The city of Barcelona still buzzed with electricity — the kind that only comes when your favorite team pulls off something magical. The streets were alive with cheers, celebrations spilling from cafés, fans trading excited replays of the late comeback goal. The old city seemed to pulse with joy and relief all at once. But deep in the heart of the city, far from the revelry, another world was awake. Another story was unfolding, silent but no less intense.
At 11 p.m., inside the Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper complex — a sprawling, almost sacred sanctuary for FC Barcelona — the night was far from quiet. This wasn't just a training ground; it was a fortress of dreams, discipline, and passion. The walls held the sweat and hopes of generations of players who had been forged in its grounds. Most importantly, it housed La Masia — the famed youth academy, where boys didn't just learn to play football, they lived, breathed, and bled the Barça way.
For Mateo Pierce, La Masia had been home since he was twelve. The modest two-bedroom dorm apartment where he now stayed was his refuge and his battleground. Tonight, however, it felt like a battleground of a different sort — chaotic, loud, full of laughter and mock anger, the kind of chaos only young men can create.
"GOALLLLL!" The shout cracked through the room like a spark.
Mateo, seated cross-legged on the floor, froze, his eyes glued to the screen of the TV in front of him. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls as the flickering images of a FIFA 21 match played out. It was Barça versus Manchester City, and Mateo was controlling City — the England giants, maybe, or just the way the night had turned.
But what made this painful wasn't just the game. It was the result.
Barcelona 4 – Manchester City 3.
And Mateo had lost. In the final minute.
Across the room, Balde burst out laughing, a wide grin splitting his face. "Goalll! Ramontada, bro! You're trash, man! You're not good! Not good at all!" he teased, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a kid savoring a well-earned victory.
Mateo rolled his eyes, pushing Balde's face gently away. "Dude, shut up. You're just lucky my player messed up a pass. I swear, this game's got bugs," he protested, making a feeble attempt to explain away his defeat.
Balde only laughed harder. "No excuses, man. You're just shit at FIFA What's this now the how many times have I beaten you already just pass the controller and go sleep," he teased, poking Mateo's shoulder.
That was the spark. Mateo's eyes flared with mock anger. "That's it!" he shouted, lunging playfully at Balde — and the room erupted in laughter as their teammates jumped in to hold them back.
"Hey! Hey! Chill, chill, guys," Fermin Lopez grinned, holding Balde by the arm, while Marc Casadó corralled Mateo with an arm around his shoulders. The tension was all in good fun — the kind of roughhousing that came from close friends who knew each other inside out.
It had been a day full of excitement, and now, in the quiet hours of the night, Mateo and his teammates found themselves gathered in his dorm room, the unofficial "hangout" spot at La Masia.
The night had started on a different note — Mateo's debut earlier that evening in a match that had fans talking across social media. His friends had come by to congratulate him, their voices full of pride and excitement as they peppered him with questions.
"How did it feel out there?" Gavi had asked, eyes wide.
"Was it everything you dreamed?" Casadó chimed in.
But soon, the questions faded. The group settled in, the mood lightening as they turned to a new obsession — FIFA.
"Dude, don't be mad — you just got lucky scoring those 3 you were always going to lose," Balde teased relentlessly.
"You only won because Messi's a cheat in this game. How did you even score from that angle?" Mateo shot back, raising an eyebrow.
The back-and-forth went on, with Gavi and others trying to keep things under control.
"Can you two just shut it?" Casadó finally snapped. "It's 11 p.m., not the time to wake The Mother."
"The Mother" was their nickname for the dorm supervisor, Mr. Alejandro — a stern but caring man who kept a watchful eye on the boys. Rules at La Masia were strict: lights out by 9 p.m., no gaming consoles in the dorms, and absolute quiet after hours. But rules had a way of bending when you were a bunch of teenagers caught in the thrill of fun.
Mateo raised a hand, signaling truce as Gavi released his grip. Balde, too, was set free, but the damage was done. Just then, a soft knock echoed from their door.
The room fell silent. The boys exchanged quick, startled glances — knowing exactly what that meant.
Instantly, chaos broke out. Balde, Casadó, and Fermin scrambled to hide. Casadó dove under the bunk bed, Fermin squeezed into the narrow space behind it. Gavi and Mateo moved fast, grabbing their table and using it like a shield to cover the small TV and controller. With practiced efficiency, they draped a blanket over the setup, making it almost disappear.
Their eyes met, sharing a silent smile — this wasn't their first rodeo.
The knock came again, louder this time.
Gavi ruffled the blankets on the top bunk, then slipped quietly into the bottom one, feigning sleep. Mateo nodded, then tousled his hair and let out a slow, exaggerated yawn.
