The Filipino Wonderkid: Road to the World Cup

Volume 3: The National Stage

The technical meeting started at seven in the morning, earlier than anyone wanted after the previous day's ceremony.

Rafael slumped into a plastic chair, eyes half-closed. "Why is everything at seven."

"Because the tournament doesn't run on your schedule," Miguel said.

"It should."

"It doesn't."

Marco sat on Rafael's other side, already yawning. "At least there's coffee somewhere. I saw a table."

"Where?"

"Near the entrance. Might be gone by now."

Rafael was on his feet before Marco finished the sentence.

---

He returned two minutes later, empty-handed, expression somewhere between betrayal and defeat.

"Gone," he announced. "All of it. Some volleyball team drank an entire urn."

"That's dedication," Miguel said.

"That's a crime."

"It's coffee, Rafael."

"It's the difference between me functioning today and not functioning today."

Marco, watching him sulk into the seat beside them, offered half of a granola bar he'd apparently smuggled from breakfast. Rafael accepted it without further complaint, chewing in silence just as the front of the room began to stir.

---

The meeting room held far more teams than CAVRAA ever had — coaches and captains from regions Kai had only heard mentioned on the news, uniforms in colors he didn't recognize, accents layering over each other in the pre-meeting chatter.

Coach Ramirez sat near the front, arms crossed, unreadable as always. Salcedo sat beside Kai, quiet, taking in the room the same way he'd taken in the stadium the day before.

"Bigger pond," he said.

"Much bigger."

Leo counted heads out of habit even here, muttering the number under his breath before catching himself and putting the clipboard down.

"Old habits," he admitted, when Kai glanced over.

"Comforting ones, though."

"That's one way to look at it."

---

An official stepped up to the projector, and the room slowly quieted.

"Boys football, secondary level," she announced. "Sixteen teams. Four groups."

The screen flickered to life, and the group listings appeared one at a time.

GROUP A

Nueva Vizcaya (Region II)

Zamboanga del Sur (Region IX)

Batangas (Region IV-A)

Ifugao (CAR)

Rafael squinted at the screen. "Ifugao's basically our neighbor."

"Basically," Kai said.

"That's comforting."

"Don't get comfortable. Look at the other two."

---

Kai read the names again slowly. Zamboanga del Sur. Batangas. Both unfamiliar, both carrying whatever reputation came with regions that regularly sent teams this far.

Miguel leaned over. "Batangas usually does well in these things. I remember reading that somewhere."

"Reading where?"

"A sports page. Years ago. Don't ask me for details."

"That's not helpful, Miguel."

"It's what I've got."

Rafael, listening in, added his own contribution. "Zamboanga sounds tough just from the name."

"That's not how scouting works," Miguel said.

"It's a starting point."

"It's nothing."

"It's something."

---

Behind them, Nico had already pulled up the other three groups on his phone, scrolling through names like he was collecting them.

"Group C's got Tuguegarao East in it," he said. "Wait — isn't that—"

"Salcedo's old team," Jared finished. "Yeah."

Salcedo didn't turn around, but his shoulders tensed slightly, just enough that Kai noticed.

"You good?" Kai asked, low enough that only Salcedo would hear.

"Fine. Just strange, seeing their name on a screen without my name next to it."

"You'll see them eventually. If both teams keep winning."

"I know." Salcedo exhaled once. "Not looking forward to figuring out how that feels."

---

The official continued through the schedule — three group matches, round robin format, top two advancing to the knockout rounds.

"First match," she said, clicking to the next slide. "Nueva Vizcaya versus Batangas. Tomorrow, ten AM."

The room reacted in scattered murmurs, other groups checking their own schedules, comparing notes with delegations they'd apparently already researched.

Rafael turned to Kai. "Do we know anything about Batangas?"

"No."

"Anything at all?"

"Miguel read a sports page once."

"That's not enough information."

"I know."

A coach from another region, seated a row ahead, turned briefly and offered an unsolicited comment. "Batangas plays direct. Long balls, quick strikers. That's all I've got for you."

"Thank you," Coach Ramirez said, genuinely.

"Good luck. You'll need it against them early."

---

After the meeting broke, Coach Ramirez gathered the team near the exit, voice low against the noise of a hundred other conversations happening around them.

"Batangas tomorrow," he said. "I don't know much about them yet. Leo's pulling what footage he can find tonight."

"Is there footage?" Marco asked.

"Some. Not much. This isn't CAVRAA. Information's harder to come by at this level."

