March arrived without ceremony.
No trumpet blast. No announcement pinned to the wall. Just a subtle shift in the air at Paterna, like the academy itself tightening its grip as winter loosened its hold. The grass grew faster. The sessions stretched longer. Expectations sharpened.
Two months had passed since Álex first walked through the gates.
Two months since fear had been burned down into focus.
He stood in front of the mirror in the changing room, tugging his shirt straight, and noticed it again. The way his shoulders now sat a little higher. The way his trousers fell differently.
He measured himself that morning. Three centimeters taller.
It wasn't dramatic. No sudden transformation. But it mattered.
[Physical growth registered: +3 cm.]
More surprising was the other number.
It hovered quietly in his awareness, not as a celebration, not as a finish line. Just a marker. Proof that the work was accumulating, layer by layer, like sediment forming something solid beneath the surface.
Álex didn't smile at it.
He packed his boots and went to train.
The under-14 sessions had changed tone around him.
Where once he blended in, now he stood out. Not loudly. Not with tricks or gestures. But in reliability. In the way teammates looked for him when the press tightened. In how coaches trusted him to connect drills, to stabilize chaos.
"Ball with Castillo," someone would shout.
And the noise would settle.
That morning's session ended early. Too early.
Coach Ramírez blew the whistle and didn't launch into corrections. Instead, he scanned the group slowly, eyes measuring more than effort.
"Castillo. Torres."
Álex and Javi both looked up.
"Grab your things," Ramírez said. "You're training up today."
For a second, the words didn't land.
Then they did.
Javi's grin exploded across his face, barely contained. He shot Álex a look, half disbelief, half triumph.
"Up?" Javi whispered.
Álex nodded once. Calm on the outside.
Inside, something tightened, then steadied.
[Opportunity recognized.]
They followed Ramírez across the complex, past familiar pitches and into a space that felt… heavier. The under-15 field sat slightly elevated, as if the academy itself wanted to remind you that progress always required climbing.
The players warming up there moved differently. Longer strides. Harder passes. Voices deeper, edged with confidence that had survived a few more tests.
"This isn't a reward," Ramírez said without turning. "It's an assessment."
"Yes, Coach," both boys replied.
The under-15 coach, Molina, greeted them with a nod. "You're filling in. Earn the space."
Earn the space.
The warm-up was faster. Rondos with less forgiveness. Lose the ball twice, and the tempo punished you. Javi thrived immediately, his pace stretching defenders, his aggression welcomed rather than corrected.
Álex took longer to settle.
The ball moved quicker here. Angles closed faster. Players anticipated rather than reacted. His first few touches were clean, but his options vanished sooner than expected.
[Adaptation phase initiated.]
He adjusted.
Shorter touches. Earlier scans. He stopped trying to dictate and started syncing himself into the rhythm already there. When he received under pressure, he played one-touch layoffs, repositioned, and asked for it again.
A center midfielder twice his size leaned in after one sequence.
"You see it," the boy muttered.
Álex didn't respond. He didn't need to.
The first small-sided game began.
Intensity spiked.
Javi burned down the wing immediately, buzz cut gleaming with sweat, boots biting into the turf as he drove at his marker. He lost the ball once, twice, then adjusted, choosing his moments more carefully.
Álex found pockets between lines. Not forcing himself into play, but never disappearing. When the ball came, he made it stick.
One moment changed everything.
The under-15s were pressing high, squeezing space near the touchline. Álex received with his back to goal, defender tight, another closing fast.
Instead of turning, he let the ball roll under his foot, stepped aside, and used the defender's momentum as cover. The second man lunged.
Álex slipped the ball through both of them.
The move wasn't flashy. It was surgical.
A forward collected it and scored seconds later.
Molina's whistle cut the air.
"Who played that?"
Silence.
Then someone pointed.
Molina nodded slowly. "Again."
They didn't stop the game.
But Álex felt it. The shift. The recalibration.
He wasn't visiting anymore.
He was being considered.
After training, as the boys collapsed onto the grass, Molina pulled Ramírez aside. Voices low. Glances brief but deliberate.
Javi flopped down next to Álex, chest heaving, grin wide.
"Bro," he said between breaths, "they're animals."
Álex nodded. "Yeah."
Javi laughed. "I love it."
Later that evening, an email landed.
Subject: Squad Adjustment – U15
Álex read it twice. Then a third time.
Effective immediately.
