“You know ... for a club hanging by a thread”, Alejandro pushed the gym door open, his neck turning rightwards to find mine, “I’d say this place is pretty --- How do you say it over here?”

“Shite,” I replied, yanking my eyes off his own.

“That’s about right”

“Shut up”. I nearly cracked at the last one. Thankfully, he didn’t see my lips twitch up when he faced forward, his face suddenly gaunt from the tension seizing it.

He had been like that ever since. However, it wasn’t that way at the very start.

I’d tell you, that cheeky smile of his was still there when he learned I’d be his guide, my coach’s idea of punishment for earlier today. Now, you would think this was supposed to be horrible for me and for a tiny, little time his cocky bravado nearly had me digging my skin.

But I didn’t suffer long because as soon as we headed deeper into the whole schmuck, butterflies began to stir in my belly. Yes! It was magic and it blossomed with every spot I showed him. It even spiked whenever I’d check and that smile had dipped an inch lower than the last.

Beautiful.

Alejandro was right, though. The club had been in survival mode for quite some time, and I could tell from the glances he kept throwing at me that he wasn’t used to such mediocrity.

Heck ... We hadn’t even started, and he was going on about some hydrobaric vessel and how it could improve recovery. I had to let him know that we didn’t have anything like that, stopping him in his tracks, his jaw hanging loose when he asked me.

“Seriously?!?!”

And I responded, “Seriously”.

He stayed quiet after that, only speaking recently. Right when we were about to step into the gym. Yes, the gym.

The one facility my mind had noted “in the not completely chopped category.” Even as the place partially reeked of sweat and a half-arsed spray of air freshener, my hopes were high that he at least found some standard in here. That is, until we walked in, and that hope suddenly morphed into another amusing experience.

“Urggh ... You guys still use leather benches”, he asked after marching to a bench near the corner, fingers running steadily across the top ... barely flat from the but-shaped pits permanently one with the surface now.

“Careful there. That bench is older than you, from what I’ve heard.” I shot him one straight look, which he glanced at too quickly before straightening up.

“I could see that.”

Okay. This ... This was turning out to be cinema. It almost felt like I was witnessing a rich kid slowly spiraling after he had been cut of his trust-fund money.

We weren’t even halfway through, and yet, my fingers lost count of how many times his brows either furrowed at the flickering lights or rose whenever his gaze dropped to find the floor, which was lightly scarred by the shallow, zigzag lines running across the tiles.

The only thing that gave him something close to a positive reaction was when we passed any new equipment, and he would nod satisfyingly, only for that face to disappear when the next gear was some aging leg press or a weight rack with an incomplete set.

Luckily for him, the gym wasn’t that big, and after the 700th change in his face, we were already in our next destination. The cafeteria.

“Alright, say it,” One voice called from a round table at the far end. It was our starting defender. Julian Peres, a feisty Argentinian, and one of the many souls Allie took during training.

“Say what?” He paused, his gaze panning across the plain room before they stopped at Julian, his tone rising as he said. “That this cafeteria looks like a high school canteen. That my agent was right, he did tell me this place was a shithole. That I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Whoa!!” Julian exclaimed, then I chimed in with an “I know”, our eyes finding each other as he pulled his head back, and my chest jolted from laughter. As for Alex himself, he just stood beside me, his face torn between sulking and the sideways glare he sometimes gave me.

“Don't worry, my friend, you’ll get used to it. In the meantime – “, Julian trailed off as he beelined toward us, holding one shirt tight before he held it out to the man beside me “Can you sign this for me, amigo?”

Call me paranoid, but as soon as he said that, I thought Alejandro was going to deck him. It didn’t help that he kept staring at the other man with such intensity; the spring in my chest faded just watching his jaw clench.

Time froze for a breath, and as just as his arm raised in front of Julian, the worst already flashing in my mind... he sighed out a tired “Sure thing”, then leaned forward, scrawling his initials on the back of the shirt.

“This is the seventh time one of my teammates have asked for your signature,” I told him after Julian left the place, one fist pumping in the air.

“Wha?!?!”

“Never mind. Jus-just look at the TV ahead”, I stammered a bit, pointing my chin towards the shallowly cracked TV, fixed to the wall opposite us.

He listened, eyes squinting at the pictures moving across the screen.

My favourite sports channel was on, and I say “favourite” with a massive pinch of salt. The media personnel were all sitting, murmuring about the latest news.

And guess what, the “latest news” was him. Well, it was him and that handshake they kept replaying like it was the defining moment of the season.

In a smaller window, the cameras cut to the crowd outside: fans dressed in Newton colours, pressed up against the rails, and a few already queuing at the sign-up booth like it was a ticket to heaven. And you know the funny thing, all of them were holding a placard with his face on it, chanting his name like he has been here for years.

That was the last straw. It would be the worst experience for me if his ego reared back, so I said

“Alright. Let’s move on to the locker room, shall we?”

“Wait a second, let me catch something.”

I wanted to say “Catch what” but the words faded the longer I watched all the muscles melt in his face. He really was enjoying this, and seeing him so… absorbed in himself actually reminded me of the question I had been meaning to ask.

“Why are you here?” I asked matter-of-factly.

He answered, yet his eyes didn’t move.

“What kind of question is that?”

“The kind that has to do with what you complained about earlier. You’ve seen the cracked tiles, the leaky pipes, the lackluster gym equipment. This place is falling apart, and you…” I looked toward the screen, “You could’ve gone anywhere. So why Newton?”

Finally, his smirk faltered.

“Maybe I wanted a challenge.”

“Challenge?!” I nearly laughed. “There’s a challenge, and then there’s mission impossible.”

He turned slightly, just enough for me to see his glacial eyes.

“I see this tour of ours might be becoming a burden. I’ll take my leave now.”

As quick as an hare, even before I could press him, he was already by the exit, leaving me with a parting line that was low and… rather confusing.

“Careful, Miki. Not everything broken here wants to be fixed.”

Then he was gone, abandoning me while I pondered the true meaning of his words. Alone, with only the empty seats and tables to bear witness as I slowly spiraled…