The stadium buzzed with anticipation.
Argentina vs Uruguay.
El Clásico del Río de la Plata.One of the oldest, fiercest rivalries in football history.A match that transcended generations.
Both countries, multiple-time world champions, carried immense pride —and today, even though it was just a U-20 friendly,the passion burned as if it were a World Cup final.
Mateo sat on the bench, his heart pounding against his ribs.
He wore the Argentine jersey proudly over his chest —but the coldness around him had not thawed.
Coach Cárdenas didn't even glance his way as he passed out final instructions to the starting eleven.
Mateo tied his boots tightly, forcing his hands to stop shaking.
He had dreamed of this moment for so long.
But he hadn't imagined it would start like this —alone on the sidelines, treated like a burden instead of an asset.
Above the field, in the commentator's box, the Argentine broadcasters didn't hold back.
"I must say," said one with a slight chuckle,"this Mateo González situation smells of marketing hype. A kid playing in Germany — big deal."
His partner added dryly:"Yet to see him prove anything in Argentine football. Maybe Europe makes stars differently... soft, maybe?"
The cameras panned briefly to the Argentine bench.Mateo's face was visible — calm, but with a certain tension around the eyes.
Meanwhile, across the Atlantic Ocean, in a cozy living room in Munich,his mother, grandparents, and Klara sat nervously around the television.
Klara's hands were tightly clasped over her knees.
"Why isn't he starting?" she whispered.
"They're making him wait," his mother said gently, though her own eyes shone with worry.
The German commentary, in contrast, praised Mateo.
"They're underestimating him," the analyst said."A mistake they will regret."
Even Müller, watching from his home, sent a quick text to Kane:
"If they let him play, he'll silence all doubts."
Back on the pitch, the whistle blew.
The battle began.
The first twenty minutes were brutal.
Uruguay, true to their reputation, played hard, physical football.Every tackle was a war.Every aerial duel a fistfight disguised as a header.
Argentina tried to control possession, but their midfield struggled under the relentless Uruguayan pressure.
Mistakes started piling up.
Misplaced passes.Lost duels.Near goals against.
From the bench, Mateo watched, heart sinking.
He could see the spaces.The missed opportunities.The tactical flaws.
He knew he could help.
He could feel the game's rhythm like a drumbeat under his skin.
But the coaching staff said nothing to him.
He simply sat there, warming up periodically,staring at the swirling chaos on the field —waiting.
Waiting for a door to crack open.
Waiting for destiny to call his number.
He tightened the laces on his boots once again, muttering under his breath:
"Patience.Fight.When the chance comes...I'll tear the sky open."