NEED FOR IMPROVEMENT

The players trudged back to the locker room silently, their shoulders slumped, sweat still dripping from their brows. The air was thick with exhaustion and disappointment, the sting of defeat weighing heavy on every one of them. 

Some dropped onto the benches, heads in their hands, while others leaned against the lockers, staring at the floor as if the answers to their struggles lay there.

Coach Herrera entered last, his face unreadable. He scanned the room, his usual sharp eyes dulled with confusion. He was expecting frustration, anger, maybe even some shouting—anything to show that the team hated losing as much as he did.

 But instead, what he saw was resignation.

He exhaled sharply, stepping forward. "Talk to me. What happened out there?"

Silence. No one spoke, no one even moved.

Coach Herrera's jaw clenched. "That's it? That's how we react to losing?"

Miguel finally looked up, his expression weary. "They were just better, Coach."

"We tried," Javi muttered. "But it wasn't enough."

Herrera scoffed, his disappointment shifting into something more irritated. "Of course, they were better. That much was obvious. But what I want to know is—why did you accept it?"

The question lingered in the air, uncomfortable and heavy.

"Did you see how they moved?" Miguel asked. "It was like they knew exactly where to be at all times. We were always reacting, always a step behind."

"And you think that's just some natural talent?" Herrera demanded, his voice rising. "You think they were just born with that level of awareness? No! They earned it! They trained for it! They fought for it! The difference between them and you isn't just skill—it's mentality!"

He let his words sink in before continuing. "I saw the way you played. The hesitation, the lack of belief. You tell yourselves that you 'tried your best,' but what I saw was a team that already decided they were going to lose before they even stepped onto that pitch."

The players shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze.

Herrera sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before speaking again, this time softer. "Losing isn't the end of the world. Every great player, every great team, has lost before. 

But the difference between those who succeed and those who don't is how they respond to it. Right now, all I see are players who have accepted their place beneath Gustavo Academy. And that is unacceptable."

A long pause stretched between them, the weight of his words pressing down on every player in the room.

Then, Alonso finally spoke. "What do we do now?"

Coach Herrera turned to him, something unreadable in his eyes.

 "We change. We work harder. Smarter. More disciplined. But most of all—we stop accepting that we are second-best."

The fire in Herrera's words sparked something in Alonso. He wasn't alone. The other players, too, were beginning to straighten up, their faces shifting from disappointment to something sharper—determination.

Coach Herrera glanced at the team, gauging their reactions. "Starting tomorrow, training changes. We're going to break old habits and build new ones. We're going to train like we mean it. Like we deserve to win. And when we meet Gustavo Academy again, it won't be as underdogs. 

It will be as equals."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the locker room. Defeat still stung, but for the first time since the game ended, something shifted in the atmosphere—hope.

As the players gathered their things and left the locker room, Alonso lingered behind, his mind racing. He replayed Santiago Valverde's smirk, the silent challenge in his eyes.

One day, he would face him again. One day, he wouldn't just be a spectator.

One day, he would win.

Alonso let out a slow breath, fists tightening at his sides. His body ached from sitting still for too long, his muscles itching to move. He needed to train, to run, to push himself beyond the limits he thought he had.

Just as he was about to leave, he felt a hand clap his shoulder. He turned to see Coach Herrera watching him, his expression softer now. "You've got something on your mind."

Alonso nodded. "I need to be better."

Herrera studied him for a moment before speaking. "Then prove it. Tomorrow, be the first one at practice. No excuses."

Alonso met his gaze with unwavering determination. "I will."

As he stepped out of the locker room, the night air was crisp against his skin. The stadium lights still illuminated the field where the match had played out. The echoes of Gustavo Academy's celebrations had long since faded, but their dominance lingered in his mind like an open wound.

He walked past the empty stands, his eyes fixed on the goalpost where Santiago had sealed the game. Standing there, he made a silent vow.

This was just the beginning.