Three days into advanced training, Azul woke before the alarm.
Not because of pain.
Not because of nerves.
But because a strange quiet excitement pulled him from sleep.
Match day.
Not an official league match — a controlled internal scrimmage between the advanced group and the regular U14 squad.
A test.
A measurement.
A battlefield where players earned or lost their trajectory.
The kind of match where coaches watched every detail.
The kind of match that decided futures.
Azul sat on the edge of his bed, breathing slowly until his pulse steadied. The hip felt better today — not perfect, but less threatening.
Good.
He needed it.
A knock came on the door.
Pablo.
He peeked in. "You alive?"
"Barely," Azul said.
"Good. That means you're ready."
Azul chuckled. "You're weird."
"I'm inspirational," Pablo corrected. "And I'm also playing against you today."
Azul blinked. "You're in the lineup?"
"Bench," Pablo said proudly. "But I'll come in. And when I do, prepare to be destroyed."
Azul shook his head with a smile. "You can try."
---
The entire facility felt different that morning.
Energy buzzing.
Coaches speaking low and serious.
Players tying boots with sharper focus.
The scrimmage wasn't televised.
No crowds.
But somehow, the silence around the pitch made it feel bigger than any stadium.
Morales gathered the advanced group before warm-up.
"This match isn't about winning," he said. "It's about showing how you think. How you adapt. How you impose structure on chaos."
His eyes drifted across the players… and briefly stopped on Azul.
"Make your decisions fast. Make them simple. Make them right."
The group dispersed.
Azul stayed still for one last second, grounding himself in a deep breath before stepping into the warm-up.
---
### **Kickoff**
Azul started as left interior midfielder.
Óscar as right interior.
The advanced group looked polished and confident during the opening minutes — sharp presses, smooth rotations, crisp passing sequences.
But the regular U14 squad didn't lie down.
They pressed aggressively.
Harder than usual.
Trying to prove a point.
Five minutes in, the pressure hit Azul's lane.
A forward closed him.
A midfielder shadowed his back.
A defender stepped up into his zone.
A triple trap.
Azul looked up.
Too slow.
The ball was stolen.
A fast counter launched.
Goal.
Morales didn't yell — which was worse.
Óscar jogged past Azul and said sharply, "Scan earlier. You're too calm."
Azul bit down a frustrated exhale. "Got it."
He repositioned himself.
The next play flowed through Óscar — a sharp combination down the right, a line-breaking pass, near goal.
Azul watched closely.
Read him.
Learned him.
Then the ball came his way again.
This time he scanned twice, then moved diagonally to free space before the pass even arrived.
The trap collapsed late.
He escaped.
Morales clapped from the sideline. "Better!"
Azul's pulse steadied.
The rhythm returned.
---
### **The Build-Up**
The advanced group began controlling the match.
Azul found pockets more naturally.
Turns smoother.
Passes sharper.
His hip protested on quick shifts, but he ignored the sting — controlled it.
In the 20th minute, Óscar received under pressure and tapped the ball backward to Azul.
"Switch!" Óscar shouted.
Azul took one glance.
He saw it:
The right winger sprinting into space.
The full-back lagging.
The opposite interior unmarked.
He stepped into the ball, shifted it with the outside of his boot, then drove a diagonal forty-meter pass across the field.
Perfect weight.
Perfect angle.
Perfect height.
The winger controlled it in stride and nearly scored.
A murmur rippled from players on both teams.
Óscar smirked.
Morales nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard.
Azul didn't smile — he was too focused.
Too locked in.
---
### **The Opposition Responds**
The U14 squad began targeting him deliberately.
Small fouls.
Quick bumps.
Late pressures.
They wanted to break his rhythm.
In one play, a midfielder clipped his ankle after a pass.
Azul stumbled but kept moving.
"Fight through it," Óscar muttered beside him. "They're testing you."
Azul didn't respond — his jaw tightened, and he reset his stance.
He fought harder.
Pressed faster.
Moved cleaner.
Read quicker.
Every minute sharpened him like a blade being honed on stone.
---
### **The Moment Arrives**
Thirty minutes in, the game shifted.
Azul received a pass from the left-back with two pressing players coming from opposite sides.
A trap.
Again.
But this time…
He felt everything slow.
Not physically.
Mentally.
His vision split the field into pieces — angles, lines, shadows of movement.
A defender overcommitted.
A passing lane flickered open.
A run formed behind the striker.
Azul didn't hesitate.
He slid between the defenders with a turn so tight it almost looked like he disappeared between them.
A gasp erupted from the sideline.
Azul broke free.
Three steps forward.
A through pass sliced the backline.
Óscar latched onto it.
One touch.
Two.
Shot.
Goal.
The advanced group didn't celebrate loudly — they didn't need to.
Morales simply said, "That… is why he's here."
Azul exhaled.
Not in relief — but in recognition.
*I can do this.
I belong here.*
---
### **Second Half**
Pablo came in for the opposition.
He jogged past Azul with a grin. "Prepare yourself."
Azul chuckled. "Show me what you got."
The two clashed twice.
Pablo won the first duel — surprising Azul with a shoulder shove.
Azul won the second — reading Pablo's pass before Pablo even made it.
They exchanged small smiles.
Mutual respect.
---
### **The Final Play**
With minutes left, Azul received the ball outside the box. The defenders backed up, expecting a pass.
He scanned.
Every teammate was marked.
No clear options.
No safe play.
But his vision didn't only show passing lanes.
It also showed movement potential.
He shifted the ball right.
A defender lunged.
Azul cut inside.
Another defender lunged.
Azul slipped past.
Suddenly he was in shooting range.
Left foot.
Low.
Precise.
The keeper dove.
Too slow.
The ball kissed the far corner.
Goal.
Silence for one second.
Then shouts.
Then whistles.
Then laughter.
Óscar ran up and smacked him on the back. "Reyes! Didn't know you had that!"
Azul breathed out, dizzy with exhaustion — and something like pride.
Small.
Quiet.
But powerful.
---
After the match, Morales called the team together.
He didn't smile, but his tone carried weight.
"Today was a test," he said. "Some of you rose. Some of you learned. Some of you surprised even us."
Then he looked straight at Azul.
"Reyes — stay after."
A few players exchanged looks.
Pablo mouthed "BROOOOOO."
Azul's heart thumped hard.
What now?
---
When the field cleared, Morales approached Azul with his hands behind his back.
"You're adapting faster than expected," he said. "Your match intelligence is accelerating. Your vision under pressure is developing into something… rare."
Azul's breath caught.
Morales continued, "So I'm moving you to a split training schedule."
"A what?" Azul asked.
"You'll train with the advanced group in the mornings," Morales said, "and twice a week… with the Juvenil B coaches in the afternoons."
Azul's heart stopped.
Juvenil B was two age groups above him.
"Is that… allowed?" Azul whispered.
Morales's expression hardened.
"For players like you? It's required."
---
That night, Azul wrote in his notebook with shaking hands:
*Day 4: Internal match. Hard. Pain manageable. Vision clear. Goal and assist. Morales shifting me to split schedule. Juvenil B exposure. Everything is moving faster…*
He paused.
Then added:
*Messi… I'm coming.*
---
**End of Chapter 26**