#29 B Team is the Future! (Part 2)
After signing my pro contract, I stopped showing up at Corear. It was Aunt's decision. I felt a little bummed, but she insisted it made no sense to have a full-time pro footballer slinging plates as a server.
Naturally, that meant my interactions with the Corear staff dried up too. Aside from Tiago, I didn't have anyone I was particularly close with anyway, so it was just the natural progression.
Truth be told, after accidentally flashing my big-dick energy that day, I'd noticed Elena's gaze lingering a bit differently. I half-wondered if she'd hit me up. But no call or text ever came. I wasn't really expecting one. I had no idea if Yuko had spilled the beans about me, but even if she had, I wasn't itching to add another notch to my sex-partner belt while things were already rolling with Yuko.
...Though deep down, I couldn't deny a flicker of curiosity about what banging a Western girl might be like.
Anyway. Post-contract, I poured everything into soccer. Aside from hooking up with Yuko once a week or so, that was it.
Time flew by. Before I knew it, it was the last match of March—the seventh game since I'd joined AD Alcorcon B.
This one was huge for us. Our opponents were CDA Navalcarnero, the group leaders and heavy favorites for promotion.
The guys were visibly tense. We'd rattled off six straight wins since I arrived, climbing to sixth place—playoff territory—and every one had been a blowout by four goals or more. Still, facing the group's powerhouse had them on edge.
Preeeep! The whistle blew, and the game kicked off.
In the first ten minutes of the half, CDA Navalcarnero lived up to their top-spot billing. Their style was the classic kick-and-rush so common in this fourth division: long balls from the back, forwards sprinting onto them for crude, direct attacks. They pressed hard with physicality and aggressive duels.
But they were a cut above the other teams we'd faced—higher team cohesion overall. What stood out was the pinpoint accuracy of their long passes from defense to attack, and their clinical striker who could turn those into dangerous shots.
"Guy's built like a tank and quick on his feet too."
Their striker was a black player known for his physique. He never backed down in scraps and had explosive acceleration to burst toward goal. It was clear why he topped the league scoring charts—and why Jordi Calavera had hammered home the need to shut him down.
Talent too good for fourth tier. But...
"He's not pro-level. Not yet."
Clumsy first touches, poor link-up play, tunnel vision. Relying purely on physicality and animal instinct to score, I doubted he'd cut it in the pros. If he ironed out those flaws, though? He could be a real threat with his one-two punches.
But right now, he wasn't there. I could see it plain as day.
Whoooosh!
His ambitious shot sailed high like a home run, way over the bar. I caught him biting his lip, frustration etched on his face. No wonder—he was used to bulldozing defenses for chances, but today those chances weren't materializing.
Proof our backline was handling their star striker masterfully.
"Good defending! Keep it up!"
"Just like that—stay sharp!"
"Focus, focus—that's all we need!"
Cheers erupted from our bench. One of our defenders tangled him up in a rough challenge, and our coordinated press stole the ball without giving him a shooting lane. Compared to that early game against UD Socuellamos, where we got bullied and couldn't defend properly, this was a total transformation.
And it wasn't just defense. Our passing game had leveled up too. Jordi Calavera drilled pass-and-break patterns in training, so we were playing sophisticated possession soccer rare in this fourth tier.
Training helped, but the real fuel was confidence. Six blowout wins had instilled an unbreakable belief: We don't lose. Do your job, and victory's ours.
And I was the source of that faith.
Thud! I took the pass, cushioned it with a perfect first touch into space, and surged toward their box.
Ever since terrorizing this league, whenever I got the ball, at least two defenders swarmed me. Sometimes I'd blast through, sometimes draw a foul for a set piece, and other times...
Thud! ...like now, I'd feed the wide-open teammate left by their overcommitment.
Miguel Amaro, lurking on the left touchline, snatched it and immediately cut inside without hesitation. I kept off-ball runs going to pin their defenders toward me, giving him room.
They had two choices: press Miguel Amaro and risk losing the ball, or stick to me and leave a scoring path open. They almost always picked the latter.
This time was no different.
Crack! Hesitation vanished from Miguel Amaro's game sometime back. True to his word, he'd been a beast in the last two matches, tearing defenders apart. His dribbling, ball retention, and selfless play were his strengths. His weak shot was still a work in progress, but he'd likely make the A team next year.
"Block him inside! What the hell—you gonna let him waltz in?!"
Frustrated shouts from CDA Navalcarnero's bench, but Miguel Amaro's dazzling dribbles and charges cracked their line. One drop of water can split a boulder. Seize that sliver of space, and goals follow easy.
Thwack! That chance landed right at my feet. Miguel Amaro shook three markers and slotted it perfectly as I burst into the box—the ideal spot for a shot.
We'd only played six games together, but our chemistry felt like years.
Whoooosh!
And lethal.
Swish! The net rippled.
He'd angled it perfectly—no need for a touch. Just unleash toward goal. My shot rocketed into the keeper's nightmare corner.
"How the fuck do you stop that?"
"Double up on him. No other way."
"Then the others run free!"
"Didn't you see that left winger dismantle us?"
"Shit... damn it."
Storm clouds over CDA Navalcarnero's defense. They'd held firm until I ghosted in for a non-stop volley. Headache city.
And as always...
Whoooosh!
Swish!
"......"
"......"
By the time we led by four, they went mute. Didn't matter. We savaged their throats relentlessly, sealing the kill without mercy.
Beep—preeeep! Final whistle. The little scoreboard told the tale of the slaughter: 8-0.
"We're invincible!"
"Nobody stops us!"
"Fight to the end—win it all!"
"Vamos!"
After smashing the group leaders, nothing scared us anymore.
Beating group-topping CDA Navalcarnero bumped us to fifth. Just seven games ago, we were relegation fodder. Now? Promotion dreamers.
Seven straight wins, all blowouts. Massive.
"No way we actually promote, right?"
"Whoa, easy. No jinxing."
"Yeah, stay cool. Give everything in the last seven."
"Holding fifth for playoffs would be nice."
"You guys aiming low? Win out, and the title's ours!"
They'd taken an 8-0 spanking—their seventh sacrifice—but CDA Navalcarnero clung to first, still 12 points ahead. Even sweeping the rest might not catch them.
"We've got Theo!"
"Hell yeah! Theo's here!"
"With Theo, we don't lose!"
Miguel Amaro hyped me up, and the cult swarmed, hoisting me high. It didn't feel awkward anymore.
Seven games: 32 goals, 8 assists. Freakish, even for semi-pro fourth tier. Numbers no one else hits in a full season—in just seven games. No wonder I looked like a god.
"Oh yeah, Theo! You bagged six today—top scorer's yours now."
"Yeah?"
"Yep. You're the group's leading man."
Top scorer in seven games... weird feeling. Never hit number one before. My peak was third in college league, right before Gimpo United.
"Knew you wouldn't get too hyped. Figured."
Miguel Amaro grinned at me—then...
"Whoa?!"
A teammate checking his phone bolted up, eyes wide. All eyes on him as he dropped the bomb on us AD Alcorcon B players.
"Guys... the A-team coach got sacked?!"