. His mind was sharp and his instincts firing.
The ball came rolling toward him but this time, he didn't control it. He let it bounce once, then struck it in mid-air.
The strike was clean. The ball flew, spinning gracefully before tucking into the top corner.
Felipe laughed, shaking his head. "You really are insane."
Toro clapped his hands. "Okay, okay. Enough showboating. Even Messi would be impressed. Let's get out of here before Coach catches us."
Santi stood there for a moment, his breathing still heavy. But as he looked at the field, at the goals he had just scored and at the feeling of control he had over the ball, he just smiled.
Because he knew. He wasn't just another player. He was becoming something more
Felipe placed a hand on his shoulder. "You've done enough. Trust it. Tomorrow, let your game speak."
Santi nodded. He had nothing left to give tonight. Tomorrow, he would give everything.
As they walked off the field, the lights flickered behind them and Santi stole one last glance at the goal.
He had trained his body past its limits. Now, it was time to see if it was enough.