The early September air was crisp, carrying the faint tang of freshly cut grass and the salty edge of the nearby Mediterranean breeze. Valencia CF's U18 squad arrived at the stadium, the home of UCAM Murcia's juvenile team, a modest yet vibrant pitch framed by the bleachers where a scattering of early fans had gathered. The chatter of supporters and the rhythmic pounding of the groundskeeper's mower still lingered faintly as the boys stepped onto the sideline.
Inside the Valencia dressing room, the fluorescent lights reflected off the polished tiles, highlighting every bead of sweat already forming on the young players' brows. Paco Cuenca paced slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, eyes scanning the squad. His presence alone commanded silence. The room smelled of sweat, fresh kits, and a hint of tactical chalk dust from the whiteboards.
"Remember," Paco began, voice calm but with the weight of authority, "this is the first step in our season. Every touch, every run, every pass counts. Play as a unit. Keep your shape. Communicate. Protect each other."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. "UCAM Murcia will press high. They like to force mistakes. We will punish them if we stay alert and control the ball. Watch the gaps. If you see an opening, exploit it. Stay patient but deadly."
The players nodded, some fidgeting slightly, the nerves that always accompany a season opener flickering across their faces. Álex Castillo sat on the bench, the youngest of the squad at fourteen, recently promoted from the U15s. His hands wrapped around his knees, his gaze flickering between his teammates and the tactics sketched on the board.
He took a deep breath and called softly, almost ritualistically:
"System."
[Yes host] replied almost immediately.
"Show me my status window," Álex whispered, as if drawing a shield around himself from the surrounding tension.
[Sure host] replied.
[STATUS]
Name: Alejandro Adeyemi Castillo
Age: 14
Height: 170 cm
Position: Attacking Midfielder (Left)
Technical Potential: Very High
Tactical Awareness: Stabilized
Physical Development: Accelerating
Mental Resilience: Tempered
Current Standing: Valencia U18 Squad – Bench
[OVERALL RATING]
OVR: 67
[PHYSICAL]
Acceleration: 63
Sprint Speed: 61
Agility: 66
Balance: 60
Jumping: 52
Reaction: 57
Stamina: 61
Strength: 50
[MENTAL & TACTICAL]
Positioning: 59
Vision: 61
Decision Making: 60
Composure: 58
[TECHNICAL]
Ball Control: 66
Crossing: 60
Dribbling: 67
Finishing: 59
Short Pass: 63
Long Pass: 56
[SPECIAL ATTRIBUTES]
Weak Foot Strength: ★★★☆☆
Skill Moves: ★★★★☆
[SKILLS POSSESSED]
• Stepover – Level 3
• Body Feint – Level 2
• Cruyff Turn – Level 1
• Nutmeg – Level 1
[POTENTIAL]
Projected OVR: 86
Trajectory: La Liga First-Team Attacking Midfielder
Álex's eyes lingered on the numbers. His heartbeat quickened as he traced the lines detailing his strengths, the growth from U15 still fresh in his mind. He wasn't starting today, but every stat, every potential skill was a promise waiting to be fulfilled. He leaned back, letting the excitement build quietly inside him.
The coach's final instructions cut through his thoughts. "Warm up now. Ten minutes, dynamic drills. Get your legs loose and your focus sharp. We start in twenty."
On the pitch, the Valencia boys ran through their drills, cones scattered like little challenges across the green. Álex moved with careful precision, focusing on every touch and turn. He wasn't running full sprints today, just enough to feel the ball, to feel the rhythm of play at this level. His eyes flicked toward the opposing side. UCAM Murcia's boys were already stretching, their warm-ups more chaotic, some dribbling with wild enthusiasm, others punching the air in encouragement.
The stadium slowly came alive. A handful of parents had arrived for Valencia, a smattering of UCAM supporters adding local color to the stands. The hum of conversation and occasional whistles filled the air, giving the match a tangible heartbeat.
"Álex," Paco called suddenly, "observe. Notice their shape. Where they leave gaps, where they commit. Mental exercise first, action later."
Álex's gaze sharpened. Every step, every pass, every pretense of movement was cataloged in his mind. He saw a midfielder drift too far, leaving a space between defense and attack. He noticed a winger overcommitting, exposing the flank. His pulse quickened as the opening patterns of UCAM's formation began to emerge in his mind.
Soon, the referee's whistle echoed across the stadium. Valencia CF in their traditional white and black took possession first. The ball moved quickly from the goalkeeper Vicent Abril to the defenders, before reaching the midfield line where Rodrigo Gamón and Alin Gera orchestrated the early passes. Álex's eyes followed the ball, heart rising with every successful touch, analyzing angles and pace.
