February 27, 2024.
Months after the Copa Escolar, Diego had begun to develop so sense of belonging.
At school, he had begun to gain recognition. He was no longer the quiet kid, but one of the students well-known for being among the ballers. Regular matches guaranteed him a spot at left-back, sotis left-mid, and the consistency earned him respect from the others.
Damian, Ruben, Kebehi, and a few others now treated him like a teammate outside the pitch as well. Diego usually joined them during lunch and after lunch, occupying the sa table every day as they spoke of almost nothing but football.
Through them, Diego learnt more about this century, including the nature of football and also other things he would’ve never believed in his past life.
After school, he followed them into pranks and rough play, stealing snacks and pencils from younger students. He was developing into a "bad boy," and a new reputation was beginning to take shape.
But all of that ended with Mr. Montoya’s death.
Mr. Montoya worked in a factory that demanded both strength and routine. One afternoon, his blood pressure spiked without warning—a surge too severe for dical intervention to undo. By the ti help arrived, he was already gone.
The news hollowed out the Montoya household. Mrs. Montoya collapsed into a grief that words could not convey. He had been the pillar of the family, the constant, the man who made instability feel impossible. Losing him was like removing the floor from beneath a house and still expecting it to stand.
The girls cried every day. Days turned into weeks of wailing, swollen eyes, and unanswered questions. Paloma clung to mories; Olalla cried without fully understanding; Yazmin’s tears were born more of anger than of sorrow.
But Diego did not cry the sa way.
Every day, he sat in silence with red-rimd eyes, his mouth shut, listening more than speaking. He wrapped his younger sisters in his arms when they broke down, spoke when they needed reassurance, and stayed still when words would have only failed.
To them, he beca the only solid thing left to lean on.
Arrangents for the burial were made quickly. There was no room for delay, not when every extra day in the mortuary ant money the family did not have. Mrs. Montoya understood this before anyone had to explain it to her.
With the breadwinner gone, her thoughts turned imdiately to survival: rent, food, school fees. The weight of it pressed on her even as she signed papers with trembling hands. There were no long family etings, no drawn-out plans. There was only efficiency, because efficiency was cheaper.
The children barely had ti to process the loss. Mourning felt rushed, interrupted, and unfinished. No relatives arrived to fill the house with consolation; there were no other arms to pass their grief into. It was just them.
When Mrs. Montoya told them the burial would take place in a week, it sounded unreal. They nodded, because there was nothing else to do, and learned, too early, that poverty doesn’t just take your life, it takes your ti to mourn it.
The funeral happened really fast because they were all tired and in a hurry. The days just kind of blended together while they signed papers and made plans without stopping. The kids felt like they weren’t really there. School didn’t matter anymore and ti felt weird. Diego, who used to always think about his football matches and training, now forgot about it completely. It was like the ga never even existed.
Since they didn’t have any relatives to help, Mrs. Montoya went to the only place she knew. She set up a service at their local church because Mr. Montoya had been going there for a long ti. It cost them nothing, providing a dignity that their bank account couldn’t afford.
For the first ti since he died, the family felt like people actually noticed them. People from the church ca up to say they were praying for them and gave them kind words. Even neighbors they didn’t really know showed up. Being there together with the music and everyone bowing their heads made the loss feel real, but it also made it feel a little bit lighter because they weren’t alone.
After the funeral was over, while everyone was still talking quietly and trying to be nice in the church hall, Diego snuck out without anyone seeing him. He went through a side door and stepped outside into the hot air. He just needed so space that prayers and people saying "sorry" couldn’t give him.
For a while, he stayed near the church, then walked over to the big, mowed field next to the building. He put his hands deep in his pockets and just walked around, his boots hitting the grass. His chest felt tight and his head felt heavy, but also kind of empty. He knew his mom would be really mad when she saw he was gone, but he didn’t really care. He would go back later.
It was hard to ignore how everyone looked at him now—especially his mom. With Aaron gone years ago, and now their father too, Diego was the last boy left in the Montoya household. He could already feel how heavy that was.
He knew what it ant. More worrying. More rules. More people watching everything he did.
Diego was certain that if their house ever caught fire, his mother would grab him first before any of his sisters.
That was kind of funny. The thought made him smile for the first ti in a while.
But the joke didn’t make the knot in his stomach go away. He felt like a huge responsibility had been dropped on his shoulders without any warning. It was way too much for a kid his age, and it was way too heavy to carry by himself.
What scared Diego more than anything right then wasn’t just losing his dad, or suddenly being the only boy left in the house—it was what would happen to his football career.
His dream had always been shaky, and it only stayed alive because of one person: his father. Mr. Montoya was the one who cheered for every move he’d made so far. He was the only one who really believed Diego could actually beco a professional player.
His mom was different. She only went along with it because his dad told her to. Deep down, she wanted him to do sothing safe, like being a doctor, a lawyer, or an engineer—jobs that made money and weren’t risky.
Diego could already feel things changing. He saw the way she looked at him now that his dad was gone. What if she decided to pull the reins and force him down to a boring office job future?
The thought made his stomach hurt. He squeezed his hands into fists until his knuckles turned white.
"I won’t let it happen," he whispered. "I might only be twelve, and I might be young, but I’m going to decide where I go."
The GOAT system, his new life, all of it—he was going to finish it, no matter what!
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A/N: Sorry for the tragedy! But I hope you enjoyed the twelfth Chapter! Please support with powerstones and golden tickets!
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