**[45+1' - PENALTY AWARDED - REAL MADRID CASTILLA]**
The referee's decision was instant and emphatic, his whistle piercing the stadium atmosphere three times in rapid succession, his arm pointing directly at the penalty spot with the kind of certainty that suggested he'd had a perfect view of the incident.
**PENALTY TO REAL MADRID CASTILLA.**
**MARTÍNEZ (Spanish):** "¡¡¡PENALTI!!! ¡¡¡PENALTI PARA CASTILLA!!! Santos derriba a Kaito dentro del área—el árbitro no tiene dudas!"
*(PENALTY!!! PENALTY FOR CASTILLA!!! Santos brings down Kaito inside the area—the referee has no doubts!)*
**TAKAHASHI (Japanese):** "ペナルティ!黒澤が倒されました!PKです!"
*(Penalty! Kurosawa has been brought down! It's a PK!)*
The Estadio Alfredo Di Stéfano erupted—three thousand Castilla fans roaring their approval, three hundred traveling Talavera supporters screaming in protest, the noise overwhelming as the reality of the decision sank in.
Kaito remained on the ground where he'd fallen, his left ankle throbbing from the contact with Santos's late challenge. The pain wasn't severe—more shock than actual injury—but he stayed down for a moment to gather himself, breathing through the adrenaline surge that came from winning such a crucial decision.
Santos was already sprinting toward the referee, his hands raised in protest, his face contorted with a mixture of anger and desperation. The Talavera defensive midfielder knew exactly what he'd done, knew it had been a foul, but professional instinct demanded he argue anyway. Maybe plant a seed of doubt. Maybe convince the referee to reconsider.
"¡No! ¡No! ¡Toqué el balón primero! ¡Toqué el balón!" Santos shouted, his Spanish rapid and passionate. *(No! No! I touched the ball first! I touched the ball!)*
The referee—Carlos Muñoz Fernández, forty-two years old and with fifteen years of professional officiating experience—wasn't interested in debates. His positioning had been perfect, less than eight meters away with an unobstructed view of the challenge. He'd seen Santos's leg make contact with Kaito's standing foot before touching the ball. Clear penalty. No discussion required.
"Suficiente," the referee said firmly, his voice carrying authority. *(Enough.)* He pointed at the penalty spot again for emphasis, then gestured for Santos to step back. "Es penalti. Decisión final."
*(It's a penalty. Final decision.)*
Pablo Hernández, Talavera's captain, approached more diplomatically than his teammate, his experienced mind knowing that aggressive protests rarely changed referee decisions and often made situations worse.
"Árbitro, por favor, revisa—" Hernández began, his tone respectful but firm. *(Referee, please, review—)*
"No hay VAR en Primera Federación," the referee interrupted, though his tone was less harsh with the captain. *(There is no VAR in Primera Federación.)* "La decisión está tomada. Penalti." *(The decision is made. Penalty.)*
He reached into his breast pocket.
Santos saw the yellow card coming out and his protests intensified. "¡No, árbitro! ¡Ya tengo amarilla!" *(No, referee! I already have a yellow!)*
But the referee's hand was already extended, the yellow card held high for everyone in the stadium to see clearly.
**SECOND YELLOW CARD - MIGUEL ÁNGEL SANTOS.**
**RED CARD.**
**OFF.**
**DELGADO (Spanish):** "¡Y roja! ¡Segunda amarilla para Santos! ¡Talavera se queda con diez hombres! Esto es un desastre para ellos..."
*(And red! Second yellow for Santos! Talavera down to ten men! This is a disaster for them...)*
**NAKAMURA (Japanese):** "サントスに2枚目のイエロー!退場です!タラベラは10人になりました!"
*(Santos with his second yellow! He's sent off! Talavera are down to ten men!)*
The traveling Talavera supporters erupted in fury, their section of the stadium filled with whistles and shouts of protest. On the pitch, Santos stood frozen for a moment, the reality of what had just happened washing over him. Sent off. His team down to ten men for the entire second half plus stoppage time remaining in the first. And a penalty to defend before they could even reach the halftime break.
The Talavera coaching staff on the touchline were animated, Antonio Vázquez gesturing wildly, shouting instructions that couldn't be heard over the stadium noise. Their tactical plan—sit deep, stay compact, frustrate Castilla—had just been demolished by one poorly timed tackle.
