June 2013 dawned gray and restless, fitting for the week ahead. The academy calendar mirrored the senior side now—each fixture a new test. This month's gauntlet: Boca's reserves on Wednesday, Independiente's on Saturday. Four days to prove that Lucas's winter promise wasn't a fluke.
Boca Reserve: Sharp Edges
On Wednesday morning, dark clouds threatened rain as we warmed up. Boca's reserve squad arrived in a tight group—yellow bibs and steely eyes—circling the center line with a predator's confidence. The grass was slick; every first touch risked a skid.
The whistle blew and Boca snapped into a high press. From the first minute, their number 8, Martínez, lunged at every pass. Lucas received the ball near halfway, took a heavy touch, and Martínez closed him down instantly, chesting his ball out. Serrano, Boca's young winger, streaked in for the rebound but Lucas cut back, spun on his heel, and slipped a threaded pass to Sosa on the left flank. Sosa's cross whistled across the six-yard box—but no teammate timed their run. The rebound fell to Boca's right-back, who hoofed clear.
Lucas panted, adrenaline in his eyes. He greeted Martínez's next tackle with composure: he met the press with a one-touch pass to Duarte, who flicked it back in space. Pursued by two opponents, Lucas drove toward the penalty arc and let fly a dipping shot that smacked the crossbar, rattling the wood and sending a murmur through the stands of coaches on the sideline.
Boca's coach stormed onto the track, bellowing instructions: "Press him harder! Don't let him think!"
Minutes later, Martínez launched a crunching challenge as Lucas controlled a pass. Turf and calf met, and Lucas bit down on a silent gasp of pain. He rose immediately, brushed off dirt, and pirouetted into space—refusing to cede ground. His next touch was perfect, a weighty pass into the channel that sprung Sosa again, this time earning a corner.
From that set piece, Boca's keeper punched clear and countered in three touches—deadly speed. Boca raced into the box, but Lucas hustled back, tugging down the striker's shirt just inside the area. The referee blew and waved play on again, but Lucas's muscles burned with each sprint back.
As the second half wore on, Boca grew desperate, their press fracturing. In the 70th minute, Lucas spotted the gap: he darted forward, collected a diagonal feed from Duarte, and steadied himself before chipping a gentle pass over the retreating defense. Sosa met it on the volley, but the keeper flung out a strong left hand.
The final whistle brought a 0–0 draw. No goals, but a statement: Lucas had matched fire with finesse, refusing to be bullied.
Independiente Reserve: Strategic Mind
By Saturday the sky had cleared, leaving a harsh midday sun. Independiente's squad arrived with measured calm—silent in the warm-up, their passes low and purposeful. They spread the field in a 4–1–4–1, the lone pivot protecting a tight block.
Early exchanges saw both sides probing. Lucas drifted between the lines, seeking pockets. In the 15th minute, he intercepted a back-heel near the halfway line and found Duarte with a flicked pass. Duarte laid it into space beyond the midfield screen; Lucas charged on, turned the defender with a Cruyff-like drag, and played a square ball that eluded the full-back's sliding block. The Independiente pivot, Salazar, recovered to smother the chance.
Independiente countered instantly. Their right-winger, Moreno, burst past our left back and whipped in a low cross. Lucas darted back, headed clear under pressure. The ball spun up—he chased it down thirty yards from goal, chest-controlled it, and laid it off for Vargas. Vargas drilled a shot from the edge of the area that forced a smart save from our keeper.
As the half ticked into the 40th minute, carelessness crept in. A misplaced pass from Sosa invited a turnover. Independiente bore down two-on-one on our center-back—only Lucas's recovery tackle threw the shot wide. He popped up, breath ragged, and kicked the loose ball high into the stands.
At halftime, we trailed 1–0 from that earlier counter. The dressing room felt small, sweat dripping off tired shoulders. Ríos paced the length.
"We're not out of this," he said. "You've done well to match them tactically. Now we need edge. Creativity. When opportunity knocks, you answer."
He singled out Lucas. "You see the gaps. Exploit them. Don't wait for opens—create them."
The second half opened with intensity. Lucas dropped deeper, orchestrating play from the swivel of his head. He spotted a narrow window between the holding mid and the back-line—threaded a pass to Vargas, whose shot was deflected only for the rebound to fall to Sosa. Sosa's first-time cross whipped inches wide.
Independiente pressed immediately. Their center-forward bullied past our full-back, but Lucas tracked the run, sliding in for another crunching interception. He sprang to his feet, chest heaving, and drove a counter-attack: a one-two with Duarte, then a clipped pass to Vargas on the wing. Vargas crossed low; our striker's swipe was blocked on the line.
The coaches murmured. The audience on the fence leaned in.
In the 68th minute, Lucas received the ball 25 yards out. He steadied himself, shielded from a charging defender, and unleashed a curling drive that dipped under the bar—his first goal at Reserve level. The crowd of staff erupted. Lucas wheeled away, arms aloft, a feral grin cracking his face.
Independiente pressed again, desperate. Lucas marshaled the midfield, cutting off each run like a general directing troops. When their final chance came—a headed effort from a corner—he was first to the loose ball, smothering it with authority.
The final whistle cemented a 1–1 draw, but Lucas had seized the moment. He walked off to handshakes and a rare nod of approval from the Independiente coach.
Aftermath: Foundations Laid
That evening, Lucas and Sosa wandered the quiet barrio streets, the lingering sun painting windows gold. Neighbors called out congratulations. His mom waited on the corner, tears bright as the fading sky.
"I'm proud," she whispered.
Lucas felt the weight of two draws and one snapshot of brilliance settle in his chest. He'd met Boca's fire and outwitted Independiente's structure. The league's mid-season crucible had prepared him for what came next.
As the barrio lights blinked on, he closed his eyes and breathed deep. The summit still loomed.
[End of Chapter 25]