UCAM pressed immediately. Their young forward charged, forcing Hugo Guijarro to hold position. Valencia's defense held steady. Ball movement was deliberate, patient, but the pressure was palpable. The stadium's energy seemed to pulse with the ball, every touch drawing gasps or murmurs from the small but attentive crowd.
Fifteen minutes in, the first real opportunity came. Valencia intercepted a misplaced pass in the midfield. A sudden silence fell over the UCAM fans, the realization hitting them that the space they'd left could be punished. Pablo Reyes received the ball on the left flank, accelerated past a defender, and fed a pass into Dominykas Taučas at the edge of the box. The striker's first touch was immaculate, but he hesitated a fraction too long — UCAM's keeper rushed out. The shot glanced off his hand, and the ball ricocheted harmlessly wide.
Álex clenched his fists on the bench. The rhythm was intoxicating. He could feel the anticipation and frustration of his teammates in every movement. His mind mapped every run, every gap, imagining what he would do if he were on the pitch.
Twenty minutes in, UCAM tried to respond. Their midfielder, a stocky, aggressive player, dribbled through the midfield line. Alin Gera tracked him, shadowing every step. Álex noticed a slight overcommitment on the right flank — the counterattack opportunity forming almost instinctively.
A miscalculated pass from UCAM's defense slid toward the sideline. Victor Duran intercepted it cleanly. With lightning reflexes, he launched a long diagonal toward Pablo Reyes, who sprinted into the open channel. The UCAM defender scrambled to recover, but the timing was off. The ball arrived just ahead of the striker's stride, a perfect weight. Reyes touched it lightly, sending it spinning past the last defender.
"GOAL! Valencia CF takes the lead!" the commentary crackled in Álex's mind as though he were watching a live broadcast. "A textbook counterattack — Victor Duran intercepts, launches a perfect diagonal, and Pablo Reyes finishes with precision! The U18s strike first against UCAM Murcia at the away pitch!"
The stadium erupted. Valencia supporters cheered, waving scarves, the sound echoing off the small stands. Álex could feel the vibration of the crowd even on the bench. His teammates celebrated, but Paco Cuenca's calm demeanor remained. "Good, but stay focused. One goal doesn't decide a match," he instructed, signaling the squad to maintain discipline.
Álex's mind raced. Every movement of his teammates, the defenders holding shape, the striker timing his runs — he observed it all. Each decision, each pass, each run was a lesson. He studied, absorbed, and mentally rehearsed his own positioning, the precise angle he would take when his moment came.
The next twenty minutes were a chess game. UCAM pressed harder, Valencia absorbed and redistributed. Rodrigo Gamón and Alin Gera controlled the midfield, while Jaume Durà moved fluidly as a shadow CAM, often taking up spaces where Álex would later step. The intensity on the bench was palpable; every time Valencia regained possession, Álex leaned forward, eyes tracking the ball, imagining the touch, the pass, the fake, the break.
By the forty-minute mark, Valencia had managed a few dangerous attacks — a shot wide from Taučas, a near-header by Reyes. Each near-miss ratcheted the tension higher. Álex could hear the collective heartbeat of the stadium, the quickened breaths, the murmurs, the occasional cheer. Every nerve in his body felt connected to the pitch, despite not having touched the ball.
The whistle blew for halftime. Valencia led 1‑0. Players jogged off, chests heaving, faces glistening with sweat. Paco Cuenca clapped his hands, eyes locking on every player. "We controlled the first half. UCAM Murcia made mistakes, but they also tested you. Keep focus, keep shape. Adjust in the second half."
Álex exhaled slowly, sinking into the bench. The adrenaline still coursed through him. He watched his teammates sip water, stretch, and discuss the half. His own mind replayed every movement, every pass, every decision. He pulled out his phone, calling up his status window once again, tracing the numbers, imagining how each skill, each growth, each level would translate when his time came on the field.
As the halftime break continued, Álex allowed himself a small smile. The bench was a waiting room, yes, but every second spent here was preparation, observation, and learning. He would not rush. His moment would come.
He glanced around the locker room at his teammates, their expressions a mix of satisfaction, frustration, and hunger for more. He could feel the bond already forming with the squad — the respect earned through effort, shared adrenaline, and collective ambition.
Outside, the faint murmur of fans lingered, calling out chants, some for Valencia, some for UCAM Murcia, a soundtrack to the life of the match. Álex could hear it, feel it, imagine it, and know that soon enough, he would be part of that heartbeat on the pitch itself.
The first half ended, but the story of the season had only just begun.