The dormitory was quiet, the only sound came from the faint hum of the air conditioning. It was still early, too early for most but not for Charlie. While the others lay cocooned in their blankets, he was already awake, sitting at the edge of his bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind was racing.
Today wasn't just another match. Today was his match.
The faint glow of the rising sun seeped through the curtains. Charlie stood up, careful not to wake his roommates. Without hesitation, he dropped to the floor and started his workout; push-ups, sit-ups and shadowboxing. His breaths were sharp and controlled as his muscles tensed with each repetition.
He didn't care about anything else. Tigres U19 was the team that discarded him, they overlooked him. They thought he wasn't good enough and today, he was going to prove them wrong.
One by one, the rest of the team began to stir. Santi rolled onto his back, stretching his arms over his head with a deep yawn.
"Why do you always wake up like you fought a war in your sleep?" Diego joked, rubbing his eyes.
Santi chuckled, sitting up. Across the room, Toro groggily looked over at Charlie, who was now standing near his bed, drenched in sweat from his early morning routine.
"You good?" Toro asked as his voice hoarse from sleep. Charlie didn't answer right away. He simply nodded, grabbed his towel and headed toward the showers.
The team moved slowly to the showers, the cold tiles waking up their senses. The sound of rushing water filled the air as they cleaned up, washing away the last traces of sleep. Charlie stood under the stream of water longer than the rest, letting it hit his face as if trying to cool the fire burning inside him.
By the time they finished and got dressed, the dorm smelled of body spray and fresh laundry. The players walked together toward the dining hall, some still stretching and others rubbing the stiffness from their necks.
The cafeteria was already buzzing with activity. The coaching staff sat at one table, quietly discussing strategies, while the players filled their trays with food. Eggs, toast and fruit juice to fuel for the match ahead.
Charlie sat down but barely touched his food at first. He was too focused, his mind replaying scenarios, picturing himself scoring against Tigres and dominating the midfield.
Solano, noticing Charlie's intensity, nudged him. "Eat. You'll need the energy."
Charlie nodded and started eating, though his mind never left the match.
Herrera stood up at the front of the room with arms crossed as his eyes scanned over his players before he spoke.
"Today, we play for more than just three points. We play to show who we are. Tigres will come in with confidence but we will dictate the game. Be ready."
After breakfast, the team changed into their training gear, blue shorts with blue and yellow training tops with the América crest on their chests. They walked toward the training grounds as the crisp morning air refreshed them.
The moment they stepped onto the grass, the energy shifted. The joking stopped. It was time to work.
The team started with light jogging, slowly increasing their pace. High knees, side shuffles and lunges. Every movement was sharp and precise.
Solano, the captain, barked orders. "Push it! Faster!" His voice was sharp and commanding. Even the defenders, usually more laid-back during warm-ups, picked up the pace.
They moved on to short passing drills, keeping the ball moving in tight spaces. One-touch passes, quick movements and constant communication.
"Talk! Move! Feel the game!" Herrera shouted from the sidelines.
Charlie, in particular, was playing with a level of urgency that stood out. His touches were crisp, his movements sharp. Tigres was going to feel him today.
After an intense session, the team took a brief rest. Some players stretched, others took sips of water. Charlie, still locked in, stood off to the side, juggling a ball absentmindedly.
By 2:30 PM, the players returned to the training facility to change into their official match kits.
The moment Santi pulled his yellow and blue jersey over his head, he felt it; the weight of history and responsibility. This wasn't just a game. It was Club América defending its home turf. He tied his cleats tightly, checking them twice. No room for error today.
Charlie sat in front of his locker, staring at his name on the back of his jersey. This wasn't just another opponent. This was Tigres. The team that discarded him and doubted him. He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. Today, he wasn't just playing for three points. He was playing for himself.
By 3:00 PM, the low hum of conversation in the locker room was replaced by the distant roar of the arriving crowd. The stands were filling up as the atmosphere was already electric.
The Tigres U19 team bus pulled up outside the facility. The players stepped off in their blue and yellow kits, looking composed and confident. They had come to win. They had no fear in their eyes and no hesitation in their steps. Some of them recognized Charlie. A few exchanged glances as a silent acknowledgment.
The América players watched them from the tunnel. No words. Just were focused on the game ahead.
The teams took to the field for their final warm-ups.
The moment América stepped out, a roar erupted from the home fans. Flags waved, scarves lifted and chants echoed across the stadium. This was their fortress.
The warm-ups were sharp and intense, involving short sprints for building explosiveness, tactical passing drills for ensuring crisp ball movement and shooting exercises. Santi and Charlie putt shots on target, testing their accuracy.
They also practiced set-piece rehearsals because in a game like this, a single free kick could be the difference.
On the other side, Tigres was doing the same. Their passes were crisp and their shots clean. Their coach stood at the center, directing them with precision.
But América didn't watch them. They didn't care. They focused on themselves. On their game.
By 3:45 PM, both teams retreated to their respective locker rooms.
Inside the América locker room, the energy was controlled but electric. Players sat on benches, tying their boots and adjusting their shin guards. Some bounced their legs, unable to sit still. Others leaned back with eyes closed, visualizing the game ahead.
Herrera stood in front of them with arms crossed as he scanned their faces, looking for doubt but he found none.
"We are at home," he said, his voice steady. "This is our house." His eyes met Solano's, then Toro's, then Santi's.
"We set the tempo. We dictate the game. They will try to make it physical. Good. We match them. They will press. Good. We break them. But we play with intelligence. With discipline."
He turned to Charlie. "You ready?"
Charlie's face was stone. "Always."
Herrera smirked. "Then make them regret ever letting you go."
A murmur of agreement spread through the room. They were ready. Solano, the captain led in prayer ahead of the game.
On the other side, the Tigres locker room was just as intense.
Their coach, a grizzled man with years of experience, paced in front of his players. "This is América," he said, his voice firm. "They play fast, they play aggressive. But they are not invincible."
He stopped, looking at his midfielders. "We control the center. We do not let them dictate the tempo. We play smart. If they get frustrated, they'll make mistakes."
Then he turned to his defenders. "Watch their number ten, Santiago. He's dangerous. Don't give him space. Don't let him turn."
Finally, his gaze landed on their striker. "And when you get a chance, you bury it. No mercy."
Tigres clapped their hands together in unison. They were ready.
The referee stood at the entrance of the tunnel. The players lined up.
Santi took a deep breath. The noise outside had risen to a deafening level as fans chanting, flags waving and anticipation in the air.
Charlie clenched his fists. Tigres was about to learn what a mistake they had made.
The referee blew his whistle. It was time for the match to start.