Santos walked slowly toward the tunnel, his head down, knowing he'd let his team down catastrophically. His teammates watched him go, their faces showing varying degrees of frustration and resignation. They'd have to play forty-six more minutes with only ten men, trying to protect a result that was already slipping away.
Kaito had gotten to his feet by now, accepting a hand from Chema who'd come over to help him up. His ankle felt fine—the pain already fading to a dull ache that wouldn't affect his movement. He'd been fortunate that Santos's tackle, while poorly timed and deserving of the penalty, hadn't been malicious or dangerous enough to cause actual injury.
"You okay?" Chema asked in English, his eyes assessing Kaito for any sign of serious damage.
"I'm fine," Kaito confirmed. "Just surprised me more than hurt me."
"Good. Now we score this penalty and kill the match."
The referee had placed the ball on the penalty spot and was organizing the Talavera wall behind the goal line, ensuring no encroachment would occur. Inside the penalty area, Castilla and Talavera players jostled for position along the edge of the box, ready to react if the penalty was saved or hit the post.
**GONZALO GARCÍA** stepped forward to take the penalty.
The striker was Castilla's designated penalty taker this season, having converted four of four attempts so far. Calm under pressure. Reliable technique. The kind of player coaches trusted with crucial spot kicks.
Gonzalo placed the ball carefully on the spot, adjusting it twice to make sure it was positioned exactly how he wanted. Then he stepped back, measuring out his run-up with precise steps. Four paces back, two paces to the left. His routine was consistent, the same preparation he'd used for every penalty this season.
Roberto Sánchez, Talavera's goalkeeper, stood on his line bouncing slightly on his toes, trying to project confidence despite knowing the statistics were heavily against him. Professional goalkeepers saved approximately twenty-five percent of penalties on average. That meant seventy-five percent of the time, the penalty was scored. The odds favored the taker dramatically.
But Sánchez had saved penalties before. He knew the keys—watch the taker's hips for hints about direction, stay balanced until the last possible moment, commit fully once you chose your dive. No hesitation. Full commitment.
The referee checked that both goalkeeper and taker were ready. Satisfied, he raised his whistle to his lips.
**TWEET!**
The stadium fell into expectant silence, thousands of people holding their collective breath.
Gonzalo began his run-up—four steps building speed, his body shape giving nothing away about his intended direction. His plant foot landed beside the ball. His striking foot came through clean and powerful.
The connection was perfect.
The ball rocketed toward the bottom left corner with pace and precision.
Sánchez dove, committing to that direction a split-second before Gonzalo struck, reading the body language correctly—
His fingertips reached—
Brushed the ball—
But not enough to change its trajectory significantly.
The ball struck the inside of the post with a metallic **CLANG** that echoed through the stadium, the sound seeming to freeze time for a heartbeat.
Then it rebounded across the goal line.
**Into the net.**
**GOAL.**
**REAL MADRID CASTILLA 1-0 CF TALAVERA.**
---
**[45+2' - GOAL - GONZALO GARCÍA (PENALTY)]**
**MARTÍNEZ (Spanish):** "¡¡¡GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL!!! ¡¡¡GOOOOOL DE CASTILLA!!! ¡Gonzalo García desde los once metros! ¡El portero lo tocó pero no fue suficiente! ¡Castilla toma la ventaja justo antes del descanso!"
*(GOOOOOOOOOAL!!! GOOOAL FOR CASTILLA!!! Gonzalo García from the penalty spot! The goalkeeper touched it but it wasn't enough! Castilla takes the lead right before halftime!)*
**TAKAHASHI (Japanese):** "ゴール!!!ゴンサロ・ガルシア!ペナルティキックが決まりました!カスティージャが先制!"
*(GOAL!!! Gonzalo García! The penalty kick is converted! Castilla takes the lead!)*
The Estadio Alfredo Di Stéfano exploded with noise—Castilla fans on their feet, roaring their approval, their relief at finally breaking the deadlock mixing with the satisfaction of seeing their dominance rewarded on the scoreboard.
Gonzalo wheeled away toward the corner flag, his arms spread wide, his teammates sprinting after him to celebrate. Asencio reached him first, jumping on his back, followed by Marvel and Chema and the rest of the team piling on in the kind of chaotic celebration that professional footballers engaged in despite knowing they still had forty-six minutes to play.
Kaito jogged over to join the celebration, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction. His run into the penalty area had drawn the foul that led to the penalty and the red card. First professional match, first significant contribution to his team's success.
