By the time the teams emerged from the tunnel, the late-afternoon sun had begun to soften, casting long shadows across the pitch at Paterna. The stands were fuller than the week before. Word traveled quickly when a team started the season with intent, and Valencia Juvenil A had done exactly that.
White shirts filled the lower rows. Parents, scouts, academy coaches from neighboring clubs, all leaned forward with quiet interest. The buzz was low but constant, like a held breath.
From the bench, Álex Castillo watched it all with a stillness that belied his age.
Fourteen years old. Youngest player registered in the División de Honor this season. MIC MVP barely months ago. And yet, here he was again, zipped into his bench jacket, hands resting on his knees, absorbing rather than acting.
He did not resent it. Not today.
On the pitch, Vicent Abril took his place between the posts, gloves adjusted carefully, eyes scanning his back line. In front of him, the defensive pairing of Carlos Alós and Rubén Martínez exchanged a final nod. To the right, Iván Mejía bounced lightly on his toes, already wired for movement, while Víctor García tucked in from the left, prepared to alternate between defense and midfield depending on the phase.
The midfield triangle settled into shape. Rodrigo Gamón anchored the center, shoulders square, calm as ever. To his right, Hugo Guijarro rolled his neck loose, while Alin Gera positioned himself slightly deeper on the left, ready to cover space and recycle possession.
Ahead of them, drifting between the lines, was Jaume Durà, tasked with threading Valencia's rhythm together.
Out wide, the attention naturally fell on the right flank.
Javi Torres stood near the touchline, boots planted, eyes locked on the opposing left-back. His buzz cut caught the light. He looked relaxed, but his fingers flexed slightly. He was starting today. He knew what that meant.
Up front, Johan Villa led the line, shoulders broad for his age, jaw set. He glanced once toward the bench, met Álex's eyes briefly, and nodded.
Let's go.
The whistle blew.
Valencia kicked off, immediately asserting their preferred identity. The ball moved cleanly from Gamón to Guijarro, then out to Víctor García, who pushed forward just enough to draw Cartagena's first line of pressure.
"Early possession for Valencia," the commentator noted. "As expected. They'll want to settle this quickly."
FC Cartagena Juvenil A dropped into a compact mid-block, lines tight, distances short. They were not here to trade punches. They were here to wait.
Valencia circulated patiently. Carlos Alós stepped forward with the ball, unchallenged, before feeding Iván Mejía down the right. Mejía took one touch, looked up, and released it immediately into Javi Torres' path.
The first real duel of the match.
Javi took the ball on the move, cushioning it with his right foot before pushing it forward. The Cartagena left-back squared up, body low, waiting for help.
Javi didn't wait.
He feinted inside, dragged the ball back with the sole of his boot, then exploded down the outside. The crowd reacted instantly, a ripple of sound following his acceleration. His cross came low and hard toward the near post.
Johan Villa attacked it.
He beat his marker to the space, stretched, and made contact, but the angle was tight. The ball deflected off the goalkeeper's shin and spun behind for a corner.
Applause rolled through the stand.
"That's exactly what Valencia want from Torres," came the commentary. "Direct, fearless, no hesitation."
From the bench, Álex leaned forward slightly. He felt that familiar spark in his chest. This was his language too.
The corner, taken by Jaume Durà, curled toward the penalty spot. Rubén Martínez rose highest, but his header glanced just wide of the post.
Close. Too close.
Cartagena's response was measured. They didn't panic. From the goal kick, they bypassed the press with a long diagonal, catching Valencia slightly advanced. Alin Gera tracked back immediately, sliding across to block the channel, forcing Cartagena to recycle instead of break.
Ten minutes in, the pattern was clear.
Valencia dominated possession. Cartagena waited for mistakes.
And then, one nearly came.
A square pass from Hugo Guijarro arrived a fraction behind Rodrigo Gamón, allowing a Cartagena midfielder to step in and intercept. Suddenly, Valencia were exposed. Two quick touches, one vertical pass, and Cartagena surged toward the box.
The shot came from the edge of the area.
Vicent Abril reacted instantly, pushing off his right foot and parrying the ball wide with a strong left hand.
A collective exhale swept the stands.
"Warning sign for Valencia," the commentator said. "That's the danger of central turnovers."
Paco Cuenca stood briefly on the touchline, arms folded, eyes narrow. He said nothing. He didn't need to.
Valencia responded with control rather than urgency. Gamón dropped deeper to collect, dictating tempo again. Víctor García began stepping into midfield during build-up, creating an overload and allowing Guijarro to push higher.
On the right, Javi continued to stretch the game. On the left, Víctor García and Alin Gera combined to pin Cartagena back.
At the twenty-minute mark, Valencia crafted their best move of the half.
It started with Carlos Alós, who broke the first line with a firm pass into Jaume Durà's feet. Durà took it on the half-turn, evaded one challenge, then slipped a disguised through ball between center-back and full-back.
Johan Villa timed his run perfectly.
He was in.
The crowd rose.
Villa struck first time with his right foot, aiming low across the keeper. The Cartagena goalkeeper reacted with astonishing speed, getting down to tip the ball onto the post. It rebounded back into the box, where Pablo Reyes arrived late but couldn't adjust his feet in time.
The chance was gone.
Hands went to heads. Álex exhaled slowly.
"That was it," the commentator said. "That had to be the opener."
The match edged toward halftime with rising tension. Cartagena grew braver, pressing higher for short spells, forcing Valencia to be sharper in their circulation. Rubén Martínez made two crucial interceptions in quick succession, earning a shout of approval from Abril behind him.
Javi tracked back tirelessly, once sprinting forty meters to block a cross near his own corner flag. The crowd acknowledged it. He acknowledged nothing, already turning upfield again.
As the clock ticked past forty minutes, Valencia pushed once more.
Durà floated wide, dragging a defender with him. Guijarro filled the vacated space. Mejía overlapped. The ball moved quickly, side to side, Cartagena shifting desperately to keep shape.
But the final pass refused to land.
The referee glanced at his watch.
One minute of added time.
Valencia launched one last attack, but a hopeful ball toward Villa was claimed confidently by the Cartagena keeper.
The whistle followed.
Halftime.
Valencia CF Juvenil A 0 – 0 FC Cartagena Juvenil A
Players walked toward the tunnel with mixed expressions. Control without reward. Promise without payoff.
Álex stood as they passed, clapping softly, eyes already racing ahead.
The match was balanced.
And balance, he knew, never lasted forever.