The sun dipped lower as the first half intensified, casting long shadows across the grass. Every shout felt louder now. Every tackle, sharper. The trial had stopped feeling like an organized practice and had started becoming a war.
Leo could sense the desperation in the air. The hunger. The fear of being the one who disappeared when the lights got bright.
Miguel launched a goal kick toward Donato, who battled German in the air before flicking the ball backward. Emilio reacted first, collecting possession and immediately turning toward him.
"Leo! ¡Gira! (Turn!)"
Leo received the ball with his back to the goal. Carlos crashed into him instantly, trying to bully him off the ball. But instead of forcing a spin into the contact, Leo cushioned the ball across his body, letting Carlos's momentum carry the defender past him like a runaway train. The movement was subtle, but it was enough.
One touch. Explode.
He burst into open space while Carlos stumbled, desperately trying to find his center of gravity.
The sideline erupted immediately. "He can't hold Leonardo! ¡Carlos está perdido! (Carlos is lost!)"
Alejandro stepped forward aggressively to close the gap, his face a mask of frustration. He lunged for the ball, but Leo dragged it backward at the final micro-second before slipping it wide to Camilo.
"Too slow, Ale," Camilo barked as he attacked Fausto. Step-over. Acceleration. Cross.
German cleared partially, but only as far as Daniel, who was lurking near the edge of the box. Daniel unleashed a shot that took a wicked deflection. The ball looped awkwardly toward the top corner. Fabian scrambled backward, clawing the air, and managed to tip it over the bar at the last second.
"¡Qué paradón! (What a save!)" a voice yelled from the fence.
The coach clapped loudly. "Excellent pressure! Keep them pinned!"
As the players jogged into position for the corner, Bautista nudged Leo's shoulder. "They're shaking every time you turn, man. Keep twisting their ankles."
Leo glanced toward Carlos, who was doubled over, breathing heavily nearby. He knew it too.
The corner swung in dangerously. Pedro rose again, battling Emiliano violently in the air. The header crashed downward, but Fabian smothered it. Without a second's delay, Fabian launched a long throw toward Alejandro.
Counterattack.
Alejandro controlled it brilliantly near midfield, spinning away from Emilio. Suddenly, he was driving directly at the defensive line with Ignacio and Justino sprinting beside him like hounds.
"Track runners!" Felipe shouted, his voice cracking with the strain.
Alejandro slipped a through ball toward Ignacio. Perfectly timed. Ignacio entered the box and fired. Miguel dived SAVE. Again.
The goalkeeper sprang up instantly, screaming at his defenders. "WAKE UP! ¡Despierten, carajo! (Wake up, damn it!)"
Pedro pointed angrily toward Emilio and Daniel. "Don't let him walk through the middle! Do your jobs!"
The tension rose instantly. Mistakes felt heavier during trials; everyone thought a single slip-up was a one-way ticket home. The coach noticed the bickering immediately.
"No blaming each other!" he shouted. "Fix the shape and move!"
Leo clapped his hands loudly, catching his teammates' eyes. "Next play! Stay focused, we're still up!"
That calmness mattered. Even at fifteen, coaches noticed who stabilized the ship and who helped sink it.
The game resumed. Leo began drifting wider toward the right side, searching for fresh pockets of grass. Bautista noticed and rotated inward to create room a tactical switch that left Fausto looking confused.
Jesus fed Bautista, who quickly laid it back to Leo near the touchline.
Isolated. One-on-one.
Fausto squared up, his knees shaking slightly. The sideline players leaned forward, gripping the fence.
"¡Rómpelo! (Break him!)"
Leo slowed the tempo deliberately, rolling the ball softly under his sole while staring directly into Fausto's eyes. He was hunting. Fausto shifted awkwardly, unsure whether to dive in or hold.
Then, the burst.
Outside touch first. Immediate inside cut second. The movement happened so fast that Fausto nearly ended up on his backside. Leo drove diagonally toward the box, mimicking his favorite winger cutting inward with speed while defenders panicked.
Carlos rushed across desperately. Too late.
He struck.
The shot curled viciously toward the far post. Fabian dived, a full-extension leap that looked like a movie stunt, but he couldn't reach it.
Goal.
The net snapped violently. For half a second, everything froze. Then, chaos.
"LEONARDOOOOO!"
Bautista grabbed Leo's shoulders while Donato screamed in his ear. Even the scouts outside the pitch were buzzing.
"That was disgusting!" one shouted. "He hit the Robben cut! ¡El recorte de Robben!"
The coach pointed aggressively toward the field. "That movement! THAT is what I want! The defender shows you the inside and you punish his soul!"
Leo jogged back, a small smirk playing on his lips despite his best efforts to stay professional.
Fausto looked devastated. Carlos just shook his head. Alejandro exhaled heavily. They all knew exactly what Leo was about to do, and they still couldn't stop him.
The scoreboard read 2-0, but the game wasn't over.
The opposing team came out like wounded animals. Alejandro dropped deeper to pull the strings, while Carlos pushed higher. The tempo skyrocketed. Mateo won possession and released Alejandro centrally. He didn't hesitate this time, driving between Emilio and Pedro before slipping Ignacio through.
Ignacio shot low. Miguel saved it again, but the rebound spilled loose. Justino reacted first. Tap-in.
Goal. 2-1.
"¡A por ellos! (Let's get them!)" Justino yelled, grabbing the ball from the net. "We're still in this!"
The sideline chatter flipped instantly. "Game on! ¡Esto se puso bueno! (This just got good!)"
Leo placed his hands on his hips, catching his breath as sweat dripped from his chin. His legs felt like lead, but his mind stayed sharp.
"Leonardo!" the coach shouted. "Don't disappear now. Demand the ball!"
The final minutes of the half were frantic. Challenges flew in like car crashes. Emilio crunched into a tackle against Mateo, winning the ball and feeding Leo instantly. Leo turned and saw Alejandro closing in.
This time, instead of the dribble, he released Donato early with a perfectly weighted through ball. One-on-one. Fabian charged out.
Shot. Saved.
Groans erupted from the sidelines. "HOW?!"
Fabian pounded his chest while Donato dropped to his knees. Leo jogged over and hauled him up by his jersey. "Forget it, man. You'll get the next one. Stay ready."
That encouragement mattered. Especially at fifteen.
The whistle blew for halftime. Players collapsed onto the grass, lungs burning.
"Water, quickly!" the coach barked. "Shape needs tightening! Stop forcing the long ball!"
As Leo grabbed his bottle, the coach knelt in front of them. "Listen. You're winning because you're attacking spaces intelligently. But Leonardo," he pointed a finger at him, "keep drifting inside. They cannot handle you in the central areas. You're killing them there."
Nearby, the whispers from the other players were impossible to ignore.
"Ese chico es de otra clase. (That kid is another class.) Leo's definitely getting picked."
Leo heard it, but he forced the thought away. There were still thirty minutes left. And in a trial, everything can change in a heartbeat.