But there was no time to dwell on it. The referee was already gesturing for the celebrations to end, pointing at his watch to indicate that stoppage time was running out and the match needed to restart.
The Castilla players jogged back to their positions for the restart, their body language noticeably more relaxed now that they'd finally converted their dominance into a concrete advantage. One-nil up. Playing against ten men for the entire second half. The match was theirs to lose now.
Talavera, by contrast, looked deflated. Their goalkeeper Roberto Sánchez retrieved the ball from the net with slow, defeated movements. Their captain Hernández was trying to organize his teammates, calling out instructions, demanding they stay focused despite the setback.
But the mathematics were brutal: down to ten men, down one-nil, facing forty-six more minutes against a Real Madrid team that had been dominant even when it was eleven versus eleven.
**[45+3' - RESTART - TALAVERA]**
Talavera kicked off to restart the match, immediately playing the ball backward to their defense. Their tactical approach had shifted entirely—no longer trying to hold compact shape and look for counter-attacks, now just trying to survive the final seconds before halftime.
Castilla pressed high, sensing the psychological fragility, trying to force another mistake before the break.
Antonio David won possession in Talavera's half and played it quickly to Álvaro Martín on the wing. Martín drove toward the byline, drawing two defenders toward him, then cut the ball back toward the penalty spot.
Gonzalo made the run but the delivery was slightly behind him. His attempt to adjust and shoot resulted in a weak effort that Sánchez collected comfortably.
**TWEET! TWEET! TWEET!**
The referee's whistle signaled the end of the first half.
**HALFTIME.**
**REAL MADRID CASTILLA 1-0 CF TALAVERA.**
---
**[HALFTIME - ESTADIO ALFREDO DI STÉFANO]**
The players began making their way toward the tunnel, the contrast in body language between the two teams stark and unmistakable. Castilla's players walked with the easy confidence of a team winning, chatting with each other, rehydrating from water bottles handed to them by the equipment staff. Talavera's players moved with the defeated shuffle of a team that knew the match had likely slipped beyond their reach—down one goal, down one man, having been thoroughly dominated statistically and territorially for forty-seven minutes.
Kaito walked alongside Chema, his legs feeling the accumulated fatigue of forty-seven minutes of professional football played at an intensity he'd never quite experienced in Japanese youth leagues. Not overwhelming exhaustion—his fitness was excellent thanks to Real Madrid's training programs—but a deeper tiredness that came from the mental concentration required to process tactical information and make decisions at this pace.
"You did good," Chema said as they approached the tunnel. "Drew the penalty. Stayed composed under Santos's pressure all half. Raúl will be happy with you."
"I missed two chances," Kaito replied, his mind immediately going to the shot from twenty meters that Sánchez had saved brilliantly, and an earlier moment where his pass into the box had been slightly overhit and cleared by Talavera's defense.
"You created three chances for teammates," Chema countered. "That pass to Antonio David in the twenty-second minute was perfect. The cross to Jiménez in the seventh minute created our first shot on target. And you won the penalty. Stop focusing on what didn't work and recognize what did."
Professional perspective from a teammate who'd been playing at this level longer and understood that perfection was impossible, that what mattered was the accumulation of positive contributions outweighing the negative ones.
They entered the tunnel and made their way back to the locker room, the concrete corridor cool and quiet compared to the noise and intensity of the pitch.
---
**[HALFTIME - REAL MADRID CASTILLA LOCKER ROOM]**
The atmosphere in the locker room was positive but not celebratory—Raúl had been clear from Kaito's first day that leads weren't victories, that matches were decided over ninety-plus minutes, that complacency killed more promising performances than opponent quality ever did.
Players dispersed to their individual spaces, some sitting on benches to elevate their legs and promote blood flow, others heading to the medical area where the staff had prepared cold towels and ice packs for any minor strains or impacts that needed attention. Water bottles and energy drinks were distributed, hydration being critical at halftime to maintain performance levels in the second half.
Dr. Ramírez appeared in the doorway with her assistant, carrying tablets that displayed each player's individualized halftime nutrition protocol.
"Halftime refueling!" she announced. "Those of you who are staying on for the second half, you get one energy gel and electrolyte drink. Consume within the next five minutes to allow time for absorption. If you're coming off, normal recovery protocol applies—protein and carbs within thirty minutes of final whistle."
