It's 11PM. Winter is already leaving in Tioguldós, but the cold is not going away. Even inside the bus, the Red Army players cannot ignore it. The heating is not enough. During the early morning they will arrive at Nasfelo International Airport. There they will board the plane that will take them to Eastfield Lodge for their next match. It is a journey of a few hours, but it is taking forever. Most cannot sleep. Could it be the cold, sneaking in through the windows and blowing in their faces? Could it be the nerves of their first high-level competition?
In silence, Ugós Oroso remembers their passage through the Baptism of Fire. These trips used to be joyous. The team sang, celebrated. They slept early, and in the morning they shared some mates. Coach Mebal used to seat at the back of the bus, making the occasional joke and telling anecdotes of the Revolution in the north. Yet now, something has changed. Jopar and Mongard, sitting in the front, listen to happy music; but through the cold of the night, it reaches the bottom like a distant melancholic melody.
Something bothers him. Oroso is usually the first to start the talks. It is he who usually gets up from his seat to dance and sing. Yet today, he can't take his eyes off the window, even though he's not looking at anything.
Something catches his gaze. In a house, hanging from a window, the red and yellow flag of Tioguldós. He sees it, and pictures the motherland. He looks down. In his jacket, on the side of the heart, sees those colors again. He looks harder. At least that's what he feels. There it is. What he was looking for. Or isn't it? He is not sure. He tries to think faster. The answers go away. He can't take it anymore. It's too much. The pressure. The nerves. The team. The fans.
"Ugós."
"Oh, Nese. Sorry." Nese catched him off guard. "What is it?"
"You don't look fine. Something happens?"
"It's just... I really don't know." He sighs and looks out the window again. "I've been thinking a lot lately. Don't you feel that something has changed?"
"Yeah... I guess." He takes the seat next to Oroso. "Is it because you left Tioguldós?"
"No! What!? No!"
"But-"
"Look, I'm really happy about this. It's a great step in my career and I'm also learning a lot. It's just ..." He pauses. "The plan was to improve myself. We are not achieving results. I'm not scoring."
"Come on, Ugós. It's just a rough patch. I bet Eastfield Lodge will be a piece of cake."
Oroso smiles. "Shut up."
"Now for real, we can win. It's not over for us. Cheer up, gemifa."
Gemifa. Interesting word. Depending on the context, it can be an insult or a friendly way of referring to someone. Sometimes it can take a little of both. Still, Oroso pretends it's just the latter.
Oroso turns and looks at him. "Have you seen the faces of the children after we lose a match?"
"Oh, come on! We cannot win everything! Besides, the kids are always happy to see us."
"Yeah, but I feel like we should be winning. We ought it to the people." He looks at the badge in his jacket again. "We can't simply lose against the weakest team and continue as if nothing had happened."
"Do you want Mebal to come down on us even more?"
"Maybe?"
"I-" Oroso interrupts him before he begins to speak.
"No. I don't mean that." He gestures for Nese to look him directly in the eye. "But we should be more concerned about it."
Nese looks at the floor. Then looks back and without saying anything he gets up, pats Oroso on the shoulder and goes back to his seat.










































