A soft beep echoed steadily in the background.
Sterile white ceilings.Muted sunlight creeping through half-closed blinds.
Mateo blinked slowly.
His body felt heavy—like he was underwater.His head ached, his muscles ached…and his right leg—
He couldn't feel it.
Familiar Voices
"Mamá…" he whispered hoarsely.
A sudden movement beside him.
"¡Está despierto!"
It was his mother's voice.Seconds later, Klara leaned into his field of view, eyes wide and glassy with relief.
"You're awake," she whispered, gripping his hand.
"Enfermera, por favor…" his mother called, pressing the call button repeatedly.
Klara stroked his hair gently."You scared us so much."
Mateo tried to speak but coughed.His throat was dry.
"What… happened?" he rasped.
The Truth
"You've been asleep for almost two days," Klara said softly.
"Your vitals were stable," his mother added, "but your body was—exhausted. Completely drained."
Mateo blinked again.
He looked at them both.The question formed again.
"And the final?"
Klara smiled tearfully.
"You won," she said."Germany are world champions."
His mother added, "Thanks to you. You gave that final assist. You passed out after. They carried you off on a stretcher."
Klara laughed lightly, brushing a tear away.
"You were named Best Player of the Tournament, Top Scorer, and Top Assist Leader. You swept it all."
Mateo stared at the ceiling, breathing in slowly.His chest rose and fell.
He should've felt elation—but something felt… wrong.
And then he realized.
The Foot
He turned slowly toward his right leg.
It was raised slightly.
Wrapped in layers of medical fabric.
In a hard cast.
He stared at it.
"...What happened to my foot?" he asked, brow furrowing."I thought it was just a grade 2 sprain…"
Klara and his mother exchanged a glance.
Neither spoke.
Then—
A knock at the door.
The Doctor Enters
Dr. Falk, the team physician for the German U-20 squad, stepped in, clipboard in hand.
He approached Mateo with calm professionalism.
"You gave us a hell of a scare," he said.
Mateo sat up slightly. "My ankle. Tell me."
Dr. Falk sighed and took a seat.
"You were right initially. It started as a grade 2 sprain.""But the last 30 minutes? Extra time? The sprint? The torque on the final assist?"
He looked Mateo in the eye.
"You tore the ligaments clean."
Mateo swallowed.
"It became a grade 3 complete rupture."
Silence.
Mateo closed his eyes for a second.
"Time?" he whispered.
Dr. Falk nodded solemnly.
"Six months. Minimum."
Mateo stared at the ceiling again.Breathing slow.Even.Numb.
The world champion.
The golden boy.
Now…broken.