Mid-September 2013 greeted Lucas with a pale dawn and a nervous thrill that pulsed beneath his ribs like a hidden drum. Today marked his third week of training alongside San Lorenzo's first team, and he sensed that each drill, every sprint and every passing pattern edged him closer to a reality that once seemed impossible.
He arrived at the Ciudad Deportiva before the sun crowned the horizon, the cool morning air carrying the smell of damp grass and engine oil from the maintenance shed. Sosa and Duarte were already there, leaning against the fence of the main pitch, their breath misting in short plumes. Vargas and Cavallaro completed the quintet—five reserve players entrusted with this rare opportunity. Lucas offered a brief nod to each of them, and they fell in behind as they walked to the tunnel that led under the grandstand, where the first team's changing rooms stood.
Inside, the atmosphere crackled with quiet focus. The locker room was larger than any he had known, its walls adorned with framed jerseys commemorating past glories and its benches polished to a soft sheen. Boots lay at every locker, ready for the day's work. Lucas slipped into locker 32, the number Ríos had handed him when the season began, and hung his red-and-blue training top on a metal hook. He touched the embroidered crest lightly—this small act of reverence had become a daily ritual.
Torrico arrived first, already taping his wrists with methodical efficiency. The veteran keeper caught Lucas's eye and offered a nod that felt like an invitation rather than a test. Buffarini followed, slinging a towel over his neck as he stretched, and gave Lucas a quick thumbs-up. These gestures fueled Lucas's determination: he was no longer invisible to the pros.
Ríos swept into the room, clipboard tucked under one arm. He looked across the assembled squad and paused at the first-team regulars—Romagnoli leaning against the locker door, Ortigoza threading his shin guards, Gentiletti studying a tactical sheet. Then Ríos's gaze settled on the five reserves. "Welcome back," he said, voice low but firm. "Today we focus on transition play. How quickly can we switch from defense to attack? How precisely can we find space when we win the ball?"
Lucas snapped the board behind him into place and scribbled "Transition Speed" at the top of his notebook page. He slipped the notebook into his back pocket and joined the others for warm-ups on the turf.
The morning's first exercise was simple in description but brutal in execution: ten 20-yard shuttle sprints, immediately followed by a 10-pass one-touch rondo against five rotating defenders. By the third sprint, Lucas's lungs burned; by the fifth, each rondo touch felt like a victory. He spotted Romagnoli guiding a younger player through foot placement, and Torrico offering pointers on body shape as he intercepted a pass. Every moment became an opportunity to learn.
After the warm-up, Ríos guided the group through a positional pressing drill. The field was divided into thirds. When the defensive unit (three seniors plus one of the reserves) won the ball in their third, they released a two-man counterattack into a full-size goal at the far end. Lucas found himself partnered with Ortiz—the seasoned winger who had lit up the 2013 Inicial final. Ortiz's first instruction, whispered as they lined up, was, "Anticipate the pass, then sprint the channel."
The whistle blew, and chaos erupted. Lucas scanned the field as the ball travelled through four tiers of players. When Ortiz's name rang out in a teammate's call, Lucas sensed the moment: he peeled off his marker, darted into the half-space, and Ortiz's precision through-ball landed on his path. Lucas drove toward the goal, the fence of defenders closing in from behind, and slotted a low pass to Cavallaro on the wing. Cavallaro's cross was cut out, but the spark had ignited Lucas's confidence—the first-team tempo was no longer alien to him.
As the beat-down exercise ended, Ríos gathered the group for a tactical session on the grass. He sketched a 4-2-3-1 shape in the dirt, outlining how the double pivot would fall back to absorb pressure and how the advancing midfield three would occupy pockets between the lines. Lucas knelt at the coach's feet, absorbing every arrow and annotation. When Ríos paused at the top of the box and said, "You'll slot in here, Altamirano—your job is to link, to rotate, to find the half-turn," Lucas stored the map in his mind like a treasure.
The sun was already high when first-team training concluded. The veterans jogged off toward their gym session; the reserves drifted back across the road to their own field. There, Lucas found a different but equally vital rhythm: finishing drills. One midfielder, chasing a throw-in, peeled off to let Lucas run onto a clipped pass. Lucas controlled the ball with his thigh and volleyed into the top corner. The assistant coach quickly signalled a redo—Lucas repeated the move, refining the arc of his swing. Each rep brought him closer to consistency.
By late afternoon, Lucas was scheduled for a short media appearance: a seven-minute interview for the club's website. He changed into a polo shirt, once again feeling the surreal tension of moving from drills to camera lights in the same day. The interviewer asked about his experience training with the first team. Lucas spoke succinctly: "Every session pushes me harder. Learning from players like Ortigoza and Romagnoli has sharpened my understanding of space and tempo." He posed for a quick photo and departed, his heart still racing but his voice steady.
That evening, Lucas returned to the reserve pitch for a final session: a tactical debrief with Sosa, Duarte, Vargas, and Cavallaro. They huddled under a single floodlight, notebooks open.
"Tomorrow is the big test," Lucas began, recalling Ríos's words. "The board meets after Saturday's match. They'll decide if the club back our coach or make broader changes. We need to be at our best on and off the pitch."
Sosa nodded. "We'll show them resilience. We'll make them see what we can do."
They ran through set-piece routines—Corners to the far post, short corner patterns, double-teaming the near side. Lucas called out assignments in a calm tone, his mind already leaping ahead to the match at the Gasómetro.
At home that night, Lucas's mother had prepared his favorite: milanesa with mashed potatoes and a simple salad. He ate slowly, replaying the day in his head: the thrill of the rondos, the crack of volley into the net, the flash of cameras. His father sat across the table, eyes bright. "You look stronger," his mother said.
Lucas nodded, chewing. "I feel closer."
Before bed, he opened his notebook one last time:
> September 18, 2013: Today I walked, ran, and spoke in two worlds. Each world taught me something. Tomorrow, I lead our young guys into ours.
He closed the book, switched off the lamp, and lay back, muscles humming with exertion and anticipation. Sleep came on the crest of excitement, carrying him toward the next dawn—and the next step on his journey.
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[End for chapter 29]