The sun had barely risen but the training grounds were already alive. It was matchday.
Santi stood on the grass, stretching as the cool morning air brushed against his skin. He inhaled deeply, letting the crispness of dawn fill his lungs. A big game always carries a different kind of energy.
Today wasn't just any match, it was América U19 vs. Chivas U19.
The rivalry ran deep. Two of the biggest clubs in Mexican football. Two histories clashed every time they met. Even at the youth level, the tension was real. The stories of past battles, the passion of the fans and the pressure to win, they all built up to something special.
Santi could feel it in his bones.
Across the field, Toro was already working. The center-back never slacked, even on game days. His focus was razor-sharp, his mind was already locked in. Beside him, Luis Solano moved through a passing drill with quiet intensity.
"Today's the day," Charlie muttered, juggling a ball beside Santi.
"Yeah," Santi replied, his voice steady. But inside, his heart was racing.
The squad went through their usual pre-match routine. A light warm-up stretches and a few rondos to get their first touches sharp.
The coach, Herrera, kept it brief.
"We all know what this means. Chivas will fight like hell. They'll press hard, they'll play rough and they'll try to get inside your heads but stay disciplined. Stay sharp."
His eyes locked onto his players.
"We don't just play football here. We make history."
The boys responded with their rallying cry, voices booming through the morning air:
"Eagles until the end!"
Santi's adrenaline surged. It was time.
As they boarded the team bus, Santi sat near the window with his headphones on as a playlist of old street football anthems played softly. Songs that reminded him of where he came from, of juggling oranges back in his village and dreaming of moments like this.
Toro sat beside him with arms crossed. "Nervous?" he asked without looking.
"No," Santi lied.
Toro smirked. "Good. Because they are."
Santi glanced around the bus. Some of his teammates had their eyes closed, visualizing the game ahead. Others, like Charlie, were too hyped to sit still.
Solano tapped the back of Santi's seat. "First twenty minutes are war. Be ready."
Santi nodded. As the bus entered Guadalajara, the city of their rivals, the tension thickened.
Outside the window, banners of Chivas waved proudly. A few home fans recognized the América bus and hurled jeers, pounding their fists against the side.
Santi smirked. They wanted to intimidate them. It only fueled his fire.
The bus pulled into Chivas' home grounds. Their academy stadium was smaller than the first team's but it still had a presence. The stands were already filling with youth fans, academy hopefuls and scouts.
Stepping off the bus, the América players moved in formation like warriors entering the enemy's land.
A few Chivas players were already on the field, watching them arrive. Santi made eye contact with Emiliano Vargas, Chivas' star midfielder. A cocky smirk spread across Emiliano's face.
The mind games had begun. They laced up their boots. Adjusted their jerseys. Felt the weight of the club crest over their hearts.
The warm-up was short but intense. Passing drills. Ball movement. Shooting practice.
Santi focused on his footwork, keeping his touch light and his movements fluid. He worked through his repertoire; step-overs, body feints and quick turns. He wanted to feel the ball, to get in sync with it.
Toro and the defenders worked on clearing aerial balls. Chivas' attack was known for its set pieces and they had to be ready.
The coaches watched, evaluating everything. Then, the call came.
"Inside. Final talk."
Inside the Chivas U19 locker room, the energy was electric. This was their home. Their stadium. Their pride. The walls shook with chants as the players hyped themselves up.
"¡Rebaño! ¡Rebaño! ¡Rebaño Sagrado!" (The Sacred Herd!)
Captain Emiliano Vargas stood in the center, his veins pulsing with adrenaline. He pounded his chest and shouted, "This is our house! No one comes here and walks away with a win! Who are we?"
"Chivas!" the team roared.
"Who runs Mexican football?"
"Chivas!" they roared again.
"Who is leaving this field with a victory?"
"CHIVAS!"
They pounded their boots on the locker room floor in rhythm, clapping and hyping each other up. This was the match they had been waiting for. Beating América wasn't just about the three points, it was about proving dominance.
Coach Ramón Torres stepped in, his face sharp with intensity. He had been part of this rivalry as a player and now, he was leading the next generation into battle.
"They think they're better than you," he said, his voice cold and steady. "They think they can walk in here and take our pride."
A murmur of anger rippled through the squad.
"They have talent. But we have heart." He pointed at his chest. "América plays with arrogance. We play with fire."
Emiliano clenched his fists. "We give them no space. No comfort. We press every ball, we tackle hard and we fight for every inch."
Coach Torres nodded. "Make them feel the pressure. Make them regret stepping on our field." He extended his hand. The players placed theirs over his.
"One, two, three… CHIVAS!"
They exploded into cheers, storming out of the locker room.
The air was heavy. A deep and focused silence filled the locker room now. No more talking. No more hype. Just calm and calculated determination.
In the América locker room, Coach Herrera paced slowly, looking at each player.
"They're going to come at us with everything," he said. "They want to overwhelm you with their intensity. They'll throw their bodies into tackles. They'll play dirty if they have to."
He stopped in front of Toro, his most trusted defender.
"Toro, you know what to do."
Toro gave a sharp nod. "I shut them down."
Herrera's eyes locked on Luis Solano. "Midfield wins games. If you control the tempo, we control the match."
Solano cracked his knuckles. "No problem."
Then, his gaze fell on Santi.
"You…" He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "This is your moment. But don't force it. Let the game come to you. When the chance arrives…" His voice softened. "Make them remember your name."
Santi swallowed hard, his heart pounding. Then the coach's voice hardened again.
"They want to break us. They want to silence us." He took a step back.
"What do we do?" The team stood up, voices booming:
"¡Jugamos con huevos!" (We play with heart!)
Herrera slammed his fist against the locker. "And how does this game end?"
"¡Con victoria!" (With victory!)
"Again!" He called out.
"¡CON VICTORIA!" (With victory!)
"¡UNA VEZ MÁS!" (One more time!)
"¡CON VICTORIA!" (With victory!)
They roared in unison, the intensity shaking the walls. Herrera took a deep breath, then turned toward the door.
"Let's go to war."
The stadium was alive. The noise vibrated through the walls, growing louder with every step as América and Chivas walked down the tunnel.
Santi clenched his fists. Everything in his career had led to moments like these.
Beside him was Toro, he walked with a silent but intimidating presence. Charlie was bouncing on his heels. And Solano muttered a quiet prayer.
Ahead, the tunnel opened to the field. Just as they reached the entrance, they could hear Chivas' fans roaring.
"¡Rebaño Sagrado! ¡Rebaño Sagrado!"
(Sacred herd! Sacred herd!)
It was loud and deafening. The stadium was a sea of red and white.
Then, Chivas players entered the tunnel. Now, it was face-to-face.
Emiliano Vargas smirked when he saw Santi. "Hope you enjoyed the bus ride," he said. "Because you're leaving here empty-handed."
Santi didn't even blink. He simply replied, "We'll see."
Toro stepped forward, his broad frame towering over Emiliano. "Save the talking. Let's see if you can back it up."
A tense silence. Then the referee stepped in. "Teams, to the field!"
Both squads walked out, side by side. The crowd exploded while the anthem of the youth league played. The referees checked the nets, then the captains exchanged handshakes.
The referee raised his whistle. This was it. Santi took his position. His heartbeat matched the pulse of the stadium.
Then…The whistle blew.