The sun had barely risen when Santi's alarm buzzed. He groaned, rubbing his eyes before sitting up. The room was dim and the cool morning air filled the dormitory. Across from him, Toro was still asleep with his arm draped over his face.
Santi quietly got out of bed, stretched his arms and slipped into his training gear. He tied his laces tightly, grabbed his phone and made his way out.
The hallway was quiet, except for the distant sound of showers running. As he walked towards the dining hall, he checked his notifications; some football updates and a reminder that the next match was only a few days away.
When he arrived, the dining hall was already buzzing with players. Charlie and Ochoa were sitting at a table, laughing about something. Diego was scrolling through his phone while eating a plate full of eggs and toast. Solano, always the leader, sat with a few teammates discussing tactics over breakfast.
Santi grabbed a tray and loaded up on food; scrambled eggs, toast, fruit and a protein shake. He needed energy for what was coming.
As he sat down next to Diego, Toro finally walked in, stretching his arms. "Man, I hate mornings," he mumbled, sitting across from them.
Charlie smirked. "You hate anything that involves waking up before noon."
They all chuckled but the mood quickly turned serious as Solano spoke up. "Eat well, boys. Today's training is going to be intense."
Santi nodded, already mentally preparing for what was ahead.
After breakfast, the players made their way to the field. The crisp morning air quickly turned warm as the sun rose higher.
Coach Herrera stood in the center, his whistle dangling from his neck. "Alright, listen up! We've got a lot of work to do. This is how we separate those who want it from those who are just here. Let's go!"
The team split into their usual groups.
Solano, the captain, was already barking orders, ensuring everyone was focused. His intensity set the tone for the session.
Toro and Ríos were locked in a battle of strength, pushing each other to the limit. Both defenders knew that if they wanted to dominate their opponents, they had to be the strongest on the field. They went shoulder to shoulder in a one-on-one drill, neither backing down.
Santi and Diego worked together, their chemistry growing stronger. Diego was learning from Santi, improving his dribbling and close control.
"Try this," Santi said, demonstrating a quick La Croqueta, shifting the ball between his feet before gliding past an imaginary defender.
Diego attempted it, stumbling slightly.
"Again," Santi said, smiling.
Diego nodded, determined.
Meanwhile, Charlie and Ochoa were practicing their shooting. Charlie was working on power shots while Ochoa was refining his finesse finishing. Every strike sent the ball rocketing toward the net, forcing the goalkeepers to stay sharp.
After an hour of drills, Coach Herrera blew the whistle. "Alright! Set-piece practice! Santi, Diego, get to work on free kicks!"
Santi and Diego stood behind the ball, about 25 yards from goal. The wall was set and the keepers were in position.
Santi went first. He took a deep breath, took his steps back and struck the ball with precision. It curled beautifully over the wall and slammed into the top corner.
The team cheered!
Diego stepped up next. He hit the ball well but it lacked the same accuracy. Santi walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Try leaning back a little less. Focus on striking through the ball."
Diego nodded, took another shot and this time, it flew in.
"That's it!" Santi grinned.
While most of the players started cooling down, Santi stayed behind. He wanted more.
He dribbled through cones, practiced his first touch and worked on his weaker foot. The sun was now high in the sky and sweat dripped down his face.
Felipe arrived, standing at the sideline with his arms crossed. "You never stop, do you?"
Santi paused, breathing heavily. "I can't afford to."
Felipe nodded. "Good. But don't burn yourself out. There's a long road ahead."
Coach Herrera had been watching. He walked over and stood next to Felipe. "He reminds me of myself when I was younger."
Santi wiped his forehead. "You used to play?"
Herrera nodded. "I was a midfielder. Fast, technical and always hungry to prove myself. But an injury ended my career early. That's why I coach now, to help players like you reach their potential."
Santi listened carefully. He could see the fire in Herrera's eyes, the same passion he felt for the game.
"Remember this, Santi," Herrera continued. "Talent gets you noticed but hard work keeps you at the top. Never let up."
Santi nodded. "I won't coach!"
After the grueling training session, the players walked back to the dining hall, their bodies aching but their spirits high. The sun was at its peak, casting long shadows across the facility as sweat dried on their jerseys. Some players had their hands on their hips, still catching their breath while others playfully nudged each other, reliving moments from the session.
Inside, the aroma of grilled chicken, pasta, and fresh vegetables filled the air. The kitchen staff had prepared a high-protein meal to help the players recover. Santi grabbed a plate and loaded up, making sure to balance his meal with protein for muscle repair, carbs for energy and greens for nutrients.
The team settled into their usual spots but today, there was a quiet sense of accomplishment. Solano, the captain, was the first to break the silence.
"That was a good session," he said between bites of food. "Everyone gave their all."
Toro smirked, nudging Ríos. "Yeah, especially this guy. Almost took me out trying to win a tackle."
Ríos chuckled. "Hey, better you than an opponent."
Diego, still thinking about his free kicks, turned to Santi. "Man, your shot is unreal. The way you hit that knuckleball… I swear, the ball moved like it had a mind of its own."
Santi shrugged, taking a sip of water. "Repetition. I've been working on it every day. It's all about the strike point."
Charlie leaned in. "That's what separates the good from the great. The extra work."
Coach Herrera walked in, grabbing a plate for himself. He didn't usually eat with the players but today, he sat at a nearby table, keeping an eye on them. Felipe sat beside him, occasionally glancing at Santi, a quiet sense of pride on his face.
"How's the body holding up?" Felipe asked.
Santi wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Sore. But good."
Felipe chuckled. "That's how you know you're doing it right."
The room fell into a comfortable rhythm. Plates clanked, conversations overlapped and the occasional burst of laughter broke through. But as lunch continued, a more serious discussion emerged.
The Future. Charlie leaned back in his chair, looking at the group. "You ever think about what comes next?"
Ochoa nodded. "All the time. One bad injury and everything can change. That's why I play every game like it's my last."
Solano spoke with conviction. "That's why we push ourselves now. If we do the work here, we control our own futures."
Santi listened, absorbing every word. He had dreamed of this life for so long, but now that he was in it, he realized how much harder it was to stay at the top. Every player at the table had the same goal, to make it as a professional. But not all of them would.
Felipe leaned forward, his voice low but firm. "You boys have the talent. But talent isn't enough. Football is cruel. There will be setbacks, injuries and days when you doubt yourself. What matters is how you respond."
The players fell silent for a moment, reflecting on his words.
Toro, always one to lighten the mood, grinned. "Well, the first thing I'm doing when I sign a pro contract is buy my mom a house."
The table laughed but the truth was, they all had dreams beyond the game. Santi thought of his family. Of his mother's sacrifices. Of the streets where he first learned to dribble.
He clenched his fists under the table. He wasn't just playing for himself. He was playing for them.
As lunch wrapped up, Coach Herrera stood and said, "Enjoy the rest of the afternoon."