The final whistle rang out like a victory drum. América 3–1 Tigres. The pitch was electric. The home fans roared, flags waving and chants echoing through the night. The boys of América embraced, bumping chests, hugging and yelling over each other. This wasn't just three points. It was a statement. It was vindication.
Charlie dropped to his knees for a second with hands to the sky and taking in the moment. He had waited for this. Every sprint, every missed opportunity in the first half and every sleepless night thinking about the club that let him go, this was the payback. His teammates ran over and pulled him to his feet. Toro smacked the back of his head with a grin. "That's how you do it."
Santi caught up, breath still ragged. He wrapped an arm around Charlie's shoulder. "Told you this one was yours."
Charlie nodded, still too overwhelmed to speak.
They walked toward the tunnel together, greeted by the coaching staff waiting at the sideline. Herrera was all business with a proud smirk buried behind his usual sternness. "Well played," he said simply. "Get inside. We talk tomorrow."
Inside the locker room, the atmosphere was chaotic in the best way.
Music blasted from someone's speaker. Shirts were tossed. Lucho danced in the center, dragging Diego into a wild spin. Ice buckets were dumped onto players' heads. Charlie had his jersey half-off when the team hoisted him into the air, chanting, "Chaaaaaarlie! Chaaaaaarlie!"
Even the normally reserved Toro clapped along as his lips curled in a quiet smile.
"Speech!" Ochoa called out.
Charlie raised both hands, trying to speak over the noise. "They threw me away," he started, voice catching. "But we threw it back in their face tonight. We fought for this badge and for each other. We didn't stop."
The roars came in again. The unity was real. These weren't just teammates, they were brothers.
Felipe stood in the corner with arms crossed, his face was unreadable but his eyes showed something more, respect.
When things calmed down, Herrera gathered them for a short debrief. "Celebrate tonight. You earned it. But this is a long road. The league doesn't end here. Get your recovery. Be ready tomorrow. We train hard because we play harder."
The celebration was pure. Unfiltered. The kind that comes when everything you worked for actually comes together on the pitch.
After showers, wrapped in towels or fresh kits, the boys finally slowed down.
Dinner was late but lively, plates filled fast; Chicken, rice, vegetables and gallons of water. Felipe walked through, nodding, "Eat, hydrate, then rest. Enjoy it but tomorrow, we move again."
By the time they returned to the dorms, the energy had settled into a satisfied calm. Some sat in the common area watching highlights of other games. A few played FIFA. Charlie showed off his goal on repeat until the others forced him to stop.
Across the room, Diego and Ochoa argued over whose shots had more power. Lucho tossed socks at them. Charlie leaned against the window, watching the city him under the night sky.
Santi, lying on his bed, stared at the ceiling. His legs ached, his voice was hoarse but his mind was clear.
A win like that didn't come easy. It took effort, pain, precision and heart. And tonight, they had all of it.
As the dorm lights dimmed and the noise dropped to low murmurs, one thing hung in the air: They were just getting started.
The night settled like a soft blanket over the training facility. Outside, the city had quieted, but inside the dorms, low chatter and occasional bursts of laughter still echoed. Santi lay in bed, the dim light from his phone screen illuminating his face. He scrolled through social media clips of the match, fans tagging the team, edits of his assist, Charlie's goal celebration and Fernando's volley. There were even slow-motion breakdowns of Toro's yellow-card tackle with dramatic music in the background.
But it wasn't the attention that held him, it was the feeling. The reminder that all the hard work, the late nights and the extra sessions when everyone else rested, it meant something. It translated into moments that mattered.
He put the phone down on his chest and stared at the ceiling again with eyes unfocused. His legs still pulsed from the 90-minute war. His shoulders felt heavy but not burdensome. They felt worked. Earned.
Across the room, Charlie finally spoke. "Couldn't sleep either?"
Santi turned his head and saw him sitting upright in bed with knees up and arms resting casually.
"No," Santi said. "Still wired. You?"
Charlie nodded slowly. "I've wanted that goal since the day they let me go. You helped me get it."
Santi sat up slightly. "You did the work. I just gave you the ball."
Charlie gave a half-smile. "Still… thanks."
They sat in silence for a bit. In the other bed, Diego mumbled something in his sleep and turned over. Ochoa's soft snoring filled the room. Ríos was probably already in dreamland as he always fell asleep before anyone else.
Santi eventually got up, pulled on a hoodie and stepped out into the hallway. The building was quiet, only the soft hum of lights overhead and distant water pipes creaking. He walked down to the end, past the recovery room and out onto the balcony.
The night air was cool. Calm. From where he stood, he could see the empty training pitch, dimly lit by a few high floodlights left on. It looked almost surreal like a battlefield resting before the next war. He stood there for a while, breathing it in.
This was everything he had worked for. And yet, he knew it was still only the beginning.
The door behind him creaked open. Charlie joined him, silent at first. Then, he spoke. "I used to think I had to prove something to them," he said. "To Tigres. But after tonight… I think I proved it to myself."
Santi nodded slowly. "Same."
They didn't say much after that. Just stood there, two kids who had carried dreams on their backs for so long, finally seeing them take shape under the lights.
Eventually, they made their way back inside. The dorm was quiet now and veryone was asleep. Santi slipped under his sheets, letting his muscles relax.
Victory had given them rest. Not just for their bodies but for their minds. And that was rare. Santi closed his eyes and smiled.