Kaito accepted his energy gel packet—a small sachet containing concentrated carbohydrates and electrolytes designed to replenish what he'd depleted during the first half. The taste was artificial fruit flavor that didn't quite match any actual fruit, slightly sweet and thick, but he consumed it quickly and chased it with water.
The physical sensation of halftime was strange—his body cooling down from the sustained effort of the first half, heart rate dropping toward resting levels, muscles beginning to stiffen slightly from the combination of fatigue and inactivity. Professional athletes had to manage this carefully; cool down too much and the second half restart would feel sluggish until the body reheated, but maintain too much activity during halftime and you'd deplete energy reserves needed for the final forty-five minutes.
Raúl entered the locker room at exactly 15:52—eight minutes into the fifteen-minute halftime break. He carried his tactical tablet and wore an expression that was neither pleased nor displeased, just intensely focused.
"Gather around," he said, his voice cutting through the ambient noise.
The squad assembled in a semicircle around the tactical board, some sitting on benches, others standing, all focused on their coach.
Raúl didn't waste time with praise or celebration.
"First half: tactically we did exactly what we trained all week. Possession was seventy-four percent. We created seven shots, four on target. We dominated territory, won the midfield battle, and forced them into committing fouls because they couldn't handle our technical quality."
He pulled up statistics on his tablet, projecting them onto the screen mounted on the wall:
**FIRST HALF STATISTICS:**
**Possession:** Real Madrid Castilla 74% - 26% CF Talavera
**Shots:** Castilla 7 (4 on target) - Talavera 0 (0 on target)
**Corners:** Castilla 4 - Talavera 0
**Fouls Committed:** Castilla 2 - Talavera 9
**Yellow Cards:** Castilla 0 - Talavera 2 (Santos sent off 45+1')
**Pass Accuracy:** Castilla 89% - Talavera 68%
**Tackles Won:** Castilla 6/7 (86%) - Talavera 3/9 (33%)
"These numbers tell the story of complete dominance. We should be winning by three goals based on the chances we created. We're only winning by one because their goalkeeper had an excellent half and we weren't clinical enough in the final third."
His eyes moved across the squad, making contact with several players.
"Second half, they're down to ten men. That means spaces will open up that didn't exist in the first half. They can't maintain the same defensive compactness with one fewer body. Our job is to be patient, keep moving the ball, wait for those spaces to appear, and when they do—be ruthless. Put the match to bed early in the second half so we can manage minutes and rest key players."
He switched the display to show Talavera's likely defensive shape for the second half.
"Expect them to drop into a four-four-one. Moreno stays up front alone to give them an outlet for clearances. Everyone else behind the ball in two compact banks of four. They'll try to park the bus and keep the score at one-nil, hoping to maybe steal an equalizer from a set piece or a mistake."
Raúl pointed at the midfield trio on his tactical diagram.
"Chema, Kaito, Antonio—you three are the keys to breaking them down. Keep moving. Don't let them settle into static positions. Pull them out of shape with your movement, then exploit the gaps you create. And when you see shooting opportunities from outside the box, take them. Their goalkeeper was excellent in the first half but he's only human. Make him work. Tire him out. Eventually something will get through."
He looked at Kaito specifically.
"Kaito, you did well in the first half. Drew the penalty, created chances, handled Santos's physicality better than he expected you would. Second half, with Santos gone, you'll have more freedom. Use it. Be aggressive in your positioning. Get into the box more. You have quality in the final third—show it."
Kaito nodded, filing away the instruction.
Raúl consulted his watch. "We have five minutes until we go back out. Bathroom if you need it, final hydration, get your minds focused. This is a professional performance so far. Now we finish it professionally. Questions?"
No questions.
"Good. Vamos."
---
**[15:58 - PREPARING TO RESTART]**
The squad had three minutes remaining before they'd need to return to the pitch. Players were making final preparations—retaping ankles that had loosened during the first half, using the bathroom one last time, finishing their hydration and nutrition protocols.
Kaito sat on the bench in front of his locker, mentally reviewing Raúl's instructions. More freedom in the second half. Be aggressive in positioning. Get into the box more. Show quality in the final third.
The tactical freedom was both opportunity and pressure. With Santos sent off, the Talavera midfielder who'd shadowed him all first half, Kaito would have more space to operate in. But that also meant expectations were higher—if he didn't capitalize on that freedom, if he failed to create or score despite having better conditions, that would reflect poorly on his decision-making and awareness.
