THEY LOST

Alonso carried Coach Herrera's words with him throughout the day. Every lesson, every conversation, every fleeting moment of laughter with his friends—it all felt muted, overshadowed by the weight of his own thoughts.

The match against Gustavo Academy was in the afternoon, and despite knowing he wouldn't be playing, his heart refused to settle. Every time he glanced at the clock, he felt a twinge of frustration.

 The hours ticked by too slowly, yet at the same time, he dreaded the final bell, knowing it would mark the start of a game he could only watch from the sidelines.

At lunch, Javi and Miguel couldn't stop talking about Gustavo's players. They debated who was the strongest, who would be the biggest threat, and what kind of tactics Bilbao Central could use to hold their own against them.

"Santiago is obviously their biggest weapon, but their midfield is just as insane," Miguel said, tapping his fork against his tray.

Javi nodded. "Yeah, they've got that guy, Luis Ortega. He's quick on the ball and finds space like it's nothing.

 It's like he sees the whole field before he even gets the ball."

Alonso listened, eating quietly, absorbing every bit of information. His mind wasn't on the match itself—it was on the future. On what he needed to do to reach that level. 

What separated players like Santiago and Ortega from him? Was it talent or hard work? Or was it simply belief?

As the final bell rang, the school burst into life. Students poured out of classrooms, all heading toward the field.

 Alonso followed behind, walking slower than the others, his hands tucked into his pockets.

The stadium seats were already filling up by the time he arrived. The noise was deafening—chants, cheers, conversations blending into an overwhelming roar. 

Even though it was just a school match, the excitement made it feel like a professional game.

The players were already warming up, the sounds of laughter and focused chatter filling the air. 

Alonso spotted his teammates on the field, stretching, passing, and preparing for the battle ahead. He watched as they executed drills with precision, the ball zipping effortlessly between them.

 A part of him wished he could be down there, feeling the grass beneath his cleats, the anticipation that thrummed through the atmosphere before kickoff. The adrenaline, the camaraderie—it was intoxicating.

Instead, he climbed up the stands and found a spot near the edge of the field, just behind the bench where the substitutes sat. It was a place where he could feel the energy of the game without being in the thick of it. He crossed his arms, his eyes locked onto the pitch, taking in every detail—the vibrant green of the grass, the bright white lines marking the field, and the way the sunlight reflected off the players' jerseys. 

As the game began, the pace quickly intensified. Gustavo Academy wasted no time asserting their dominance; they were a well-oiled machine. Their passes were sharp and deliberate, zipping across the field with remarkable precision. 

The players moved in harmony, their chemistry on full display, each one anticipating the others' movements. Their confidence was palpable, infusing the air with electricity. 

Within minutes, Santiago Valverde, a rising star, had already sent a warning shot—a powerful strike from outside the box that forced Bilbao's goalkeeper into a desperate save. The ball flew towards the goal with a speed that left the crowd gasping in anticipation. 

Everyone held their breath as the goalkeeper dove, fingertips grazing the ball just enough to send it soaring over the crossbar. A collective sigh of relief erupted from the home fans, quickly replaced by shouts of encouragement and cheers that reverberated around the stadium.

Alonso felt his heart race, riding the swell of excitement in the stands. Even though he wasn't on the field, the adrenaline coursing through him mirrored that of his teammates.

 He leaned forward, soaking up the atmosphere, feeling every kick, every pass, and every near miss as if he were a part of it. The energy was contagious, and he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of pride for the boys in blue as they worked to weave their way through Bilbao's defensive line, creating chance after chance. 

The game was turning out to be a showcase of skill and determination, and Alonso couldn't help but dream of the day when he'd join in that relentless pursuit of victory.

For now, he was an observer, but with every fervent play on the field, he felt that the time for him to make his mark was drawing closer.

Alonso watched, analyzing every movement.

 Santiago barely hesitated before making decisions. His dribbles were precise, his vision unmatched. He wasn't just playing—he was controlling the game.

Bilbao Central fought hard, but they were struggling to match Gustavo's intensity. The midfield was being overrun, and every time they tried to build an attack, Gustavo's defense shut them down immediately.

Then, in the 20th minute, it happened.

A long pass from Gustavo's midfield sliced through Bilbao's defense. Santiago sprinted onto it, his speed effortless, his touch perfect. One-on-one with the keeper, he didn't rush.

 He waited, watching the keeper commit before calmly slotting the ball into the bottom corner.

Silence. And then—cheers, shouts, applause.

 Gustavo Academy celebrated, their players high-fiving, their confidence growing.

Alonso clenched his fists.

He could see it. The gap. The difference in level.

His teammates weren't bad. They were fighting, giving their all. But Gustavo Academy played like a unit, like a team that had already envisioned victory before stepping onto the field.

As the game progressed, Bilbao Central found moments of hope. A counterattack here, a dangerous cross there. But the finishing wasn't sharp, and Gustavo's defense refused to crack.

Halftime came with the score still 1-0. As the players headed to the locker rooms, Alonso remained in the stands, deep in thought.

"Frustrating, isn't it?" A voice broke through his focus.

He turned to see Coach Herrera standing beside him, hands in his pockets, watching the field.

Alonso hesitated before answering.

 "Yeah. It feels like they're just... better."

Coach Herrera nodded. "They are. Right now."

That last part caught Alonso off guard. "Right now?"

"Nothing is permanent, Alonso," Herrera said, his gaze steady. "Santiago Valverde wasn't born this good. He worked for it. And so can you."

Alonso looked back at the field. The players were returning, preparing for the second half.

"I want to be out there," he admitted quietly.

Coach Herrera smiled. "Then make sure that next time, you are."

The second half was tougher. Bilbao Central pushed harder, fighting for every ball, but Gustavo Academy remained composed.

 In the 60th minute, Santiago struck again—a curling shot from just outside the box, unstoppable.

2-0.

The final whistle blew with the same scoreline. Gustavo Academy had won, and as their players celebrated, Alonso felt a strange mix of emotions.

 Anger, disappointment, but most of all—determination.

As he stood up to leave, his eyes met Santiago's.

For a brief moment, the star player of Gustavo Academy studied him. 

Then, with a small smirk, he turned away, joining his teammates.

Alonso exhaled slowly, his jaw tight.

One day.

One day, he would face Santiago Valverde not as a spectator, not as a substitute, but as an equal.

And on that day, he would not lose.