Lukas's eyes widened as he read the note, the last vestiges of his morning excitement draining away like sand through his fingers. A cold knot of genuine concern tightened in his stomach. He knew Mateo.
He knew his friend's pain tolerance was inhumanly high, a stubborn resilience forged through years of silent struggle and physical demands on the pitch. For Mateo to admit to Muy mal very bad meant the situation was far more serious than a simple illness. It was a distress signal of the highest order.
"Headache? Like a migraine?" Lukas asked
Mateo nodded, a slow, agonizing dip of his chin. He then pointed to the phone, then to the notepad, and then made the sign for call and teacher.
Lukas immediately understood. He picked up the phone, his voice now hushed and serious. "Okay, okay. I'll call the academy and the school. I'll tell them you're sick. You need to rest. Just lie down, okay?"