Professional football was unforgiving in its assessments. Excuses didn't matter. Only production mattered.
His phone was in his locker, silenced, but he could imagine the messages accumulating from his mother and sisters in Japan, from former teammates in Kawasaki, from the growing number of Japanese fans who'd been following his debut online. They'd be celebrating the penalty won, the contribution to the goal, the fact that he'd completed forty-seven minutes without being substituted or making catastrophic errors.
But Kaito's own assessment was more critical. Yes, he'd won the penalty. Yes, he'd created some chances. But he'd also missed opportunities. That shot from twenty meters should have been placed better, made harder to save. Several passes had been slightly off weight, forcing teammates to adjust rather than arriving perfectly at their feet. His positioning when Talavera had those brief counter-attack moments hadn't been optimal—twice he'd been slow to track back, leaving Chema outnumbered.
Professional football demanded better. And the second half was his opportunity to deliver it.
At 15:59, Raúl appeared in the doorway.
"One minute. Line up."
The squad formed into their walking order again—the same starting eleven would continue, no substitutions yet, Raúl clearly wanting to build on the momentum rather than disrupting the rhythm with changes.
They filed out of the locker room and back into the tunnel, where Talavera's ten remaining players were already waiting. The numerical disadvantage was immediately visible—where normally eleven players would be lined up, now there were only ten, the absence of Santos creating a literal gap in their formation.
The Talavera players' body language showed the weight of their situation. Shoulders slightly slumped. Faces tight with tension. The desperate energy of a team trying to survive rather than the confident aggression of one trying to win.
The referee checked that both teams were ready, then gestured toward the pitch.
Time for the second half.
---
**[SECOND HALF KICKOFF - 16:01]**
**[46' - REAL MADRID CASTILLA 1-0 CF TALAVERA]**
The teams emerged from the tunnel to sustained applause from the Castilla supporters and desperate encouragement from the small contingent of traveling Talavera fans who refused to give up hope despite the mathematics being firmly against their team.
Talavera kicked off to start the second half, immediately playing the ball backward to their defense. Their formation had shifted exactly as Raúl predicted—4-4-1 now, Moreno isolated up front, everyone else packed into two compact defensive lines.
Castilla pressed immediately, looking to capitalize on the numerical advantage and psychological fragility.
**[48' - EARLY SECOND HALF PRESSURE]**
The opening minutes of the second half were one-way traffic. Castilla camped in Talavera's half, passing the ball patiently from side to side, probing for weaknesses in the reorganized defensive shape.
Kaito received the ball in the left half-space in the 48th minute, and the difference from the first half was immediately apparent. Without Santos tracking him, he had time and space to receive on the half-turn, already facing forward, able to assess his options before pressure arrived.
Talavera's replacement defensive midfielder, Luis Fernández, closed down but not quickly enough. Kaito had already seen Gonzalo making a run into the channel between Talavera's center-back and right-back.
The pass was perfectly weighted, threaded through the gap, arriving exactly where Gonzalo could run onto it without breaking stride.
**DELGADO (Spanish):** "¡Kaito! Pase perfecto al espacio—Gonzalo tiene oportunidad!"
*(Kaito! Perfect pass into space—Gonzalo has a chance!)*
Gonzalo took one touch to control and drove into the penalty area, forcing Talavera's center-back Pablo Hernández to commit to the challenge.
Gonzalo's shot was well-struck but blocked by Hernández throwing his body in front of the effort. The ball deflected out for a corner.
**[49' - CORNER KICK - REAL MADRID CASTILLA]**
Antonio David's corner was aimed toward the near post where Asencio had timed his run perfectly. The captain met the ball with a powerful glancing header that redirected it toward goal.
Roberto Sánchez reacted brilliantly, diving to his right and pushing the ball away one-handed.
The loose ball fell to Marvel six meters out, completely unmarked, the goal gaping in front of him.
His shot was struck cleanly but straight at a recovering defender who blocked it on the line.
**MARTÍNEZ (Spanish):** "¡¡¡Nooooo!!! ¡Cómo no entró! ¡Marvel lo tenía!"
*(Nooooo!!! How did that not go in! Marvel had it!)*
The Castilla fans held their heads in disbelief. That was two players with clear sights of goal from inside six meters, and somehow the ball was still not in the net.
Talavera cleared desperately, their defenders scrambling to get bodies behind the ball, their goalkeeper screaming instructions, their organization holding by the thinnest of margins.
