The recovery session ended the same way it always did.
Not with a whistle.
Not with applause.
Just the quiet scrape of exercise mats being rolled away, resistance bands being hung back on their hooks, and a physiotherapist reminding three players to drink more water before they disappeared toward the changing rooms.
Paco Cuenca had already left for a meeting with the academy staff. He rarely lingered after recovery sessions. His work simply shifted from the training ground to an office filled with match footage, notebooks and tomorrow's plans.
The players, meanwhile, reclaimed the gym as their own.
"Five euros says Mejía can't touch his toes."
Iván Mejía looked up from tying his trainers.
"...Who said that?"
Boyko raised a hand without an ounce of shame.
"I did."
Mejía stood immediately.
"I can touch my toes."
Carlos Alós didn't even look up while stuffing his resistance band into his bag.
"No, you can't."
The confidence in his voice made everyone laugh.
"You didn't even watch me try," Mejía protested.
"I've trained with you for two years."
"...Fair."
The room erupted again.
Johan Villa leaned against one of the exercise bikes, folding his arms across his chest.
"Double or nothing."
Mejía narrowed his eyes.
"You too?"
"I'm investing wisely."
"You lot are unbelievable."
"They're realistic," Hugo Guijarro corrected. "There's a difference."
"Fine."
Mejía planted both feet on the floor with exaggerated determination.
"Watch closely."
He bent forward.
Halfway down, his knees instinctively bent.
"Oi!" Boyko shouted immediately. "No cheating!"
"I'm not cheating."
"Straight legs!"
"They are straight."
"They're shaped like question marks."
More laughter.
Mejía tried again.
This time his legs stayed straight.
His fingertips stopped a good fifteen centimetres above his shoes.
Silence.
Boyko extended his palm.
"My five euros."
Mejía sighed dramatically before fishing a crumpled note from his pocket.
"I hate all of you."
"You'll recover," Johan said, accepting the money on Boyko's behalf.
"No," Carlos corrected as he zipped his bag shut. "His hamstrings won't."
Even Mejía laughed at that.
Álex watched the exchange while sitting on the edge of a treatment table, slowly loosening the tape around his right ankle. His body still felt heavy from yesterday's match, but the soreness had settled into something familiar. Every player in the room moved a little slower today, and somehow that made the atmosphere lighter. Nobody needed to pretend they weren't tired.
Javi wandered over carrying two bottles of water and tossed one to Álex.
"You've been quiet."
Álex caught it cleanly.
"I'm listening."
"You've been doing a lot of that lately."
"I usually do."
Javi sat beside him, unscrewing his bottle.
"...You know they're all going to start kicking you now."
Álex looked sideways.
"They were already kicking me yesterday."
"I mean every match."
Javi's smile had faded.
"You scored six goals in four league games."
"Seven."
"Huh?"
"One against UCAM. Two against Alboraya. Three yesterday."
Javi stared at him for a second before shaking his head.
"See? That's exactly what I mean."
"What?"
"You know your goal tally."
"So?"
"I don't even know mine."
Álex shrugged.
"I remember matches."
"You remember everything."
"Not everything."
"Enough to be annoying."
The conversation drifted into a comfortable silence as players continued filing out of the changing room. Some headed towards the hostel, others lingered outside, enjoying the late afternoon breeze that swept across the academy grounds.
The training pitches looked almost empty now.
Only one of the younger academy age groups remained, running passing drills under the watchful eyes of their coaches.
A little boy, no older than ten, stopped his drill when he noticed the Juvenil A players walking past.
His eyes settled on Álex.
He whispered something to his teammate.
The teammate looked over too.
The two boys exchanged excited glances before quickly returning to training after their coach barked a command.
Álex noticed.
He said nothing.
Javi noticed too.
"You've got fans."
"They're academy kids."
"They're still fans."
"I used to be them."
Carlos, who happened to be walking a few steps ahead, heard the last sentence.
"No," he said without slowing down. "You still are."
Álex frowned.
Carlos glanced over his shoulder.
"We're all academy kids until someone gives us a professional contract."
No one replied.
The sentence lingered in the air long after they'd reached the path leading back to the hostel.
It was easy to forget.
Valencia Juvenil A felt important.
The crowds had grown.
Scouts attended matches.
Highlights circulated online.
People applauded.
But at the end of the day, every player walking along that path shared the same uncertainty.
None of them knew where they'd be in two years.
Some would reach Valencia Mestalla.
A handful might wear the first-team shirt.
Others would quietly leave, carrying memories instead of contracts.
Football had no room for guarantees.
The hostel came into view, its brick walls glowing softly beneath the evening sun. Players drifted inside in small groups, talking about homework, tomorrow's training and the Champions League match they planned to watch after dinner.
As they climbed the steps toward the academy hostel, Álex's phone vibrated in his pocket.
Mamá ❤️
Have you finished training? Call us after dinner. Your sister has been asking about you all day.
A small smile appeared on his face before he slipped the phone back into his pocket.
"Home?" Javi asked.
Álex nodded. "Mum wants me to call after dinner. Apparently my little sister's been asking where I disappeared to."
Javi chuckled. "Must be nice."
"What?"
"Having someone miss you every day."
Álex glanced at him. "Your family doesn't?"
"They do," Javi admitted with a grin. "My older brother mostly misses having someone to blame when Mum catches a mess in the house."
"So he uses you as a shield?"
"He calls it teamwork."
Álex laughed.
"Sounds about right."
Javi nudged him with his shoulder. "See? You've got parents, a little sister waiting for your calls... and I've got an older brother who frames me for everything."
"Life isn't fair."
"Exactly."
Behind them, Johan overheard the last sentence and smirked.
"What's not fair?"
"This guy," Javi pointed at Álex, "gets emotional phone calls from home."
"And you?"
"I get accused of crimes I didn't commit."
Boyko walked between them carrying two trays from the dining hall.
"I've decided something."
Nobody answered.
"I'm banning family debates until after I've eaten."
"Why?" Johan asked.
"Because I'm hungry."
Carlos Alós, walking a few steps ahead, didn't even turn around.
"Then stop talking and start eating."
Nobody argued with that.