Everything felt surreal at that point. Pedro whispered the words "Academia Cristiano Ronaldo" as he stared up at the imposing complex before them, clutching the letter he had received from the principal a week earlier.
Only a month earlier he had lifted the regional cup in triumph. Then came the unexpected summons to Mr. Mantego's office; Pedro had walked in certain he was in trouble again, perhaps his grades had slipped, or maybe José had dragged him into one of his schemes. Instead the Principal had handed him an invitation letter to a youth scholarship trial. The sequence of events unfolded like something too perfect to be true, the kind of thing that dissolves when you wake up. But Pedro knew the difference. He could feel the winter wind sharp against his face, cold and unrelenting. His toes ached from the long cycle ride, all the way from Évora to Lisbon, over a hundred kilometers of road that had left his legs burning and his mind racing. Pain like that never visited his dreams, if he even dreamed at all. This moment, heavy with fatigue and anticipation, could only belong to waking life.
"Hey!" José barked from behind. He had just finished locking their bikes together in the parking lot. "It's freezing out here. Let's go in." José gave Pedro a firm push on the back and strode past him toward the building. Pedro followed with three long strides that brought him level again, his backpack jogging from side to side.
As soon as they approached, the automatic doors slid open, and they stepped inside. The cold was left behind in an instant; the air within was warm, almost comforting. The place was quiet, nearly empty, save for the reception desk ahead, where a young woman in a black tuxedo stood with her hair pulled into a neat ponytail.
"Where we heading next?" José asked, swiveling his head left and right.
"I've got no idea," Pedro replied, his eyes fixed on the receptionist. She seemed to notice their confusion and waved them over with a friendly gesture.
"Hey, she's calling us," Pedro said, tugging at José's thick sweater. They made their way to the desk, their footsteps betraying their nerves.
"Are you boys lost?" she asked. Her voice was soft and sweet, reminding Pedro of someone he couldn't quite place.
"No, we aren't lost," José answered. "We're here for the trials."
"Oh, the trials? And your parents?"
"They're… busy. They work at the bank, so they don't have time for stuff like this," José lied. The truth was far more troubling: the fact that they had cycled all the way from Évora without any parental consent was something that would surely get them turned away without a second thought.
"You see, I can't let you in without your parents," she said, sliding a form across the counter toward them.
The counter was a little high, so they had to rise onto their toes to see it properly. The sheet listed various names accompanied by parental signatures.
"Your parents or any guardian needs to be here," she concluded.
"What do you mean? I'm his guardian. I guided him here," José shot back, still balanced on his toes. The young woman's smile didn't waver, though she looked unconvinced.
"Hey, move aside." Pedro shoved José gently to the side and stepped forward, placing the invitation letter beside the form.
"We live very far away. We came all the way from Évora. My parents couldn't make it because of work," Pedro explained, reinforcing the earlier lie.
"You don't have anyone else, like an uncle or aunt?"
"They live very far away too."
"An older brother or sister?"
"I'm an only child," Pedro said, finally offering the one truthful statement in the conversation.
The young woman sighed, her gaze shifting from Pedro to José and back again. Then she paused on José, meeting his frustrated stare with a warmer smile.
"You say you're his guardian?" the receptionist asked, one eyebrow raised.
"Hmph. Without me he wouldn't have made it here," José said, puffing out his chest with exaggerated pride.
"Okay, take this and sign here. If anyone asks about your parents, say they came and went back to work, okay?" she said to Pedro, sliding the form toward José.
"Okay. Okay. Thank you," Pedro replied, nodding eagerly as a surge of newfound strength washed over him.
The young woman took the invitation letter, stamped it, and slid it under the counter while José scribbled a rough signature on the row beside Pedro's full name: Afonso Pedro Gomes. Apparently, he was the twelfth candidate out of fourteen for the trials. Everyone else had already signed in, he was the last.
"All done," José said with a smug laugh. "I am your fucking guardian." He ruffled Pedro's thick brown hair.
"Stop that," Pedro protested, pushing him away.
"Here, you'll be the one to fill this," the receptionist said, producing another form filled with empty boxes for personal details like names, age, and so on.
Pedro took the pen from José, rose onto his toes again, filled in what he could, and slid it back across the counter. The woman pursed her lips, looking discouraged.
"Another reason why we need your parents," she said. Pedro and José exchanged weary glances.
"But don't worry," she added. "A medical team will run tests to cross-check your data, then they'll update it." Their faces lit up with wide, relieved smiles. "You can proceed to the pitch. Use that door, then turn left. Walk past three doors on your right, and after the third you'll come to the corridor leading to the pitch. Here, take this." She handed Pedro a card with his name and candidate number. "This is how they'll know you're one of them."
Pedro accepted it with a broad smile, a burning excitement growing in his stomach by the minute.
"I wish you success," she said.
"Yeah, thank you," he replied, nodding. José echoed the thanks.
They followed her directions through the door.
"I told you this was a bad idea," José mused as they walked.
"It couldn't be helped," Pedro said. "If I had told my parents, you know they wouldn't have let me come. It's this or nothing." Their footsteps echoed on the cool tiled floor.
"Hmph. At least I get to be your guardian—Oh what is it just me, or does she look like Mrs. Leonor, the maths teacher?"
"Right???" Pedro agreed. That was why she had seemed so familiar. He shook his head immediately, forcing himself to focus on the risk he had taken to reach this place.
They continued in a long, silent walk, their canvas shoes meeting the cold tiles, until they reached the corridor leading outside.
The automatic door opened, and a gust of cold wind rushed in, stinging their faces and arms.
"Shit!" José cursed, hunching deeper into his sweater.
The pitch came into view, an expanse of perfect green, neatly maintained, smaller than a standard full-size field but larger than the one at their school. On one side stood the supporters' stand, where a few people had already taken seats. On the field itself, players were running, stretching, and jogging, warming up with focused energy. The whole scene was mesmerizing. Pedro stood frozen, drinking it in, reminding himself that this was it, the only chance he had to prove himself.
A/N: I'll be keeping the word count between 1000 - 1500.
If you like what you are reading a power stone wouldn't hurt thanks