**[52' - REAL MADRID CASTILLA 1-0 CF TALAVERA]**
**POSSESSION: Castilla 78% - 22% Talavera
SHOTS (SECOND HALF): Castilla 3(1) - 0(0) Talavera**
The pattern was clear—Castilla utterly dominant, creating chance after chance, but unable to find the second goal that would put the match beyond doubt. Talavera defending desperately, their goalkeeper keeping them in the match through a combination of excellent positioning and desperate blocks from defenders willing to throw their bodies in front of shots.
Professional football could be cruel in its refusal to reward dominance without clinical finishing.
**[55' - SUBSTITUTION - TALAVERA]**
Antonio Vázquez, Talavera's coach, had seen enough. His team was being systematically dismantled despite the score only being 1-0. He needed to make changes before the flood gates opened.
The fourth official's board went up:
**OFF:** Sergio Gómez (Striker)
**ON:** Marcos Vila (Defensive Midfielder)
The tactical message was clear—abandon any pretense of attacking, pack even more bodies into defense, try to preserve the 1-0 scoreline and hope for a miracle.
Talavera was now playing 4-5-0. Eleven men behind the ball. Pure survival mode.
**[58' - BREAKTHROUGH CHANCE - KAITO]**
The increased defensive numbers made penetration even harder, but Castilla's quality eventually created an opening.
Álvaro Carrillo drove forward on the right wing and delivered a low cross toward the penalty spot. Talavera's center-back Raúl Torres attempted to clear but only succeeded in deflecting the ball into a dangerous area.
The ball fell perfectly for Kaito, arriving at his feet twelve meters from goal with only the goalkeeper to beat.
Time seemed to slow.
Kaito's first touch set the ball. His second was the shot—right-footed, aiming for the bottom left corner, struck with good technique and power.
Roberto Sánchez dove, fully extended—
His fingertips reached the ball—
Pushed it onto the post—
**CLANG!**
The ball rebounded into play. Marvel lunged for the rebound but a recovering Talavera defender got there first and hacked it clear.
**NAKAMURA (Japanese):** "ポストに当たった!黒澤のシュート,ゴールキーパーに防がれました!"
*(Hit the post! Kurosawa's shot, saved by the goalkeeper!)*
Kaito stood frozen for a moment, hands on his head in disbelief. That should have been his first professional goal. Perfect position, clean strike, goalkeeper beaten—but the post and that desperate fingertip save had denied him.
"Unlucky!" Chema called out, clapping his hands. "Keep shooting! It will come!"
**[62' - SUBSTITUTION - REAL MADRID CASTILLA]**
Raúl decided it was time to rotate and manage minutes. The fourth official's board showed:
**OFF:** Antonio David (Midfielder)
**ON:** Nico Paz (Midfielder)
Antonio jogged off to applause from the Castilla fans, having put in a solid shift in the first sixty-two minutes. Nico entered with fresh legs and a point to prove after being dropped from the starting eleven.
The Argentine midfielder high-fived Kaito as he took his position—no animosity, just professional acknowledgment. They were teammates. The competition for the starting spot would resume in training, but right now they had forty minutes to help secure three points.
**[65' - REAL MADRID CASTILLA 2-0 CF TALAVERA - GOAL!]**
The second goal, when it finally arrived, came from a moment of individual brilliance combined with relentless pressure.
Castilla won possession in midfield and transitioned quickly. Nico Paz drove forward with the ball, his fresh legs allowing him to accelerate past a tired Talavera midfielder.
His pass released David Jiménez on the right wing. The winger took one touch and delivered a perfect low cross toward the near post.
**GONZALO GARCÍA** made the run, timing it perfectly to evade his marker, and struck the ball first-time from six meters out.
The shot was precise and powerful, giving Roberto Sánchez no chance despite the goalkeeper's desperate dive.
The ball bulged the net.
**GOAL.**
**REAL MADRID CASTILLA 2-0 CF TALAVERA.**
**MARTÍNEZ (Spanish):** "¡¡¡GOOOOOOOOL!!! ¡¡¡DOBLETE DE GONZALO GARCÍA!!! ¡Castilla sentencia el partido! ¡Dos-cero!"
*(GOOOAL!!! BRACE FOR GONZALO GARCÍA!!! Castilla seals the match! Two-nil!)*
**TAKAHASHI (Japanese):** "ゴール!!ゴンサロ・ガルシア2点目!カスティージャ2-0!"
*(GOAL!! Gonzalo García's second! Castilla 2-0!)*
The relief was palpable. The stadium erupted in celebration, the tension of missed chances and narrow margins finally releasing into pure joy.
