Actually, for Porto's players, Arghana only knew Quaresma and Jackson Martínez.
Two big names.
Two players who often appeared in highlight compilations he watched late at night. But for the other players? Mangala, Quintero, Diego Reyes, Kelvin—he was unfamiliar with them.
At least, until the match began.
Kick-off.
Porto immediately pressed. Quintero moved between the lines, like a maestro conducting a symphony.
His first touch was smooth, his passes precise. The ball flowed to the right.
Quaresma.
Without hesitation, he unleashed a trivela. The ball spun beautifully, sailing into the penalty box.
Arghana hadn't even finished admiring his technique when Jackson Martínez jumped higher than all the defenders.
A powerful header.
The net shook.
GOAL!
===
Minute 17. Porto led.
Arghana didn't have time to be stunned.
The trial team tried to retaliate, but they weren't a team.
They were a group of individuals fighting on their own, each one trying to shine in front of the scouts. No synergy. No coordination.
And Arghana? He was alone in the middle of this chaos.
===
Minute 34.
Kelvin on the left. His movements were quick, explosive. He passed two players as if they weren't there. A pull-back cross into the middle.
Quintero came from the second line.
First-time shot.
GOAL!
2-0. Porto extended their lead.
Arghana kept running, closing spaces, pressing, trying to match Porto's pace.
But they were too tidy. Too composed. The first half ended with the trial team trailing by two goals.
The locker room was filled with tension. Loud voices clashed. Protests. Accusations. Frustration.
A midfielder shouted about a bad pass. A striker responded in a high-pitched tone.
Arghana stayed silent.
His head lowered, hands gripping the water bottle that he hadn't drunk from even a drop.
Sweat still dripped from his forehead, his breath had slowed, but his mind was restless.
What should he do?
Then, a flash of memory. The videos he had watched the night before.
Park Ji-sung.
Not the most noticeable player on the field, but he knew how to turn hard work into a weapon.
Arghana took a deep breath.
If the team couldn't be relied upon, then he had to create space on his own.
There were still 45 minutes to go.
And he would make sure those minutes counted.
===
The second half began.
Minute 46.
Without the roar of supporters, without the grand atmosphere, only the sound of shoes scraping against the grass and sharp instructions from the sidelines.
But for Arghana, the pressure was still there. Porto didn't ease their intensity.
From the back, Tiago Ferreira set the tempo with his usual calmness.
His ball distribution was sharp, connecting the defense with midfield without any gaps.
Francisco Ramos, the general of the midfield, controlled the pace with precision.
Each touch was smooth, always ready to receive the ball and flow it back without haste.
On the left, Rafa Soares began to press more aggressively. His speed troubled the trial team's defenders.
His combination with André Silva became increasingly lethal, exploiting gaps in the disjointed defense.
Arghana tried to defend, closing spaces, but Porto's dominance was too obvious.
===
Minute 52.
A breakthrough pass from Francisco Ramos split the trial team's defense.
Arghana could only watch as the ball passed through his teammates, who were too late to read the situation.
André Silva received the ball with one touch, turned his body, and then fired a low shot that slid into the bottom corner of the goal.
The third goal for Porto.
The pressure kept mounting.
===
Minute 63.
Rafa Soares moved from the left, passing two players as if they weren't there.
His cross went straight to Francisco Ramos, who came from the second line.
A powerful shot, the net rippling.
4-0.
The trial team could only defend as best they could, while Porto controlled the game comfortably.
They didn't need to rush anymore, just calmly circulating the ball, waiting for another opening to strike.
Arghana kept running. But now, it wasn't just chasing shadows.
Every breath was deeper, more regulated.
He applied the breathing technique Dr. Annelies had taught him—and slowly, something began to change.
===
Minute 70.
The world around him seemed clearer.
Spaces that were previously invisible now read more clearly.
Porto was still dominating, but now Arghana understood their pattern.
He wasn't just reacting; he was starting to anticipate.
Francisco Ramos, André Silva, Rafa Soares. Their movements no longer felt abstract.
He started to understand when Ramos would pass, where André Silva would move, and where the gaps to exploit were.
===
Minute 84.
An interception.
Arghana read the opponent's movement quicker, stepping forward before the pass was made.
One touch to control the ball, then a quick pass to the center forward.
The trial team finally built a structured attack.
A breakthrough pass to Rui Rocha.
One-on-one with the keeper.
A low shot.
GOAL!
No celebratory cheers. No roars from the stands.
Just one consolation goal.
Arghana didn't care. He was still in focus mode. But something was different this time.
He was busy regulating his breath and stamina to ensure his body didn't collapse from exhaustion.
But...
HFM didn't appear.
===
Minute 90.
The final whistle blew.
Porto won 4-1.
Arghana stood in the middle of the field, breathing heavily.
Not just from exhaustion, but from the question that was spinning in his mind.
Why?
Why didn't HFM come?
The pressure was there. His energy had been drained. He had played to his physical limits.
But there was no HFM moment. No surge of instinct. No drastic shift in perception.
He thought that if he kept running, kept defending, kept pushing his body to the limit, HFM would come on its own.
But it didn't.
He clenched his sweaty jersey.
HFM was still a mystery he couldn't solve.