Salcedo spoke up for the first time since the meeting started. "I might know someone who's played against them. From training camps."

Coach looked at him with real interest. "Who?"

"I'll ask around. No promises."

Coach nodded once, filing that away without pressing further. "Anything helps at this point."

"I'll text you if it's actually useful," Salcedo told Kai afterward, already scrolling through an old contacts list from a camp two summers back. "Don't get your hopes up."

"I wasn't planning to."

"Good. Manage expectations early. Saves disappointment later."

"That's a very you thing to say."

"I've been told."

---

Leo spent the walk back to the billeting school scrolling through his phone, searching for anything useful, muttering to himself every time a search came up empty.

"Nothing," he said eventually. "A few old scores. No actual match footage."

"So we're going in blind," Rafael said.

"Not blind. Just less prepared than usual."

"That sounds like blind with extra steps."

Leo didn't have a response to that one.

---

That afternoon, the team held a light training session at a nearby field borrowed from the host school, more about shaking off travel stiffness than actual tactical preparation.

Kai found himself running through old habits anyway — checking his first touch, working combinations with Rafael, testing whether the rhythm from CAVRAA had survived the flight intact.

"Feels normal," Rafael said, catching his breath during a break.

"A little normal."

"I'll take a little."

Tomas jogged past, calling back over his shoulder. "Better than yesterday, at least. Legs finally feel like legs again."

"Speak for yourself," Marco said. "Mine still feel like airplane seats."

"That's not a real feeling."

"It is when you've been sitting for six hours."

---

Enzo spent most of the session testing the unfamiliar goal frame, pacing its width twice before declaring it "acceptable," a verdict nobody had asked for but everyone accepted anyway. Belle, trailing the session with her camera as usual, caught the whole inspection on film without him noticing.

"You're going to have a whole folder just of me judging goalposts," Enzo said, catching her afterward.

"It's a good folder."

"It's a strange folder."

"Documentary work is rarely glamorous."

Enzo didn't have a response to that, so he went back to stretching instead, muttering something about the crossbar height that nobody else found worth investigating.

---

Salcedo integrated more naturally into this session than any before it, small chemistry finally clicking into place after a week and a half of visible effort.

A give-and-go with Kai landed clean on the first try. Nobody commented on it out loud, but Miguel caught Kai's eye afterward, something like approval passing between them.

"Getting there," Miguel said.

"Getting there," Kai agreed.

---

That evening, Coach Ramirez called one final meeting before lights out, voice steady despite the uncertainty hanging over the whole session.

"We don't know much about tomorrow's opponent," he admitted. "That's unusual for us. We're used to preparation."

Rafael raised a hand. "So what do we do?"

"What you've always done. Play what's in front of you. Read it as it happens." Coach looked around the room. "You've done that before, when preparation wasn't enough. Do it again."

Nobody argued. Nobody had a better plan to offer.

Leo added one final note before dismissing them. "Direct, long balls, quick strikers — that's the one thing we've got. Defenders, stay switched on early. Don't let them get in behind before you've settled."

Carlo nodded, already running the instruction through his head.

"Understood," he said. "Won't be easy without more than that."

"It never is at this level," Coach said. "Get some sleep."

---

Before lights out, Kai's phone buzzed once, a message from Sofia squeezed in between whatever she was supposed to be doing for school.

Sofia: game tomorrow?? who are you playing

Kai: Batangas. Don't really know much about them.

Sofia: scary

Kai: a little

*Sofia: you'll be fine. you're always fine*

He read that last one twice before putting the phone away, not entirely sure he believed it the way she clearly did, but grateful for it anyway.

---

Kai lay on his mattress that night, phone in hand, an unfamiliar name sitting in his head where a scouting report should have been.

Batangas.

He didn't know their captain's name. Didn't know their formation, their strengths, their obvious weaknesses. For the first time since CAVRAA began, he was walking into a match with almost nothing to go on.

Somewhere beside him, Salcedo was still awake too, staring at the ceiling with the same restless energy.

"Nervous?" Kai asked quietly.

"A little. You?"

"A little."

"Good," Salcedo said. "Means it matters."

Kai almost laughed at hearing his own words handed back to him.

"Where'd you hear that, anyway?" Salcedo asked.

"Someone said it to me. A while back."

"Good advice."

"I thought so too."

Across the room, Rafael was already snoring, completely unbothered by tomorrow's uncertainty. Kai envied that, briefly, before closing his own eyes.

Tomorrow would answer the questions tonight couldn't.

End of Chapter 8