Gonzalo was mobbed by his teammates, the striker having delivered exactly what the team needed—clinical finishing when chances arrived.
The match was effectively over now. Two-nil up against ten men with twenty-five minutes remaining. Talavera would need a miracle.
**[70' - FINAL SUBSTITUTIONS - REAL MADRID CASTILLA]**
With the match secure, Raúl began rotating to manage minutes and give opportunities to players who'd been waiting.
**OFF:** Kurosawa Kaito (Midfielder)
**ON:** Pol Fortuny (Midfielder)
**OFF:** Gonzalo García (Forward)
**ON:** Víctor Muñoz (Forward)
Kaito jogged off to sustained applause from the Castilla supporters, who rose to their feet to acknowledge his debut performance. Seventy minutes played in his first professional match. One penalty won. Several chances created. Solid defensive work. A performance that justified Raúl's faith in selecting him.
As he reached the touchline, Raúl extended his hand.
"Well done," the coach said simply. "Professional debut. You should be proud."
"Thank you, míster," Kaito replied, breathing hard from the exertion but feeling a surge of satisfaction despite not scoring.
He took his seat on the bench beside the other substitutes, accepting congratulations from Nico Paz and the others who'd been watching from the sideline.
The match continued, but Kaito's direct involvement was over.
---
**[MATCH CONTINUES - FINAL TWENTY MINUTES]**
The remainder of the match played out as expected. Castilla controlled possession, created a few more half-chances, but didn't push too hard with the result secure. Talavera defended with whatever energy remained, pride demanding they not concede further even though the match was lost.
**[78' - YELLOW CARD - TALAVERA]**
Pablo Hernández was booked for a tactical foul on Nico Paz, the Talavera captain's frustration showing as the match slipped completely beyond their reach.
**[82' - SHOT - CASTILLA]**
Nico Paz tried a shot from twenty-five meters that Roberto Sánchez saved comfortably.
**[87' - FINAL SUBSTITUTION - TALAVERA]**
**OFF:** Dani Vega (Midfielder)
**ON:** Rubén Castro (Midfielder)
A meaningless change, giving a young player a few minutes of professional experience in a match that was already decided.
**[90' - STOPPAGE TIME]**
The fourth official's board showed **+3 minutes** of added time.
Three more minutes for Talavera to endure. Three more minutes for Castilla to manage professionally.
**[90+2' - FINAL CHANCE]**
Nico Paz created one final opportunity, playing a clever through ball to Víctor Muñoz who'd made a run in behind Talavera's defense.
Muñoz's shot from fifteen meters was well-struck but Roberto Sánchez—having an excellent match despite conceding twice—made another good save to deny the third goal.
**[90+3' - FULL TIME]**
**TWEET! TWEET! TWEET!**
The referee's final whistle echoed through the Estadio Alfredo Di Stéfano.
**FULL TIME.**
**REAL MADRID CASTILLA 2-0 CF TALAVERA DE LA REINA.**
---
**[FULL TIME - MATCH SUMMARY]**
The Castilla players embraced on the pitch, celebrating three points earned through professional dominance. The Talavera players collapsed where they stood, exhausted and defeated, their relegation battle made harder by this loss.
Kaito stood from the bench and walked onto the pitch to join his teammates in the post-match handshakes. He found Roberto Sánchez first, Talavera's goalkeeper who'd kept the scoreline respectable despite being on the losing side.
"Good match," Kaito said in Spanish, offering his hand.
"You played well," Sánchez replied graciously despite his disappointment. "First professional match?"
"Yes."
"You'll have many more. Good luck."
Professional courtesy between competitors who'd just spent ninety minutes trying to beat each other.
Kaito made his way around shaking hands with the Talavera players, then joined his own teammates in acknowledging the Castilla fans who'd supported them throughout. Three thousand people applauding, chanting "HALA MADRID," celebrating a professional victory.
This was it. His first professional match. Complete.
Real Madrid Castilla: 2 victories, 3 points earned, maintaining their push for promotion.
Kurosawa Kaito: 70 minutes played, 1 penalty won, multiple chances created, professional debut successfully navigated.
The journey was just beginning.
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