He was moving up.
Javi too.
Carlos read it over his shoulder at home, eyes scanning slowly.
"Under-15," he said quietly.
Álex waited. Not for approval. Just for acknowledgment.
Carlos placed a hand on his shoulder. Firm. Grounding. "You earned it."
That night, Álex lay awake again. But this time, his thoughts were different. Not fragments. Not flashes.
Paths.
The under-15 environment was unforgiving.
Bigger bodies. Louder voices. Less patience for mistakes. Training loads increased. Expectations doubled. If the under-14s had been about learning structure, this was about surviving competition.
Álex struggled his first week.
Not disastrously. But enough to feel the strain. His body was still catching up to the growth spurt. His stamina dipped late in sessions. His duels were harder to win.
[Physical mismatch detected.]
He compensated with positioning. With timing. With decisions made just early enough to avoid contact rather than absorb it.
Molina noticed.
"Smart," he said once. "But you'll need more."
Álex knew.
He stayed late. Worked on strength. On first-step explosiveness. On absorbing contact without losing balance. He watched older players, how they used their arms, their hips, their center of gravity.
Javi adapted faster physically. His pace translated immediately. His confidence bordered on reckless at times, but Molina liked his hunger.
"Torres," he barked during one session. "Less fire. More thought."
Javi grinned. "Trying, Coach."
Their friendship shifted subtly. Less jokes. More shared silence. They pushed each other without saying it.
By mid-March, Álex earned his first start in an internal match.
Under-15s versus Under-18s.
A test disguised as a friendly.
The whistle blew.
The game was brutal.
Álex took a hard challenge early, shoulder to chest, sent stumbling. The referee waved play on.
[Impact absorbed.]
He got up.
Five minutes later, he received between the lines, turned, and slipped a pass into space for Javi, who finished low at the near post.
No celebration.
Just work.
By the final whistle, Álex's shirt was soaked, his legs heavy, his mind sharp.
Molina pulled him aside.
"You're behind physically," he said. "But ahead where it counts."
Álex met his eyes. "I'll catch up."
Molina smiled thinly. "Do that."
As March pressed on, Álex understood something clearly.
Moving up the ranks wasn't about climbing.
It was about holding on.
And every day at the academy, the ground beneath you tested whether you deserved to stay where you stood.
Álex planted his feet.
And didn't move.
That night, long after the academy lights had dimmed and Paterna settled into its quiet hum, Álex sat on the edge of his bed. His legs ached in that deep, earned way that told him he had crossed another line he could never uncross.
He exhaled slowly.
Álex didn't call the system this time.
It came to him anyway, quiet as breath, precise as truth.
The shimmer returned, smoother now, more confident, as if even the interface had learned to trust him.
[STATUS WINDOW]
Name: Alejandro Adeyemi Castillo
Age: 13
Height: 163 cm
Position: Attacking Midfielder (Left-sided)
Academy: Valencia CF – Paterna
Current Squad: Under-15
Technical Potential: Very High
Tactical Awareness: Stabilized
Physical Development: Accelerating
Mental Resilience: Tempered
Current Standing: Rising Prospect
[OVERALL RATING]
OVR: 57
[PHYSICAL]
Acceleration: 58
Sprint Speed: 56
Agility: 60
Balance: 55
Jumping: 50
Reaction: 54
Stamina: 55
Strength: 47
[MENTAL & TACTICAL]
Positioning: 55
Vision: 56
Decision Making: 55
Composure: 54
[TECHNICAL]
Ball Control: 61
Dribbling: 62
Short Pass: 57
Long Pass: 51
Finishing: 53
Crossing: 56
[SPECIAL ATTRIBUTES]
Weak Foot Strength: ★★★☆☆ (3 stars)
Skill Moves: ★★★★☆ (4 stars)
[SKILLS POSSESSED]
• Stepover – Level 2
• Body Feint – Level 1
[POTENTIAL]
Projected OVR: 81
Trajectory: La Liga First-team Attacking Midfielder
Álex felt it then.
Not excitement. Not relief.
Alignment.
The numbers no longer felt like distant goals written on glass. They felt like echoes of what his body already knew. His right foot no longer hesitated. His touches had begun to speak in full sentences instead of fragments. His dribbling wasn't just movement anymore, it was conversation.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling Valencia moonlight painted pale gold.
Eighty-one.
That wasn't a promise.
It was a challenge.