The day of the match, March 5th, 2014, arrived with a palpable sense of occasion. Madrid was electric, the city's heart beating in a rhythm of red and yellow.
For Mateo, the journey to the Vicente Calderón, Atlético Madrid's legendary and intimidating stadium, was a familiar ritual, yet the opponent, Italy, imbued it with a new, heavier significance.
This was not just a friendly; it was a clash of titans, a battle for bragging rights between the last two World Cup winners.
In the pre-match meeting, Vicente del Bosque, the calm, unflappable manager of the Spanish national team, announced the starting lineup. As expected, Mateo's name was not on it. He was on the bench.
Almost a year into his international career, he understood his role. He was the secret weapon, the agent of chaos to be unleashed on a tiring defense. Del Bosque caught his eye and gave a subtle nod. "Paciencia, Mateo," he said, his voice a low murmur. "Watch them. Learn them. Your time will come."
