The Opening - WONDERKID : THE CHOSEN ONE

MATCH: Escuela Técnica Superior Montevideo vs. Liceo Rivergate

U15 High School Tournament - Qualifier Round 1

MONTEVIDEO STARTING XI (4-4-2):

RIVERGATE STARTING XI (4-3-3):

Roque touched the ball back to Matías at the center circle. The referee's whistle had barely finished echoing when Rivergate's front three pressed forward immediately, their shape compressing Montevideo's buildup before it could develop. Matías played it sideways to Vargas under pressure, and already the pattern was establishing itself—this would be contested.

Vargas tried to turn upfield, but Ledesma was on him instantly, physical and aggressive. The midfielder had to play it backward to Fernández, who took one touch before Olivera—Rivergate's captain—closed him down. The center-back launched it long toward Torres, but Mendoza won the aerial duel cleanly, heading it back to his goalkeeper.

Rivergate built from the back with patience. Gutiérrez rolled it out to Vega, the right-back, who immediately pushed forward. Silva tracked him, but Vega's pass inside to Ledesma came before the press arrived. The midfielder took one touch and played it wide to Páez on the right wing.

Páez drove at Pereira, forcing Montevideo's left-back to backpedal. The winger cut inside, creating a yard of space, and struck from distance. The shot was rising but lacked precision—it sailed over Rodríguez's crossbar by two meters.

In the stands, an older man wearing a Nacional cap turned to his companion. "Va a ser un partido sucio," he said, shaking his head. "You can tell already. Everything's going to be challenged."

His companion nodded, watching Montevideo reset for the goal kick. "Both teams are too tense. Too much at stake."

The assessment was accurate. Every loose ball was being contested by two, sometimes three players. Every pass was being closed down before the receiver could settle. The referee was letting physical play continue, which meant both teams were taking advantage—shoulders into backs, hands on shirts, tactical fouls disguised as aggressive challenges.

Rodríguez's goal kick found Roque in the center circle. The striker tried to hold it up, but Soria was already on him—physical, uncompromising. The ball broke loose, and immediately four players converged on it. Vargas won it, played it quickly to Cabrera on the right, who tried to push forward but was immediately closed down by Castro, Rivergate's left-back.

The ball went out for a throw-in. Cabrera took it quickly, finding Matías in space. The captain controlled it and tried to switch play to Silva on the left, but Núñez—Rivergate's defensive midfielder—read it and intercepted. Another turnover. Another transition.

Rivergate moved the ball quickly through midfield. Núñez to Ledesma. Ledesma to Rojas. Rojas driving forward, forcing Montevideo's defense to drop deeper. He played it wide to Díaz on the left, who cut inside past Esteban's challenge and struck from the edge of the box.

The shot was powerful, rising toward the top corner. Rodríguez dove, getting fingertips to it, deflecting it over the bar for a corner.

"¡Vamo' Rodri!" someone shouted from Montevideo's small section of supporters—maybe ten people, mostly parents.

The corner was delivered with pace, curling toward the near post. Fernández positioned himself perfectly, rising above Olivera to head it clear. The ball went out to the edge of the box where Matías was waiting. He controlled it and immediately looked upfield.

Torres was making a run down the right channel. Matías tried the pass, but it was slightly overhit. The ball rolled out for a Rivergate throw-in near their own corner flag.

The pattern was relentless. Neither team could establish sustained possession. Every attack broke down within three or four passes. The midfield was congested, bodies everywhere, no space to turn. When players did find room, the immediate press collapsed on them before they could exploit it.

Rivergate's throw-in went to Vega, who played it inside to Núñez. The defensive midfielder took one touch forward, drawing Vargas toward him, then played it to Rojas, who had dropped deeper to receive. Rojas turned and immediately played a diagonal ball toward Páez, who was making a run behind Pereira.

The pass was weighted well, but Pereira had read it. He recovered quickly, getting his body between Páez and the ball, forcing the winger wide. Páez tried to cut back inside, but Pereira stayed compact. Eventually, the ball went out for another corner.

Montevideo's defense organized quickly. Fernández and Álvarez positioned themselves centrally. Matías took responsibility for marking Olivera at the near post. The corner came in—another dangerous delivery toward the six-yard box.

