Even for local clubs, there were a lot of registrations. It felt kind of heavy because you realized that if you didn’t have the right docunts, you couldn’t actually play out your dreams.
At the sa ti, it validated the feeling that this was sothing important.
Diego had already turned in the first batch of info more than a month ago. He had to give them his birth certificate, his DNI card, and a passport photo where his hair looked neat for once. He also needed proof that he lived in San Blas and a letter that his father, back then, had signed saying he was allowed to play.
Matilde had a set of photocopies, too, keeping them in a clean and organized folder. She was taking her job very seriously.
"I did not expect the place to be like this," she said to Diego, referring to the inside of the building while they walked with Aunt Chickie.
She was right. You would expect a well-organized facility for juvenile football, but it was basically a building filled with haphazard desks, printers making loud noises, and people stapling papers together. It wasn’t unexpected that a governnt-owned facility would beco rundown, old, and ssy, or begin delegating work that didn’t even matter to the team.
But despite the chaos, Diego still got his reception.
After identifying himself as a recruit from Agent Ruiz, a young clerk led the three of them down a skinny hallway. They ended up in a tiny office, looking on the verge of its collapse. Files were stacked in crooked towers on every surface, even on the floor. The papers looked old and dusty, and there was a fan on the ceiling making a tired noise.
Behind the desk was a stout woman with glasses perched on a prominent snout. When she saw that Diego’s mom wasn’t present, she looked really annoyed. She started tapping her pen on the desk like she was ready to say no to "the aunt" doing the paperwork.
But Chickie explained that Mr. Montoya had passed away recently and that Mrs. Montoya had authorized her to act in her stead for club matters.
That was enough to change the sail.
The woman didn’t get super nice right away, but she stopped looking grumpy. Clearing her throat, she said it was okay for them to keep going.
Aunt Chickie filled in Diego’s full na, date of birth, place of birth, address, ergency contact numbers, parent/guardian details, consent for training and matches, permission for travel with the team, and authorization for photographs to be used by the club.
She checked every box, initialed where necessary, and made sure nothing conflicted with what had already been submitted.
When they were finally done, the woman—whose na was Mrs. Garrido—stood up and gave Diego a big smile. She even patted his head and pinched his cheek. "You look like you cause a lot of trouble at ho," she said with a laugh.
Afterwards, she handed Aunt Chickie a green card and directed them toward the dical area for health clearance. Then she went right back to her huge piles of files.
Diego and Maltide skipped ahead of Aunt Chickie into the dical office, but they realized pretty fast that they didn’t need to hurry.
The room was already packed—with adults. Old adults. One nurse was running between rooms and another was busy arguing with soone on the phone. A sign on the wall said "Please Wait To Be Called," so they just had to sit there.
From his dical green card, Maltide whispered the procession to Diego. He would undergo basic physical examinations, height and weight asurent, vision test, blood pressure check, and heart screening with a stethoscope.
After fifteen minutes, the nurse returned with an apology to everyone, explaining that they’d been having power fluctuations and it had been affecting so procedures.
Without further ado, Diego was called inside.
The check-up was actually pretty easy. He did everything he was instructed to, like standing still, breathing deeply, and flexing his arms. However, when the doctor noticed a faint scar and slight tenderness near his temple from a past head injury, he made a note in his file, murmuring that it might need closer observation before competitive matches.
While that was going on, a well-dressed man in his forties, walked into the main building. He seed really relaxed, and he greeted Mrs. Garrido as if he were familiar with her when he entered her office. The woman straightened up her composure, and she spoke back to him in a far more deferential tone than she had used before.
The man leaned on her desk, looking slightly cheerful. "Have all the new recruits reported?" he asked. "And has the team list been finalized?"
Mrs. Garrido fixed her glasses. "I’m not really sure how many were expected, but we’re nearly at the threshold now."
A brief silence lingered between them with the office’s ss in the backdrop.
"We just processed a new one—Diego," she added.
The man’s eyebrows lifted slightly. "You an: Diego Montoya?"
"Yes. Why?"
The man stood up right away. An unexpected move for a simple na of a simple boy.
"He can’t be far," he said. "Is he out on the grass or still in dical?"
"dical."
As he turned to leave, Garrido called after him, "Wait, what’s going on?"
The man stopped for a second and looked back with a little smile. "Don’t worry," he said. "He’s endorsed."
Diego, Matilde, and Aunt Chickie finally ca out of the dical room after a successful clearance. The air slled like cleaning supplies and old paper, and you could hear the sound of footballs hitting the ground and coaches shouting far away. Diego moved his shoulders around, feeling glad the doctor stuff was over, even if his head still felt a little tingly where the nurse was poking him.
It had been almost two hours since they got there, and Diego was starting to get worried that the whole day was slipping away. The sun was higher now, making the shadows on the floor look sharper. He kept looking through the glass doors at the big green field where so kids were still practicing.
He really wanted to just get out there, put his boots on, and start playing for real!
But he knew there was one more thing to do.
He had to et the Sporting Director of EDM San Blas. He wasn’t officially in the league database yet, and he still didn’t have his jersey number or know exactly which division he was in.
Until the big boss said it was okay, he was still just a kid standing in a hallway.
Matilde walked beside him, their fingers interlocked, while Aunt Chickie trailed a few steps behind, scanning the building with quiet interest.
They turned a corner by the main offices and almost ran right into a man who had been searching the whole building for one of them.
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