The players jogged over and lined up in front of the coaches. There were about twenty-five of them on the reserve team. As usual, Leandro stood near the back.
"Listen up," Coach Domingos said, his voice rough like sandpaper. "Tomorrow's match is important. We have scouts coming. First team scouts, youth scouts, and some from other clubs. This is your chance to impress."
Some players straightened up, looking interested. Others, like Rafael, just looked bored.
"We'll go over tactics this morning," the coach went on. "This afternoon is for set pieces and finishing. I want full effort from everyone. If I see anyone slacking, you'll be running laps until you puke. Understood?"
"Yes, Coach!" the team answered together.
"Good. Warm up first. Four laps around the field. Go!"
The players started jogging. Leandro found a steady pace in the middle of the group. His legs were already a little tired from running to practice, but he kept going.
After four laps, they moved on to dynamic stretches—high knees, butt kicks, lunges, and side shuffles. The fitness coach called out instructions, and the team followed along.
Leandro paid close attention to his form. Everyone knew that good technique during warm-ups helped prevent injuries. He had learned that lesson the hard way before, after pulling his hamstring from not stretching properly.
"Alright, split into groups!" Coach Paulo shouted. "First team defense over here, midfield over there, and forwards and wingers with me."
Leandro jogged over to join the wingers. There were six in total—two right-wingers and four left-wingers, including him. The competition for spots was tough.
The best left winger was Gustavo. He was fast, skillful, and confident. He had just turned 19 last month and was sure to get scouted tomorrow. Unfortunately, he was also kind of a jerk.
"Alright, boys," Coach Paulo said. "Today we're working on wing play—receiving the ball, driving forward, and either crossing or cutting inside. We'll start simple. I'll pass the ball to you from midfield. You receive it, beat the cone, and cross to the striker. Got it?"
The players nodded in agreement.
"Gustavo, you're up first."
Gustavo stepped up, looking relaxed. Coach Paulo sent the ball out wide. Gustavo controlled it smoothly, took two touches, then burst forward. He sped past the cone, looked up, and sent a perfect cross to the striker in the box.
The striker headed the ball into the net.
"Good!" Coach Paulo clapped his hands. "Next!"
The wingers took their turns one by one. Some did well, others were sloppy. When it was Leandro's turn, he took a deep breath and focused.
The ball came in from the right. Leandro moved to meet it, cushioned it with his left foot, and took his first touch forward in one motion. Then he sped past the cone. His legs felt fresh and quick.
He looked up at the last second and crossed the ball in. The delivery was decent—not perfect, but decent. The striker got a touch but couldn't control it.
"Decent, "Decent, Silver," Coach Paulo said. "But your cross was too high. Keep it lower—it's harder for the defenders to deal with."oach."
He jogged back to the line. Gustavo smirked at him. "Trying extra hard today, huh? Afraid you're getting cut?"
Leandro ignored him and stayed quiet.
The drill went on for twenty minutes. Then they switched to one-on-one situations. A defender stood in front of the cone, and the wingers had to beat them with skill, speed, or both.
Leandro watched closely as the others went first. Gustavo used his speed and a quick stepover to get past his defender. Another winger tried to dribble through but lost the ball.
When it was Leandro's turn, he faced a young defender named Carlos, who was strong and quick. Last time, Leandro had tried to outmuscle him and failed. This time, he planned to do things differently.
Leandro got the ball and quickly faked going inside. Carlos shifted his weight. Seeing the opening, Leandro cut the ball outside with his left foot and sprinted past him down the wing.
It was almost too easy.
He sent in a low, hard cross. The striker finished it with a clean shot.
"Better!" Coach Paulo called out. "That's the kind of movement I want."
Carlos looked frustrated. Leandro just jogged back to the line without saying anything.
Gustavo, standing off to the side, looked serious now. He wasn't smirking anymore.
The training session continued with possession drills, tactical shape work, and an eleven-on-eleven scrimmage. Leandro gave his all in every drill. He pressed harder, moved smarter, and talked more with his teammates.
He wasn't the most talented player out there—not even close. But he worked harder than anyone else, and people started to notice.
During the scrimmage, he tracked back and won the ball five times. Made a key pass that led to a goal. And scored one himself by making a perfectly timed run behind the defense.
When Coach Domingos blew the final whistle, Leandro's legs were literally screaming. His lungs burned, and sweat soaked through his shirt completely. But he felt alive.
"Good session," the coach said to the group. "Rest up tonight. Tomorrow, we show these scouts what Vila Nova is made of. Dismissed!"
The players started walking off the field, talking and laughing. Leandro stayed behind. He grabbed a ball and started doing more free-kick and finishing drills on his own.
"Silver!"
He turned to see Coach Domingos walking toward him.
"Yes, Coach?"
The coach stopped a few feet away, crossed his arms, and studied Leandro for a moment.
"You're training like someone who has something to prove," he said.
"I do."
"Good," Coach Domingos said with a nod. "Keep that attitude. You might actually make something of yourself."
He turned and walked away.
Leandro stood there for a moment, then smiled to himself.
He returned to his drills and scored 10 more shots. By the time he finally stopped, the sun was high in the sky, and the field was empty again. Just him and the grass.
He picked up the ball and walked to the locker room. After a cold shower, he headed home.