Early October 2013 dawned crisp and gray, as if the sky itself braced for the storm brewing over Boedo. San Lorenzo's board had confirmed Gabriel Ríos as interim first‐team manager, and the team prepared for their first match under his stewardship. Lucas arrived at the Ciudad Deportiva before sunrise, the chill air sharp in his lungs. Today he would train both with the reserves and, for the first time, sit on the bench for a competitive Primera División fixture.
He met Sosa and Duarte in the tunnels beneath the main stand. Their faces betrayed a mix of pride and nerves; the gravity of Ríos's promotion had settled over them like a weight. Vargas and Cavallaro—the two who hadn't been retained for first‐team duties—offered encouraging nods as Lucas passed. Though they remained in reserves, they were as much part of this journey as Lucas, Sosa, and Duarte.
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Morning Reserves Session
Lucas started with the reserves on the secondary pitch. Vargas led a series of technical drills: tight‐space rondos, pass-and-move circuits, and high‐intensity pressing exercises. Cavallaro, now acting as a de facto co‐coach, oversaw finishing patterns, while Sosa rotated through shadowing runs. Lucas embraced each repetition, aware that every touch sharpened the skills Ríos had entrusted to him.
Between drills, Lucas's mind drifted to the first‐team session he would join at noon. He jotted notes in his pocket notebook:
> "Maintain tempo. Trust instincts. Observe Ríos's pressing triggers."
He practiced a clipped diagonal pass, sending Vargas through on goal. The finish was perfect, and Vargas pumped his fist. Lucas felt the echo of that strike ripple through him: this was the form he would need under the Gasómetro's lights.
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First‐Team Training
At midday, Lucas and Sosa crossed to the main pitch. The first‐team squad was already in position—older, stronger, with a professional rhythm Lucas had come to respect. Ríos called them to a loose circle.
"Today we refine our compact shape and counter‐press," he said. "Lucas, Sosa, take your spots next to Mercier and Kalinski. Be our eyes in the deep line."
Lucas felt the weight of responsibility but settled into his role. They began with a transition drill: an eleven‐man possession game where, upon losing the ball, two designated players would sprint to initiate a counter-press. Lucas tracked back time and again, choking off passing lanes and forcing hasty clearances. When he intercepted a low pass and instantly fed Piatti on the wing, the veteran winger flashed a grateful nod.
Ríos whistled and clapped. "Excellent recovery," he said. "That's the spirit we need."
Next came positional patterns. Ríos sketched a 4-2-3-1 on his clipboard, highlighting the half-space between defense and midfield. Lucas mimicked each arrow with his body—shifting angles, opening hips, scanning over his shoulder before receiving. He watched how Ortigoza and Romagnoli interchanged roles: one dropping deep to collect, the other ghosting forward to exploit gaps. Lucas knew this movement by heart from the fatiguing video sessions—today he practiced it in real time.
Before the session ended, Ríos gathered Lucas, Sosa, and Duarte. "You three will join matchday squads from now on," he announced. "I want you at every tactical briefing. Trust what you've learned."
Lucas's chest tightened. He nodded, exhilaration sparking through his tired muscles.
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Tactical Briefing
Back in the small tactics room, the first team surrounded a projection of the league table. San Lorenzo stood precariously above the relegation zone by a single point, nine down from their closest rivals but with games in hand. On-screen, the upcoming opponent—Godoy Cruz, a team known for organized defense and lethal breakaways—loomed large.
Ríos pointed to zone maps. "They soak pressure in the first half, then hit you on the break. Our plan: maintain a low block when out of possession, transition quickly through Lucas, Sosa, or Duarte. Keep our shape compact, prevent third-man runs."
He paused, eyes resting on Lucas. "You'll be on the bench. I need you ready to deliver those quick outlet passes if we need to shift the momentum."
Lucas swallowed hard. Bench duty might not feel like glory, but it meant trust.
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Afternoon Reserves Debrief
After lunch, Lucas rejoined Vargas and Cavallaro on the reserve pitch for a final debrief. The drills were simple—ball circulation and cool-down passing—but their talk centered on mindset.
Vargas clapped Lucas on the back. "They see you up there," he said. "Your moment is coming."
Lucas nodded. "I'll be ready."
They finished with a shared vow: no matter the result, they would work until victory felt inevitable.
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Matchday Warm-Up
That evening, Lucas changed into his number 29 kit in the first-team tunnel. The absence of fans was eerie; the concourse lights glowed under the stands, but the terraces remained empty. Ríos moved among the starters, offering last-minute advice. Lucas took a deep breath as the team jogged onto the pitch.
They began with light passing and dynamic stretches. Lucas performed the same sequences he'd rehearsed all week: shoulder shrugs, ankle rolls, controlled sprints. Few glanced at him—but those who did, like Torrico and Ortigoza, offered a nod of acknowledgment.
Ríos appeared on the sideline and called up Lucas. "You're in," he said. "Bench role, but expect an injury or shift. Be ready."
Lucas's heart hammered. "Thank you, coach."
He took a place on the bench beside Sosa and Duarte, who grinned with pride.
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Kickoff in Silence
The referee's whistle rang out. Kickoff. No crowd noise—only the hum of stadium speakers and damp echoes of boots on grass. San Lorenzo inched forward, cautious at first. Godoy Cruz sat back, lined up in a rigid 4-5-1 block. Every pass was measured, every touch under scrutiny.
From the bench, Lucas studied their shape: midfielders holding narrow lanes, center backs brushing shoulders with attackers. He envisioned the passing lines he would exploit when called.
Twenty minutes in, an opportunity flickered on the right flank. A miscontrol by Godoy Cruz's midfielder sent the ball rolling toward the sideline. Lucas sensed the moment—he rose from the bench, ready to sprint on, pressuring the session coaches' signals. A cry went up: "Number 29, be ready!" But the call wasn't for him yet; others scrambled for the loose ball.
As the first half wore on, the midfield battle grew fierce. When a deflected shot fell to Rojas at the top of the area, his volley flew over. In the second half, Godoy Cruz struck first—a swift one-two that split San Lorenzo's pivot, and the striker's finish nestled in the corner. 0–1. Ríos's face tightened. Lucas rose from the bench, ready to offer fresh legs.
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The Call
In the 75th minute, Ríos barked an instruction to his assistant coach. The assistant turned and waved Lucas forward. Time seemed suspended. Lucas stood, heart racing, and lent a hand pulling on the training top over his jersey. He untied his boots—old reflex—then retied them with meticulous care. He took a breath and jogged down the steps, crossing into the technical area as his teammates applauded.
Ríos met him at the edge of the dugout. "You eyes," Ríos said. "Keep your head up. Switch play quickly if we win it back." Lucas nodded, swallowing.
When Lucas stepped onto the pitch, the lights felt brighter and the silence deeper. Godoy Cruz's defenders eyed him warily. He took his position beside the double pivot, scanning the lines. In his ear, he heard Sosa's excitement from the bench: "Go get 'em, Skinny!"
[End for chapter 32]