Lunch was over, and most of the players headed back to their rooms to rest. Some lay on their beds scrolling through their phones, while others took short naps to recover from the morning's intense training. But not Santi.
His body ached but his mind was restless. There was always more to do.
Grabbing his cleats, he made his way back to the field. The sun had started its slow descent, casting a golden hue over the grass. As he stepped onto the pitch, a familiar voice called out.
"You're not gonna take a break, huh?"
Santi turned to see Ochoa jogging toward him with a water bottle in hand.
Santi smirked. "You know me. Gotta keep working."
Ochoa grinned. "Alright then. Let's train."
They started with simple passing drills, working on accuracy and movement. Then came dribbling; Santi weaving between cones at full speed while Ochoa defended aggressively, forcing him to make quick decisions. The intensity grew as they pushed each other, sweat dripping from their faces.
After an hour, their legs burned but neither wanted to stop.
"One more," Santi said, setting up a shooting drill.
Ochoa rolled his eyes but nodded. "You're crazy, man."
They took turns firing shots at an empty net, perfecting their finishing. Santi practiced his knuckleball, hitting the ball with such precision that it moved unpredictably in the air. Ochoa focused on placement, curling shots into the corners.
By the time they stopped, the sky had darkened slightly and the temperature had cooled.
"Alright, now I'm done," Ochoa said, stretching his arms.
Santi wiped his face with his shirt. "Good session."
They walked back to the dorms, talking about the next match and what they needed to improve. Inside, the air was cool, a welcome relief from the heat outside.
Santi took a long shower, letting the warm water soothe his muscles. As he dressed in fresh clothes, he grabbed his phone and lay back on his bed.
He opened YouTube and searched: "Messi World Cup Journey."
The video played, showing Messi's struggles, near-misses and ultimate triumph in Qatar. Santi watched closely, studying every moment; the determination in Messi's eyes, the heartbreak of past failures and the sheer joy of lifting the trophy.
It wasn't just about skill. It was about resilience. He felt a surge of inspiration. If Messi never gave up, why should he?
Dinner came soon after. The dining hall was filled with energy as players joked and talked about the upcoming matches. Some recapped training while others argued about which European club was the best.
After eating, the boys had free time. Some stayed back, chatting in groups, while others went to the lounge to play video games. The sound of laughter and controllers clicking filled the air.
But Santi needed some air. He stepped outside, finding a quiet spot near a bench. The night was calm, with only the distant hum of traffic from the city beyond. He leaned back, looking up at the stars as his thoughts drifted to his family.
He pictured his mother, the long hours she worked to support him and his sister, Lupita. His uncle Felipe, who had done everything to guide him. He missed them. But he knew why he was here. This was for them.
A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Thinking about home?"
Felipe sat down beside him with hands in his pockets.
Santi nodded. "Yeah. And everything else. Where I am now. What's ahead?" Just… everything they've done for me. I can't fail them."
Felipe smiled, his eyes filled with understanding. "You remind me a lot of myself at your age. The hunger and obsession. But let me tell you something I wish I understood earlier. Obsession alone isn't enough. It has to be paired with patience."
Santi looked at him. "Patience?"
Felipe nodded, "There will be games where you give everything and still fall short. And there will be moments when you feel invisible. But that doesn't mean stop. It means that your time will come."
Santi slowly nodded, absorbing Felipe's words.
"You're not failing anyone, Santi. You're chasing your dream. And you're making them proud every single day."
Santi exhaled, letting those words settle in.
"Just keep going," Felipe continued. "No matter what happens, keep going."
Santi met his uncle's gaze and nodded. He would.
As they walked back to the dorm, the night felt lighter. The weight of expectations was still there but now, it felt like fuel.
Back at the dorm, the energy had mellowed. Some players were sprawled on their beds with headphones in and lost in music. Others scrolled through their phones, checking highlights from European matches or chatting with family.
Santi and Felipe stepped inside, and the familiar scent of fresh laundry and sports gear filled the air. Ochoa was lying on his bed, tossing a small ball in the air and catching it absentmindedly.
"Finally decided to rest?" he joked, smirking at Santi.
Santi chuckled, tossing his training shirt into his laundry basket. "For now."
Toro and Solano were in the corner, talking in low voices. Whatever they were discussing seemed serious but as soon as Santi walked by, Toro looked up.
"You better be ready for the next game," he said. "No easy matches from now"
Santi nodded. "Always ready."
Diego sat cross-legged on his bed, replaying highlights from their last match on his phone. "That freekick, man… still can't believe you pulled that off," he said, shaking his head.
Santi shrugged with a small smile. "Practice."
Charlie, who had been lying on his stomach, propped himself up on his elbows. "Tomorrow, we're watching La Liga highlights after training. You in?"
Santi nodded. "Definitely."
As the night wound down, some of the players turned off their lights and settled into bed. The room quieted, the only sounds being the occasional rustling of blankets and the hum of the air conditioning.
Santi lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind replayed everything; the training, Felipe's words and the inspiration from Messi's journey.
He turned on his side, exhaling slowly and pulled the blanket over himself. His body was exhausted but his mind was still racing.