The third day of the tournament felt different. The energy was heavier and more intense. The first two days had been about getting noticed but now? Now it was about survival. That meant he had to put in much effort.
Santi could feel it the moment he stepped onto the stadium grounds. The players who had made it this far weren't just playing to impress the scouts anymore. They were playing to prove they belonged.
For many, this was their last chance. And no one was willing to let it slip away. Santi clenched his fists. He had survived two days. He had pushed himself to new limits. But he knew today would be his toughest test yet.
Santi jogged onto the field for warm-ups with his eyes scanning the opposing team. Immediately, he felt the tension in his chest tighten. This team was different. Their defenders were bigger, stronger, smarter.
They didn't just move with aggression, they moved with purpose. He recognized some of them, players who had already been highlighted on the scout lists. Boys who were expected to make it. They weren't just here to win.
They were here to dominate. Santi exhaled sharply. He could already tell what their plan was. They were going to shut him down. Fine. Let them try.
The whistle blew. And Santi immediately felt the difference. The game was tight and suffocating.
Whenever he tried to receive the ball, a defender was already breathing down his neck. Every pass was contested. Every touch was a battle. Every inch of space was taken from him before he could even move.
For the first time in this tournament, Santi wasn't in control. And he hated it.
The midfield wasn't just crowded, it was a warzone. Every time Santi got near the ball, someone was there. It wasn't just one defender, either it was two or sometimes three. They weren't just defending. They were hunting him.
He tried to break free, moving off the ball and making sharp runs but they tracked him relentlessly. Then, a rare moment came when he finally found space.
A long pass came flying toward him. Santi controlled it instantly, took a quick glance up, saw an opening and swung his foot back to shoot. CRASH!
A body slammed into him from the side. Santi hit the ground hard, his breath knocking out of his lungs.
No whistle.
No foul.
Just a clean, brutal challenge.
Santi clenched his teeth as he pushed himself up. That was different. That wasn't just about skill anymore. That was about who wanted it more.
By halftime, Santi was breathing hard and drenched in sweat. He had barely touched the ball. His legs felt heavier than usual. And worst of all, he had no answers.
Felipe met him near the sideline, his arms crossed, watching him carefully. "They're shutting you down," Felipe said simply. Santi glared. "I noticed."
Felipe smirked. "So what are you gonna do about it?" Santi wiped the sweat from his face. "I don't know." Felipe raised an eyebrow. "Then figure it out. Fast."
Santi exhaled sharply. He had to adapt. This game wasn't just about him anymore. It was about his team.
The second half started. Santi could feel the frustration boiling inside him. This wasn't like the other games. He had barely seen the ball in the first half.
Every time he moved, someone was there, blocking him, pressing him or shutting him down. If he kept trying to play the same way, he would lose this battle. And Santi didn't want any of that. So he adjusted.
Instead of forcing himself into tight spaces, Santi changed his movement. He drifted wider, pulling the defenders away from their shape. He dropped deeper, acting like he was going to come for the ball, then cut forward at the last second.
It didn't always work. The defenders were still tight on him. But slowly, gaps started opening. Joel noticed first.
"You pulling them?" Joel asked breathlessly after a stoppage. Santi nodded. "Make the runs. I'll take them with me."
The next time their team attacked, Santi dragged two defenders out of position. Joel sprinted into the empty space and suddenly, the game had changed. Joel received a through-ball, cut inside and fired a shot.
The goalkeeper stretched and barely tipped it over the bar. So close. The defenders were yelling at each other now. Santi smirked. They were starting to lose focus.
With time running out, Santi started playing smarter, not harder. If he couldn't beat them with space, he would beat them in tight areas.
A defender pressed high. Santi let the ball roll past him, flicked it behind his leg and spun away. The crowd reacted instantly with gasps and murmurs. The scouts were watching.
Another challenge came. A heavy-footed defender lunged in, expecting Santi to pass. Santi didn't.
Instead, he used a double body feint, shifting one way, then the other leaving the defender completely off balance. He was finding his rhythm. The game wasn't about him scoring today.
It was about showing that he could control a game without goals. In the final minutes, the chance finally came. A foul just outside the box. A perfect free-kick position.
Santi placed the ball down carefully, taking deep breaths. He could feel the eyes on him. The defenders forming the wall. The scouts. Felipe. The coach from yesterday.
That was his moment. He took three steps back. Waited for the whistle. Then struck the ball. It curled beautifully, bending toward the top corner but the goalkeeper read it perfectly. A diving save. The ball was punched away. Santi froze. That had been his best shot. His last chance.
And it had been stopped. The whistle blew. The game ended in a draw 0-0. Santi stood there, staring at the empty net. The moment was gone.
Santi walked off the field, his body aching and his mind racing. This wasn't how today was supposed to go. He had done everything he could. And yet, he had no goals. No assists. Nothing that would make him stand out. He didn't even bother to check for his name on the list.
Felipe was waiting for him. Santi didn't even look up. "I wasn't good enough," he muttered. Felipe didn't say anything at first. Then, after a moment, "You were good enough." Santi frowned. "Then why didn't I score?"
Felipe exhaled. "Because sometimes football is like that." Santi shook his head. That wasn't an answer. He needed more.
Felipe continued, "You think scoring is the only way to stand out?" Santi hesitated. Felipe smirked.
"Let me tell you something, kid," he said. "There are hundreds of talented players here. A lot of them scored today. A lot of them played well."
He pointed toward the field. "But you? You controlled the game." Santi froze. Felipe's voice was steady.
"Some of those scouts are looking for goal-scorers," he said. "But some? Some are looking for the kind of player who can make others better."
He clapped Santi on the back. "They saw you today. Maybe not in the way you wanted, but they saw you."
Santi looked toward the stands. Some of the scouts were leaving. Some were still watching the players walk off. And one of them was still looking directly at him.
Santi's breath caught in his throat. The scout held his gaze for a moment. Then he nodded. And walked away.
Santi sat outside the motel that night, staring at the sky. The weight of the day still sat heavily on his chest. But Felipe's words kept repeating in his head.
"You controlled the game."
"Some of them saw you."
"Make them remember why they should be afraid."
Tomorrow was Day Four. Two days left to change his fate. Two days left to make everyone see what he already knew. That he belonged there.
He clenched his fists.