The doctor removed the cast and Leonel thought he would feel lighter than ever, but instead, he found only numbness and a disturbed sense of proprioception.

After spending the entire summer with his leg compressed by the cast and later by the tight straps of the brace, the freedom in his lower limb felt strange. Both muscles and joints seemed to float adrift, seeking the containment they had known for months. He had freed himself from the splint when the moment called for it, to bathe or allow circulation, but those moments of freedom were brief. Now, the idea that nothing would restrict his leg anymore felt bewildering and unreal.

At least now he could play football again, a prospect that made him happy. He could imagine the field turf under his feet, the wind as he ran, the heightened senses, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. How he longed for it. The excitement must have shown on his face, because the doctor immediately made sure to tell him, "You can't run yet; you still need some time to recover."

That was enough to dampen Leonel's enthusiasm.

He had to do new flexion-extension exercises, and although he couldn't run yet, he had to make sure he went for a walk every day. He had followed the recovery program, so his muscles had enough strength to skip a few steps in the recovery plan. With a pleased expression, the doctor congratulated him on his progress and adjusted a black ankle brace around his foot, instructing him not to strain the leg beyond the established limits.

However, as soon as he regained mobility, Leonel started training.

Every evening, he headed to the common courtyard of the complex where he lived to kick the ball over and over again until his leg ached and began to hurt. His mother watched him, sometimes amused, sometimes resigned.

"You're going to hurt yourself again," she would say, but Leonel ignored her warnings.

He shared the good news with coach Goya and María, because it couldn't be any other way. Goya offered words of encouragement along with a cheerful hug and genuine joy, coupled with the assurance that he would be back on the pitch soon. María, on the other hand, was sincere but reserved in her congratulations, a product of their recent relationship, and undoubtedly glad for his health rather than the prospect of sports.

And since those were the people who made up his small inner circle, he had no one else with whom to share the news.

But he was used to it.

Eager to get back on the pitch as soon as possible, he made the most of the remaining good summer weather and Tigre's wide avenues to stick to his training schedule. Since coach Goya recruited him almost a year ago, he had understood the benefits of training outdoors, using the elements of nature to his advantage. He decided to mimic the runners he used to see along the riverbank path and created a routine for the mornings or afternoons when he didn't have to go to the club.

The proximity of the river brought a pleasant breeze, and the morning sun not only provided warmth against the morning chill, but also adorned the landscape teeming with vegetation that characterized that tourist area of Tigre.

The scene was a cliché: a young man walking under the ancient trees whose foliage shielded him from the direct sunlight, birds chirping nearby, ready to face the new day that was beginning, joggers passing by, alone or in pairs, some accompanied by dogs trotting along with their tongues hanging from their panting snouts, the perfect example of canine joy.

Leonel walked at a fast and steady pace, although that didn't stop him from enjoying that wonderful moment that connected him with nature. The stillness, the silence and the peace transformed the surroundings into a dreamlike image.

This peace was shattered when he noticed someone approaching, jogging in the opposite direction, and, drawn by the movement, he made the mistake of looking at the person's face. Esteban was getting closer with a steady and rhythmic stride that he must have maintained for some time, judging by the sweat on his arms, the flush on his face, and the powerful exhalation coming from his mouth. The young man in question returned the look with a surprise similar to Leonel's, as if they hadn't seen each other for a long time. No, rather, it was the unreality of finding themselves outside the context of school or club. It was an event that disrupted the structure to which the brain had grown accustomed.

They continued to stare at each other until Leonel stumbled over one of the small bushes that lined the path, lost his balance, and fell to the ground with a startled exclamation.

Esteban's laughter exploded beside him, but when Leonel managed to get back to his feet, he saw that the boy was far away, still jogging. Leonel felt a pang of embarrassment creep up his spine and tried to hide it with a cursory inspection of his clothes. There was a light layer of dirt on his white shirt, which only required a shake to make it look cleaner; other than that, there was nothing to regret. He hadn't been injured, and fortunately, his leg hadn't been affected by the fall.

It would have been unfortunate if his progress had been ruined because of Esteban. Well, it wasn't exactly his fault, although they both knew that didn't matter.

He wondered what would happen if, under different circumstances, Leonel got injured again and blamed Esteban once more. It didn't take too much imagination to work out that people would tear the other boy apart without question. If there was one thing the general public loved, it was a story to get swept away with, something to believe in, something to believe in, something to passionately identify with in order to release pent-up emotions. The fact that their passion was football, amateur though it was, guaranteed their attention.

And what news it would be! The same perpetrator, the same victim, a repeated story that would only fuel people's already existing anger. But Leonel wasn't interested in that, nor could he tolerate another lie.

Omission of the truth, he reminded himself.

He turned his head to catch a glimpse of the other boy's silhouette, but he had already crossed the Sacriste Bridge and was nowhere to be seen, so he resumed his walk without a hint of the calm or wonder the surroundings had inspired in him minutes before. Both his steps and his heartbeat were dominated by annoyance and shame as he mentally rehearsed what he would say when they met again. However, Esteban didn't cross his path again that morning.

Leonel stuck to his routine, albeit for all the wrong reasons. It helped him improve his endurance, work on his body, keep his muscles active, maintain a healthy heart, his overall well-being... Yet, every time he left his house, he wondered if he would run into Esteban again.

He couldn't help it. The first thing that crossed his mind as he put on his shoes was that they might meet again. There was no way to describe the anticipation he felt when he went out for a walk, nor the disappointment he felt when only fishermen, happy dogs and runners with unfamiliar faces crossed his path. On reflection, he understood that it made sense for the other boy not to show up again: the center of Tigre was beautiful, but when you lived in a bubble of perfection like Nordelta, there must have been few reasons to leave it.

He had never set foot in Nordelta; everything he knew about the place came from what he had been told and the immaculate photographs he had seen. To Leonel, that city was a utopian science fiction world where people enjoyed the best technology, clothing, and services, secluded from the rest of humanity by an imaginary barrier that could only be crossed by an incredible amount of money. In the photos and anecdotes, everything inside was quiet, safe and clean.

Who would leave such a place like that to run amidst garbage along a river that smelled like shit? Yes, downtown Tigre was nice, but far from perfect. Esteban probably passed through there to try something different, maybe because it was close to school, or close to the club, maybe because he'd spent the night with someone in the area, or because he had some errands to run in the city center that morning, or because he had to accompany someone else, or...

Realizing that he was obsessing over the matter, he promised himself to stop thinking about it. However, the anticipation and disappointment that overwhelmed him when he left and returned home persisted for another week, thanks to his stubborn heart.

These feelings were ridiculous because he would see Esteban later at school. He just... He felt an urgent need to be noticed.