The bus ride to the América's camp was nothing short of electric. The bus was filled with laughter, music and the echoes of victory. The victory over Chivas U19 felt like a battle won, a war that had left them exhausted but victorious.
Santi sat near the window, watching the darkened landscape pass by. His body was sore and his legs felt like bricks but inside, he felt unstoppable.
At the front, Toro stood up, still buzzing with energy. As usual, he was at the center of the chaos, leading a chant as a few of the players banged their fists on the seats like drums. "América! América! América!"
"Oye, cabrones!" Toro yelled, clapping his hands together. "We just walked into Guadalajara and shut them up in their own house! Who's still alive?"
A roar of "Yoooo!" came from every player on the bus.
Charlie and Solano joined in, their voices hoarse from yelling during the match. Even Álex, the keeper, usually reserved had a grin on his face as he tapped along with the rhythm.
Charlie, sitting across from Santi, grinned. "That goal, hermano… the whole stadium went silent."
Solano leaned in. "I swear even their coach stopped breathing."
Santi chuckled, shaking his head. It had been the hardest match of his life. Brutal tackles, non-stop pressure and a war in midfield. But when that final whistle blew, it was América who had walked away with the win.
When the bus pulled up at the academy gates, a few academy staff and younger players were waiting.
Applause erupted!
"Good job, Águilas!" one of the coaches called out.
They stepped off the bus, still wearing their América jerseys, still covered in sweat, but their heads held high.
Coach Herrera was the last to step off. He surveyed his team, hands on his hips, then simply nodded. "Go rest. You earned it."
That night, back in the dorms, the celebration continued. Music played from someone's speaker, food deliveries arrived and the boys relived every moment of the match.
Toro sat on the couch, replaying the highlights on his phone. "Mira, mira… that's the moment when Santi sent that defender back to his childhood."
Santi rolled his eyes but couldn't help but laugh.
Charlie lifted his drink. "To América."
Everyone raised their cups. "To América!"
But as the celebration continued, Santi sat back for a moment, thinking. This was only one match. A war had been won but the battle for his future was still ahead. And he wasn't done yet.
The energy inside the dorms didn't die down. The 1-0 victory over Chivas wasn't just another win; it was a statement. A reminder that Club América's academy wasn't just competing but they were dominating.
Santi sat in the common room, legs still sore, his body still aching but heart still racing. The echoes of the stadium chants still rang in his ears.
Across from him, Toro was acting out plays from the match. He stood up, doing exaggerated slow-motion replays of his tackles, drawing laughter from everyone.
"And then, boom!" he shouted, pretending to slide into an invisible Chivas player. "Ball clean, ref. Ball clean!"
Charlie shook his head, grinning. "Bro, you should've gotten a red for that one."
"Hey, no chance." Toro scoffed. "The ref knew real defending when he saw it."
While the others joked around, Santi leaned back, replaying his free-kick goal in his mind.
That moment when the stadium fell silent, all eyes on him and the pressure still suffocating. Then, the strike. The way the ball dipped and curled past the keeper. The eruption of cheers. It was surreal.
Felipe had once told him, "Big players don't wait for moments, they create them." Tonight, he had created one.
Just as the celebration was beginning to settle, the dorm room door creaked open. Coach Herrera stepped in, arms crossed with a small smile on his face.
The room fell silent. Even Toro sat down.
"Enjoying yourselves?" Herrera asked.
They nodded slowly.
The coach exhaled, looking around the room. "Good. Because I need you all to understand something."
He walked closer, scanning each player. "Winning against Chivas is great. It's personal and it's emotional. But it's not everything. That was just another step in a long road. If you stop here, if you celebrate too long, you'll fall behind."
He turned to Santi. "That free kick?" He nodded. "Beautiful. But if you don't hit another one next game, it means nothing." A few players nodded, still high from the win but others like Santi, felt the weight of those words.
Herrera clapped his hands once. "Rest tonight." And just like that, the message was clear. The war wasn't over.
Later that night, when most of the players had settled into their rooms, Santi sat on the balcony outside, looking over the city lights.
