By the time the third group match arrived, the tournament had already begun to reshape the boys who were part of it.
Morning routines were sharper. Conversations shorter. Warm-ups more focused. The excitement that had buzzed through the first match had settled into something heavier, something more serious. MIC did that to players. It stripped away nerves and replaced them with expectation.
Valencia CF U15 stood top of Group J with six points. One more match remained. One more statement to make.
CD Laguna EVT were waiting.
They were not the most glamorous side in the group, but everyone knew their reputation. Organized. Relentless. A team that did not break easily and punished complacency without apology. They needed a big win to have any chance of progressing. That made them dangerous.
Álex laced his boots slowly, deliberately. His body felt different now. Looser. Stronger. The tournament rhythm had found him.
He glanced toward the stands. Carlos stood there, arms folded, expression unreadable. Álex didn't wave this time. He didn't need to.
The whistle blew under a bright Catalan sky.
From the first touch, it was clear CD Laguna came with a plan. They pressed high, compact, forcing Valencia wide and denying Álex time on the ball. Every time he dropped into space, a body followed. Sometimes two.
He welcomed it.
In the 4th minute, Álex received the ball with his back to goal. A defender pressed tight. Instead of forcing a turn, he rolled the ball backward, spun the opposite way, and burst into space.
[Dribbling efficiency: High.]
The defender reached out, fingers grazing fabric, but Álex was gone. He carried the ball thirty meters before releasing it calmly to the overlapping fullback.
The message was clear.
CD Laguna nearly struck first.
In the 8th minute, a misplaced Valencia pass led to a quick counter. Their striker slipped between the center-backs and fired a low shot that skimmed past the post.
A hush fell.
Coach Molina shouted instructions, urging calm. Álex jogged back to position, eyes sharp, jaw set.
Focus.
Valencia began to assert dominance through possession. Álex dropped deeper, helping circulate the ball, pulling CD Laguna's midfielders out of shape.
In the 13th minute, he received the ball centrally and turned instantly, gliding past one challenge, then flicking the ball over another defender's foot.
[Dribble success.]
The crowd murmured again.
He slipped a pass into Javi Torres on the right. Javi cut inside and fired.
Saved.
Álex clapped once, urging movement, urging belief.
The breakthrough came in the 19th minute.
Álex collected the ball near the left half-space. CD Laguna's defensive line was compact, disciplined. He slowed the tempo, dragging a midfielder toward him.
Then he accelerated.
A sharp stepover froze the defender. Álex cut inside, dragging the ball across his body, opening a narrow shooting lane.
He struck low.
The ball kissed the inside of the post and crossed the line.
Goal.
Valencia 1–0.
Álex exhaled sharply, fists clenched for a moment before he turned away. The goal was not celebration. It was relief earned through patience.
[Finishing under pressure: Successful.]
CD Laguna did not crumble.
They raised their intensity, pressing higher, committing more bodies forward. In the 27th minute, they equalized. A corner. A scramble. A deflected shot that wrong-footed the keeper.
1–1.
For the first time in the group stage, Valencia were level again.
Álex gathered the ball at kickoff, eyes burning with calm determination.
"Keep playing," he said quietly to Javi beside him.
The response was immediate.
In the 31st minute, Álex drifted into space just beyond the center circle. The ball arrived at his feet. He looked up once.
The striker was making a delayed run, timing it perfectly.
Álex delivered the pass with the outside of his foot, bending it around the defender's reach and into the striker's stride.
No hesitation.
Goal.
2–1 Valencia.
[Assist registered.]
From the sideline, Coach Molina nodded once.
The halftime talk was brief.
"They'll come again," Molina said. "Stay composed. Álex, keep controlling the rhythm. They can't live with you when you turn."
Álex wiped sweat from his brow and nodded. His lungs burned lightly now, familiar and manageable.
He felt in control.
Valencia emerged sharper.
In the 42nd minute, Álex danced through midfield pressure, slipping past one defender, then another, drawing applause from the stands.
[Dribbling streak continues.]
He released the ball, moved again, demanded it back. His presence bent the match around him.
CD Laguna tried to double-mark him. It only created space elsewhere.
The decisive blow came in the 50th minute.
Álex received the ball near the edge of the box, defenders converging. He paused, letting them commit.
Then he chipped the ball delicately over the defensive line.
Perfect weight. Perfect timing.
The winger arrived at the far post and finished calmly.
3–1.
[Assist x2.]
CD Laguna's shoulders sagged.
Still, Álex wasn't finished.
In the 58th minute, he took the ball near the left touchline, isolated against a tired fullback. One stepover. Another. Sudden burst of pace.
He entered the box, cut inside, and struck hard.
The keeper got a hand to it.
Not enough.
Goal.
4–1.
Álex jogged back, breathing heavy, sweat dripping, expression unreadable.
[Match impact: Dominant.]
The referee blew the final whistle moments later.
Valencia CF U15 4–1 CD Laguna EVT.
Three matches. Three wins.
Álex stood at midfield, hands on hips, chest rising and falling. He looked around at his teammates, at the crest on his chest, at the stands where his father stood quietly applauding.
Group J was theirs.
But the tournament was only beginning.
Somewhere else in the bracket, Atlético de Madrid were advancing too.
The road was narrowing now.
And Álex felt ready for whatever waited at the end of it.