The dressing room door closed again, sealing the noise of the stands behind thick concrete walls.
Sweat dripped from chins and forearms. Shirts clung. Boots lay scattered beneath benches like discarded armor. The scoreboard outside still read 0–0, but the match felt anything but neutral.
Paco Cuenca stood at the center, arms folded, letting the players breathe for a few seconds before he spoke.
"We're doing many things well," he said calmly. "But good is not enough in this league."
He tapped the tablet in his hand, freezing a moment from the first half.
"Here," he continued, angling the screen toward Rodrigo Gamón and Alin Gera. "We circulate too slowly. Cartagena recover their shape because we allow them to."
Gamón nodded, jaw set.
Gera wiped his face with his shirt, eyes never leaving the screen.
"Jaume," Paco said, turning to Jaume Durà, "you're finding the pockets. That's excellent. But when you receive, you need to hurt them. One more vertical action."
Durà raised his hand slightly. "Understood, coach."
Paco's eyes moved across the room, briefly resting on Javi Torres, then drifting to the bench.
To Álex.
"You stay ready," Paco said evenly. "Your moment will come."
Álex met his gaze and nodded. No words. No questions.
The referee's whistle echoed faintly from outside.
"Same discipline," Paco concluded. "Same patience. We'll break them."
The second half began with a different tone.
FC Cartagena returned with sharper intent, pressing higher, snapping into duels with renewed aggression. Their midfield compacted, forcing Valencia into tighter spaces.
"Cartagena pushing their lines up," the commentator noted. "They don't want to sit back anymore."
Valencia absorbed it.
Rubén Martínez stepped forward aggressively to intercept.
Carlos Alós won an aerial duel and barked instructions.
Vicent Abril stayed alert, feet constantly adjusting.
Still, the game refused to open.
Fifty minutes.
Fifty-five.
The crowd grew restless, a low murmur rippling through the stands. The match felt balanced on a knife's edge, waiting for something or someone to tilt it.
On the bench, Álex leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes tracking every movement between the lines. He wasn't watching the ball. He was watching space.
At the seventy-second minute, Paco stood.
The fourth official lifted the board.
Jaume Durà off.
Álex Castillo on.
A ripple ran through the stadium.
"And here comes Alejandro Castillo," the commentator said, voice lifting. "Still just fourteen years old. This is his second appearance in the División de Honor after an impressive debut last week, where he registered both a goal and an assist."
Álex jogged onto the pitch, clapping once as he crossed the line.
Valencia immediately reshaped.
The formation shifted from 4-3-1-2 to 4-2-1-3.
Gamón and Gera dropped into a double pivot.
Javi Torres held the right flank.
Johan Villa remained central, occupying the center-backs.
And Álex settled into the pivotal CAM role.
The game breathed differently now.
Álex's first touch was simple. A return pass. A reset.
His second touch wasn't.
He received between the lines, turned on the half-body, and drew a defender toward him. Space opened behind.
Valencia felt it.
Cartagena felt it too.
"Notice how Cartagena's midfield is hesitating now," the commentator observed. "They're not sure whether to step or drop."
At the eighty-first minute, the hesitation cost them.
It began with a mistake.
A Cartagena midfielder attempted a square pass under pressure. Rodrigo Gamón anticipated it, stepping in and poking the ball forward into open space.
"Turnover!" the commentator shouted.
Álex was already moving.
Gamón found him early.
Álex took one touch to steady himself, another to push into space. The defense retreated. The crowd rose.
Villa made a decoy run, dragging a center-back wide.
Álex didn't pass.
He struck.
A clean, low drive from just outside the box, skimming the grass and sliding beyond the keeper's outstretched hand.
Goal.
The stadium erupted.
"GOAL VALENCIA!" the commentator roared. "And who else but Alejandro Castillo! Ice-cold finish!"
Álex clenched his fist once, chest heaving, then turned back toward the center circle.
But Cartagena had to chase now.
They pushed numbers forward, desperation loosening their structure.
Valencia waited.
At the eighty-eighth minute, the counter came again.
This time it was Javi Torres who broke free down the right, driving at the retreating defense before cutting the ball inside.
Álex met it in stride.
One touch to set.
One look.
One finish.
The ball kissed the inside of the post and nestled into the net.
2–0.
"THIS KID IS SPECIAL!" the commentator shouted over the roar. "Two goals tonight! Four goal involvements in two matches! Fourteen years old!"
As the final whistle blew, the scoreboard confirmed it:
Valencia CF Juvenil A 2 – 0 FC Cartagena Juvenil A
Álex stood near the center circle, hands on hips, breathing deeply.
Second match.
Second statement.
And the league was beginning to take notice.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello everyone, Curis here.
I finally have a response from Webnovel about my contract application, well it wasn't what I was expecting to happen but it happened.
My contract application was rejected and I can't apply for contract. But do not fret, I will still upload as usual although I couldn't get the contract as I wanted, I have you guys who read my novel and support me so please keep supporting me with your power stones.
I have my errors but I will keep improving for you guys, so shout out to @Chaosink and @KelvinD for their power stones.
Finally, everyone check my review and give me some response so maybe I will have to change it or not.
So until next time, Curis out ✌✌