"Everyone gather around," the coach in charge of the trials called, his voice snapping through the fading noise like a starter pistol.
The boys drifted toward him in loose clusters, boots scraping, lungs still gulping for air. Some wiped sweat from their eyes. Others kept bouncing on their toes, nerves fizzing like shaken bottles. The late afternoon sun leaned low over Paterna, painting the pitch in long golden stripes, as if even the light wanted to see who would be chosen.
Álex stood among them, chest still rising and falling in uneven waves. His shirt clung to his back. His legs felt like they had been filled with warm sand. He could still feel the echo of every sprint, every cut, every touch.
[Stamina: 21 percent.]
The system's whisper drifted across his mind like a cool shadow. He ignored it. Numbers could wait. This moment could not.
The coach held a clipboard in one hand, a pen in the other. He looked at the boys not like a teacher, but like a jeweler inspecting stones, deciding which ones were worth cutting.
"You all did well," he said. "Some of you did very well. But we only have a few spots."
A ripple of tension moved through the group. Someone swallowed loudly. Another boy crossed himself.
"We will call out names. If you hear yours, step forward."
Álex felt his heart start to knock against his ribs.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Luis Herrera."
A boy near the front jumped slightly, then stepped forward, eyes wide.
"Marco Ruiz."
Another.
"Javi Torres."
Three now.
Each name felt like a coin flipping in the air. Heads turned. Boys counted silently. How many spots? Five? Ten? Fewer?
Álex's hands curled into fists at his sides.
"Álejandro Castillo."
For half a second, the world went very quiet.
Then he realized they had said his name.
Álex stepped forward, legs light despite the fatigue, like the grass itself was lifting him. He joined the small line forming in front of the coach, heart hammering with a rhythm that felt both wild and precise.
From the touchline, Carlos pressed a hand to his mouth.
The coach continued.
More names. More steps forward. Some boys sighed with relief. Others stared at the ground as if it had betrayed them.
When the list ended, seven boys stood in the front line.
The rest remained behind, a scattered constellation of hope and heartbreak.
"You ten will stay behind," the coach said. "The rest of you, thank you for coming. Keep working."
There was no cruelty in his tone. Just truth.
The dismissed boys began to drift away slowly, some kicking at the turf, some wiping their eyes, some forcing smiles that did not quite fit. Álex watched them go, a knot twisting in his chest. He knew what it was like to be on the other side of a door.
The coach turned back to the selected ten candidates.
"Follow me."
They walked toward the far side of the complex, past a small stand and into a shaded area near a low building. It felt quieter here, like the air was holding its breath.
Waiting for them was Paco Cuenca.
He leaned against a railing, arms folded, Valencia crest catching the light. Up close, his eyes looked sharper, older, like they had seen a thousand players come and go.
"So," Paco said, pushing himself upright. "You are the ones."
No one answered.
"Relax," he added with a faint smile. "This part is not about running."
He studied them one by one, gaze moving slowly, thoughtfully, as if he were reading pages of an invisible book.
When his eyes landed on Álex, they lingered.
"You," Paco said. "Number eight."
Álex straightened. "Yes, sir."
"Good movement. Good head." Paco tapped his temple. "Where did you learn to play like that?"
Álex hesitated. Then he answered honestly. "In the street. In the park. In my backyard. Anywhere I could."
Paco nodded. "It shows, but you will need more than that if you want to reach the top."
He turned to the rest. "The academy is not just about talent. It is about habits. About how you think when the ball is not at your feet."
He gestured toward Álex. "He was always available. Always scanning. That is not something you teach easily."
Álex felt heat creep up his neck.
Paco took out a small notebook. "You will all be invited back for the next stage. Medical checks. Physical evaluations. And more games."
A murmur of relief rippled through the group.
"This is not a contract," Paco added. "This is not a guarantee. It is an opportunity, and how you use it depends on you but I believe that I will see most of you on the big stage of La Liga."
An opportunity.
The word glowed.
He handed each boy a small slip of paper with instructions. When Álex took his, his fingers trembled just slightly.
"Report here at eight in the morning on Monday," Paco said. "Be ready."
Then he looked at Álex again.
"And you, Castillo. Bring the same brain you brought today."
Álex nodded. "I will."
They were dismissed.
As Álex walked back toward his father, the world felt different. Not louder. Not brighter.
Heavier.
Carlos met him halfway, pulling him into a hug so tight Álex almost lost his balance.
"You did it," Carlos whispered, voice rough.
"You did it."
Álex tried to answer, but his throat had turned into a knot. He just nodded, eyes stinging.
That night, back in the hotel room, he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling again. But this time, the white surface felt like a sky instead of a cage.
"System," he whispered.
[Yes, host.]
"Show my status."
A translucent window slid into his vision, gentle and precise.
[STATUS]
Name: Alejandro Adeyemi Castillo
Age: 13
Height: 160 cm
Position Inclination: Wide Attacker (Left)
Technical Potential: High
Tactical Awareness: Awakening
Physical Development: Stabilizing
Mental Resilience: Tempering
Current Standing: Valencia Academy Player.
[OVERALL RATING]
OVR: 53
[PHYSICAL]
Acceleration: 54
Sprint Speed: 53
Agility: 57
Balance: 52
Jumping: 47
Reaction: 51
Stamina: 52
Strength: 44
[MENTAL & TACTICAL]
Positioning: 49
Vision: 51
Decision Making: 48
Composure: 50
[TECHNICAL]
Ball Control: 58
Crossing: 55
Dribbling: 59
Finishing: 49
Short Pass: 52
Long Pass: 47
[SPECIAL ATTRIBUTES]
Weak Foot Strength: ★★☆☆☆ (2 stars)
Skill Moves: ★★★☆☆ (3 stars)
[SKILLS POSSESSED]
Stepover: Level 2
[POTENTIAL]
Projected OVR: 77 (An Average La Liga Player)
Álex stared at the numbers.
Fifty three.
Not impressive.
Not yet.
But today, fifty three had been enough to open a door in Valencia.
He closed the window.
Outside, somewhere far away, the academy lights of Paterna glowed against the Spanish night, waiting.
And Álex, finally, was on the path that led toward them, step by step, heartbeat by heartbeat, ready to turn that quiet promise into something loud and real.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you have any idea you will love to input the novel, let me know in the comments below. The development of the novel won't be me alone but every readers out there, so let me know what you feel would be there and any correction you will feel should be there