This time, Álvarez won the header, directing it out toward the touchline where Silva was positioned. The left midfielder controlled it and immediately pushed forward, seeing space opening in transition.

He drove ten meters upfield before Vega closed him down. Silva tried to cut inside, but the right-back's positioning was too good. The ball broke loose, and immediately three players converged—Silva, Vega, and Ledesma all arriving at once.

Ledesma won it, his challenge aggressive enough that Silva went down. No whistle. The referee waved play on. Rivergate transitioned immediately.

Ledesma to Rojas. Rojas to Olivera, who had dropped deep to collect. The captain took one touch to set himself, then played a ball over the top toward Díaz, who was making a diagonal run from the left wing toward the center.

The pass was weighted perfectly. Díaz controlled it with his first touch, now in space twenty-five meters from goal with only Fernández between him and the goalkeeper. The center-back held his position, refusing to be drawn out. Díaz tried to go around him, but Fernández's positioning forced him wider than he wanted.

The angle was tight now. Díaz struck it anyway, aiming for the near post. Rodríguez was positioned well, making himself large, and the shot deflected off his body. The ball ricocheted out for another corner.

Rivergate was creating chances now—not clear-cut, but dangerous enough that Montevideo's defense was constantly under pressure. Their front three were finding spaces between Montevideo's midfield and defense, exploiting the gaps with quick combinations and well-timed runs.

The corner was cleared again, this time by Esteban, who headed it out to midfield where Matías collected it. The captain took one touch forward, seeing Roque making a run down the center, and played the pass.

But Soria had anticipated it. The center-back stepped across, intercepting cleanly, and immediately played it forward to Olivera. Rivergate was attacking again.

Olivera drove forward, drawing Álvarez toward him, then played a simple pass to Ledesma on his right. The midfielder took one touch and struck from distance—a speculative effort that lacked power. Rodríguez collected it easily.

The goalkeeper held it for a moment, trying to slow the tempo, but the referee gestured for him to play on. Rodríguez rolled it out to Fernández, who played it to Matías. The captain was immediately pressed by Rojas, forced to play it backward again.

Montevideo was struggling to build anything coherent. Their midfield was being overrun—Rivergate's three-man center was dominating the two-man pairing of Matías and Vargas. Every time Montevideo tried to play through the middle, they were outnumbered. Every time they went wide, Rivergate's fullbacks were positioned to contain.

Torres won a rare header in midfield, directing it toward Cabrera on the right. The midfielder controlled it and tried to drive forward, but Castro closed him down quickly. Cabrera played it backward to Esteban, who launched it long toward Roque.

Mendoza won the aerial duel again. The ball went back to Gutiérrez, and Rivergate was building from the back once more.

In the stands, the man in the Nacional cap was nodding to himself. "Told you. Messy. Look at this—neither team can keep the ball for more than ten seconds."

His companion was watching Montevideo's shape, how compressed they were, how little space existed between their lines. "The one in blue, number eight—their captain. He's trying to hold it together, but their midfield is getting destroyed."

Matías was visible in his frustration now. Every time he received the ball, he was immediately pressed by two Rivergate players. Every pass he attempted was either intercepted or forced backward. He was working harder than anyone on the pitch, but the tactical structure was against him.

Rivergate won another corner after Díaz's cross was deflected out by Pereira. Their fourth of the match already. Montevideo's defense organized again, but the fatigue was starting to show—not physical yet, but mental. The constant pressure, the relentless attacking, the feeling that they were always one mistake away from conceding.

The corner came in. This time, it found Soria at the back post, completely unmarked. The center-back struck it with his head, directing it toward goal from six meters out.

Rodríguez reacted instinctively, throwing himself across the goal. His hand made contact, deflecting the ball onto the post. It bounced back into play, and immediately five players converged on it.

Fernández got there first, his clearance desperate and powerful, sending the ball fifty meters upfield and out for a throw-in.

Montevideo's small section of supporters exhaled collectively. That had been close. Too close.

Álvarez was shouting from his position on the bench, gesturing for his team to push higher, to stop inviting so much pressure. But the squad was already doing everything they could. The tactical imbalance was clear: Rivergate's system was superior, their personnel better suited to the match conditions, their experience showing in every decision.

And somewhere across the city, Che was still waiting outside a factory, unable to help.

Chapter 24 - The Opening