The first half was a warzone.
Slide tackles flew in from every direction.Shirts were grabbed.Elbows thrown in the scramble for every ball.Fouls were whistled non-stop — but the tension kept building.
The atmosphere was heavy.Personal.Historical.
This wasn't just a friendly.It was Argentina versus Uruguay.It was blood, pride, and years of rivalry boiling over.
Near the 40th minute, the breakthrough came —but not for Argentina.
Uruguay's forward slipped between two distracted center backs,and with a clinical shot low into the corner,put Uruguay ahead 1-0.
The stadium erupted — half in cheers, half in groans.
Argentina's players looked rattled.Frustration clouded their passes.
When the halftime whistle finally blew, they stormed toward the tunnel with clenched fists and boiling tempers.
Inside the locker room, the tension snapped.
Coach Cárdenas exploded.
"What the hell was that?!" he roared, slamming a clipboard onto the ground."You're playing like scared little kids!"
The players sat there, seething, their faces flushed — from exhaustion, anger, or embarrassment, Mateo couldn't tell.
From his corner of the room, Mateo watched carefully.
He could see it:
Some players looked at each other accusingly.
Others stared at the floor.
No unity. No leadership.
Just chaos simmering under the surface.
He wished he could be out there —he needed to be out there.
He itched to change the tide,to show them what true fight looked like.
He caught himself staring too long.
One of the forwards, a tall, muscular player named Nicolás "Nico" Rivas,noticed.
Nico stood up suddenly and walked over.
"What are you looking at, Europe boy?" he snarled, loud enough for the room to hear."If you got something to say, say it to my face!"
Mateo stayed seated, breathing calmly.
"I didn't say anything," he replied evenly.
But Nico wasn't looking for peace.
With a shove, he pushed Mateo backward against the bench.
"Say it then! You think you're better than us?"
Before Mateo could even react properly, the coach barked:
"Enough!"
He walked over, face flushed with anger — but not at Nico.
At Mateo.
"Separate yourselves. Now," Cárdenas snapped, glaring hard at Mateo as if blaming him for the entire disruption.
Mateo's chest tightened.
He hadn't done anything wrong.
But here he was — again — being made the scapegoat.
Nico grinned arrogantly as he backed off,while Mateo clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms.
No apology.No fairness.
Just the message loud and clear:
"You're not welcome here."
As the team huddled for second-half instructions,Mateo sat back on the bench, jaw tight, eyes burning with controlled fury.