Ramón gathered the squad after Tuesday's training session, keeping everyone on the pitch instead of dismissing them to the changerooms. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the grass, and the players arranged themselves in a loose semicircle, still breathing hard from the conditioning work they'd just finished.
"We have a qualifier match this Saturday," Ramón began, clipboard in hand. "Against Liceo Rivergate. It's the first of three qualifying matches for the U15 High School Tournament. Knockout format—win and we advance, lose and we're done."
The squad's attention sharpened immediately. Matías and Roque exchanged glances. Fernández straightened his posture. This was different from their regular season matches—this was elimination football.
"Rivergate finished third in their district last year," Ramón continued. "Strong midfield, organized defense. They're not spectacular, but they don't make mistakes. We'll need to be clinical."
He paused, his expression shifting slightly. "There's a complication. Che—" he gestured toward where Che stood on the edge of the group, "—isn't technically enrolled in this high school yet. He's still in primary school. The tournament regulations are specific about player eligibility."
Che felt the weight of every player's attention shift toward him. His hands went still at his sides.
"So he can't play?" Cabrera asked.
"Not yet confirmed," Ramón said. "I've requested a meeting with the tournament board to argue his case. He trains with us, he's represented the school in friendly matches, and he'll be enrolled here next year. The rules have some flexibility for exceptional circumstances."
"And if they say no?" Matías asked.
"Then he doesn't play Saturday. Or any of the qualifiers." Ramón's tone made it clear this wasn't the outcome he wanted. "But I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen."
The week moved slowly after that announcement. Che went through his morning protocols—the sprints, the conditioning work, the technical drills—but his mind was elsewhere. Training sessions Tuesday and Thursday felt different. His teammates kept glancing at him like he might disappear at any moment.
On Thursday afternoon, after a particularly intense possession drill where Che had threaded four consecutive passes through tight defensive coverage, Ramón called him over to the sideline.
"The meeting is scheduled," the coach said quietly, away from the other players. "Saturday. Ten-thirty in the morning."
Che's stomach dropped. "Saturday? That's when the match is."
"I know. The board only meets on weekends, and they wouldn't move it. The qualifier kicks off at eleven. Best case, we're done with the meeting in thirty minutes, I get you to the stadium by halftime."
"And you?"
"I'll be at the meeting with you. Álvarez will manage the squad for the first half." Ramón's expression was tight. "Not ideal, but it's what we have."
"Who else needs to be there?"
"You and a parent or guardian. The board wants to confirm your family situation, make sure there's no recruiting violations involved." Ramón handed him a small card with an address written on it. "This is where the meeting is. In the city center, near the Intendencia building. I have a car—I'll pick you up Saturday morning at nine-thirty. Make sure your mother can come."
That evening, after he'd collected Sofia and Diego from preschool, after he'd helped them with their dinner and gotten them settled with their homework, Che found his mother in the kitchen. She was preparing mate, her factory uniform still on, her shift having ended only an hour before.
"Mamá," Che said. "I need to ask you something."
She looked up, reading something in his tone. "What is it?"
"There's a meeting Saturday morning. With the tournament board. About whether I can play in the qualifiers." He kept his voice steady. "The coach needs you to come with me. To confirm I'm not being recruited illegally or something."
His mother was quiet for a moment, the kettle heating on the stove. "What time?"
"Ten-thirty. The coach has a car. He'll drive us there and back."
"Where is it?"
"City center. Near the Intendencia."
She turned back to the mate, pouring water with practiced precision. "Saturday morning I'm scheduled for overtime. The factory has a big shipment going out."
Che felt something tighten in his chest. "Can you tell them you can't work?"
"Overtime pays double. That money goes toward your grandmother's medication." She wasn't looking at him, focusing on the mate like it required all her attention. "I can't just skip it, Che."
"But if you don't come, I can't play. Not just Saturday—the whole tournament."
His mother's hands went still. She set the mate down and turned to face him fully. Her expression was complicated—exhaustion, concern, something else he couldn't quite identify.
"How important is this tournament?" she asked.
"It's the qualifier for the U15 championship. If we advance, scouts come to watch. Real scouts from academies." Che's voice stayed level despite the urgency he was feeling. "This is the kind of tournament that gets players noticed."
She studied his face for a long moment. The apartment was quiet around them—Sofia and Diego in the bedroom, his uncle out somewhere, his grandmother asleep in her corner.
"I'll talk to my supervisor," she said finally. "I'll tell them I have a family obligation. But I can't promise they'll let me go, Che. If they need me there, I have to work. We need that money."
"I know."
"And even if they do let me go—" she paused, "—I don't know anything about football regulations. What am I supposed to say at this meeting?"
"The coach will do most of the talking. They just need to see that you're my actual mother, that nobody's paying us to have me play for this school."
She nodded slowly, processing this. "Okay. I'll try. That's all I can promise."
"Thank you."
She turned back to the mate, but her movements were slower now, more thoughtful. "This coach—Ramón—he really thinks you're good enough for this?"
"He requested the meeting. He wouldn't do that if he didn't."
His mother was quiet for another moment. Then, almost to herself: "Your father used to talk about playing football. Before he left. Said he could've been professional if things had been different."
Che had heard this before—fragments of stories about a man he barely remembered, who'd left when Che was four and never come back. His mother rarely mentioned him.
"He was wrong," she continued. "He wasn't good enough, and he used that dream as an excuse to avoid responsibility. That's why I've always been skeptical about you and football." She turned to look at him again. "But you're different. I see you training every morning. I see how serious you are about school too. You're not using football to run away from things."
She picked up the mate and took a sip, her expression unreadable. "I'll talk to my supervisor tomorrow. Saturday morning, if they let me go, I'll be ready at nine-thirty."
That night, lying in the darkness with his cousins asleep beside him, Che accessed the System.
If she can't come, what happens?
The meeting doesn't proceed. You're ineligible for the tournament. The team plays without you.
Can we appeal?
Not in time for the qualifiers. By the time any appeal is processed, the tournament will be over.
Che stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of circumstances beyond his control. He'd improved his conditioning. He'd learned his teammates' tendencies. He'd proven himself at Maldonado. But none of that mattered if his mother couldn't get Saturday morning off from a factory shift.
There has to be something I can do.
This isn't a problem you can solve through training or performance. This is bureaucracy meeting poverty. Your mother needs that overtime money. The factory needs her labor. The tournament board needs parental confirmation. These forces don't care about your capability.
So I just wait?
You wait. And you hope.
Outside his window, Barrio Pérez continued its night rhythm—distant voices, car horns, someone's television playing a late match. Che closed his eyes and tried to sleep, knowing that Saturday morning, everything would depend on a conversation his mother had with a factory supervisor about whether she could miss one shift.
The most important meeting of his young football career, and he had no control over whether he'd even be allowed to attend it.