Toro joined him, leaning against the railing. "Crazy game, huh?"
Santi nodded. "Yeah."
They stood there for a moment in silence. Then Toro sighed. "I wasn't lying when I said I was pushing you, you know."
Santi turned to him. "What do you mean?"
Toro looked down at his hands. "A lot of guys have talent. Not a lot have the heart to push past their limits. I've seen too many players come through here, thinking they'll make it, only to disappear when things get tough."
Santi didn't respond. He knew Toro was right.
Toro smirked, slapping Santi on the back. "But you… you're different. Keep proving it."
Santi stared at the night sky. He had come so far. But he knew this was just the beginning.
Felipe came towards him, he hadn't said much after they got back but Santi could tell something was on his mind.
"You alright?" Santi asked, his voice low.
Felipe looked over at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Just thinking… about how far you've come."
Santi raised an eyebrow. "You sound like an old man."
Felipe chuckled. "And you sound like a kid who doesn't realize what he's done tonight." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "This wasn't just another goal, Santi. This was the goal. A match-winner against Chivas, in their stadium, with every scout in Mexico watching. You proved tonight that you belong here."
Santi let the words sink in. He had dreamed of this moment for years, imagined himself rising to the occasion but now that it had happened, it felt almost overwhelming.
"You think this is it?" Santi asked. "That I've done enough?"
Felipe's smile faded. "Done enough? No." He shook his head. "Not even close."
Santi swallowed. He had expected that answer but hearing it still hit hard.
Felipe continued, his tone firm but calm. "This was a battle, not the war. The hardest thing about proving yourself is doing it again. Every time you step onto that field, you'll have a target on your back now. Defenders will study you. Coaches will analyze you. Opponents will come harder. They'll do anything to shut you down. Are you ready for that?"
Santi exhaled. He had given everything in that game and now he had to prepare to do it again?
But then he thought about all the nights he had trained alone, watching videos of Messi, Ronaldo, Neymar, Ronaldinho and other football legends. Learning, perfecting and practicing. They didn't stop after one great performance. They kept going.
Santi sat up, his eyes locked with Felipe's. "Yeah," he said, his voice steady. "I'm ready!"
Felipe studied him for a moment, then nodded as he walked away. "Good. Because this is just the beginning."
The dormitory was dimly lit, the soft hum of the ceiling fan mixing with the distant sound of crickets outside. The celebration had died down and exhaustion had finally settled in but for Santi, sleep felt impossible. His mind replayed every second of the game; the tension, the struggles, the brutal tackles and finally, that free kick.
Lying on his bed with arms folded behind his head, he could still hear the chants from the stands. "Cruz! Cruz! Cruz!" The way his teammates had embraced him, the look of pride in Coach Herrera's eyes, even Toro's rare grin, it all felt surreal.
Across the room, Ochoa lay awake, staring at the ceiling just like Santi. "Can't sleep either?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Santi exhaled sharply. "Too much on my mind."
Ochoa chuckled. "Same. Feels like a dream, doesn't it?"
Santi nodded. "Yeah… but at the same time, it feels like it was meant to happen."
He turned his head toward Ochoa. "Did you ever feel like this before? Like you belonged in a moment?"
Ochoa was silent for a while before answering. "Not until now."
A few bunks away, Toro's deep voice broke the silence. "You know what this means, right?"
Both Santi and Ochoa turned toward him.
"This…" Toro gestured vaguely at the room, the jerseys draped over chairs, the scattered cleats and shin guards, the unspoken bond between them all. "…is just the beginning."
Santi smirked. "You always have to make it sound dramatic, huh?"
Toro shrugged. "It's the truth. You scored the goal today but next game? That pressure doubles. Defenders will be watching you. Expecting you. One great performance isn't enough in this world. You have to keep proving yourself."
Santi knew Toro was right. One goal and one win wasn't enough. The journey ahead was still long and the road was only getting tougher.
He pulled the blanket over himself and closed his eyes as his heartbeat finally slowing.