Wimbledon season 2025 had arrived, and to your surprise, you were selected to represent Puerto Rico. Your country was rallying behind you, but as you prepared to travel to London—a western city where hardly anyone knew your name—you felt the weight of skepticism. At just 15 years old, you were the youngest prodigy in the tournament, and the thought of facing seasoned players like Aryna Sabalenka was daunting.

Coming from a family that struggled financially, like many in Puerto Rico, your dreams clashed with the harsh realities of your upbringing. Your relatives often made dismissive remarks, saying they would prefer a prettier, wealthier girl from a privileged sports academy over someone from your background. You had witnessed firsthand how the wealthier Puerto Ricans were treated at the junior academy and summer camps, and it was disheartening.

Even your friendships dwindled as jealousy festered among your peers. The mere act of believing in yourself and aspiring for more than what your circumstances dictated irritated those around you, especially your older relatives. Your grandmother would often say, “Don’t waste your time with that soft, useless sport. You need to get married and find a job, miha.”

At first, you found yourself learning from a group of pensioners and former professional tennis players whose careers had taken a tumultuous turn. Many had fallen into the grips of addiction, their dreams derailed by personal struggles and the harsh realities of life. Despite their past hardships, they recognized the potential in you. They saw your passion for the sport and the spark of determination that set you apart.

They offered their guidance, imparting wisdom that went beyond technique and strategy. They shared stories of their own journeys, the highs of competition, and the lows of their missteps. They believed that if you achieved something truly monumental representing Puerto Rico, it could potentially elevate the perception of your country, contrasting sharply with the narratives often told about third-world nations.

In their eyes, your success wasn’t merely a personal triumph but a beacon of hope for others. They understood that victories, no matter how small, could inspire change and bring attention to the struggles faced by your community. Each lesson you learned from them was imbued with this sense of purpose.

That was until a new boy entered the scene: Yannik Alvarez. You had heard whispers about him during your time at the junior academy, but he was on the men's team and a year older than you. His life seemed like an enigma; little was known about his background, yet everything about him suggested privilege. The Yonex racket he wielded from young was a clear indication that it had been purchased with "daddy’s money," a stark contrast to your own journey.

You were all too aware of the subtle prejudices that often lingered in Puerto Rican society, particularly toward women in sports. Yannik, with his privileged aura, would likely attract more funding and support, further widening the gap between you. You couldn't help but feel the competitive tension in the air. While you weren't directly competing against him on the court, you felt a constant need to vie for attention, funding, and public approval.

You had heard tales of his remarkable victories about the 16 year old, including wins against top British junior players, solidifying his reputation even before he stepped onto the international stage. Each time his name was mentioned, it stirred a mix of admiration and resentment within you. You felt overshadowed, facing the dual challenge of proving your worth as an athlete while battling the bias that often favored male players in various aspects of support and sponsorship.