"I'm coming," he muttered, voice heavy with fake sleepiness.
By the door, Balde pressed himself against the wall, blending into the shadows. Mateo caught his eye and nodded, a small sign of camaraderie in their game of hide-and-seek.
The knocking persisted. "I'm coming, I'm coming," Mateo called again, voice thick with drowsiness. Slowly, he eased the door open, using the ajar door to conceal Balde lurking just behind it.
Mateo's hand gripped the doorknob and slowly turned. The door creaked open, and he looked up, expecting to see The mother there, but the hallway was empty—silent and dark. Confused, he scanned the dim corridor, eyes narrowing as if trying to catch a glimpse of whoever had called him.
Then, from just below his line of sight, a soft voice broke the silence:
"Mateo, it's us."
He blinked in surprise and looked down. Two young boys stood there, barely taller than his waist, faces flushed with nervousness and excitement—his juniors from La Masia, Lamine Yamal and Pau Curbasi, both no older than thirteen.
"You guys?" Mateo said, his voice carrying a mixture of surprise and disbelief.
They stood frozen, caught in that dumb, wide-eyed expression only kids pulled out of bed in the dead of night can have. Mateo's gaze flicked rapidly left and right, as if expecting someone to appear at any moment. His eyes darted, wary of being caught.
"Come on, get inside—before someone sees you," Mateo whispered urgently, pulling the boys through the door and shutting it firmly behind them.
Inside, Mateo's eyes fixed on them. "What are you two doing up? Why aren't you sleeping?"
Before either could answer, a deep voice came from behind, startling them both:
"What are you guys looking for here?"
"Balde," Pau muttered under his breath.
Suddenly, a rustling sound came from beneath the bed. The boys' eyes widened in shock as Casado crawled out, grinning mischievously. Then, one by one, Gavi and even Fermín appeared from corners of the room, each adding to the boys' mounting surprise.
The older boys barely acknowledged Yamal and Curbasi, continuing their conversation as if the two newcomers were invisible.
'' Gavi, Fermín, Balde, and Casado," Mateo said quietly, "it's just Yamal and Curbasi. Put the game back on."
Casado nodded and grinned, "You guys really should clean under your lockers. That place is starting to smell like a locker room."
Laughter bubbled around the room, and some of the guys began moving a heavy desk, revealing the TV underneath. Yamal's mouth dropped open, eyes sparkling.
"TV!" he gasped.
The older boys suddenly remembered the kids' presence.
"Ah, that's right. You guys are still here," Mateo said with a smile, turning back toward them.
Lamine and Pau exchanged eager nods.
"Mateo, is that FIFA? Can we play?"
Gavi shot back, smirking, "Play? My ass. What are you two doing here anyway? Don't you know it's curfew? What if you get caugth."
Pau shrugged and said, "The mother went out tonight after the match. he said he was going to celebrate... and he hasn't come back yet."
The older boys exchanged glances, surprised at this.
Casado added with mock severity, "Doesn't matter. You know the drill—bedtime's mandatory."
Lamine quickly raised his hands, "We know, we know. We're sorry. It's just... we watched the match and couldn't calm down."
He turned toward Mateo, eyes wide with excitement. "Mateo, how did it feel playing there? How were the players? What about Messi? Tell us everything!"
The two boys were practically buzzing with energy, their eyes sparkling like stars as they looked up at him. Mateo stood quietly, watching their enthusiasm, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"It was insane," Mateo said, his voice low and filled with awe. "The pitch, the fans, the whole atmosphere... nothing like you've ever experienced."
The boys practically bounced with excitement, geeking out, eyes shining as if they could already smell the grass and hear the roar of the crowd.
"But," Mateo added, stepping closer, "more than all that… don't you want to know how I managed to make it? How I got to play at Camp Nou with Messi, in front of all those fans?"
Both boys nodded eagerly, hanging on his every word.
Mateo gently placed his hands on their shoulders, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "Well, here's my secret."
The boys leaned in, wide-eyed.
"I trained hard. Every single day, pushing myself to be better—passing drills, sprints, endurance, the whole lot," he said seriously, watching their admiration grow.
"And," he paused, letting the moment hang heavy as the boys stared at him in disbelief, "most importantly…"
He smiled slyly, eyes twinkling with mischief.
"I slept during my curfew."
The boys blinked, stunned into silence.
Mateo chuckled, gently nudging them toward the door as he spoke. "Now, off you go."
As he led them out, Gavi, who'd caught on to Mateo's plan, quietly opened the door for them.
Mateo looked at the boys standing there, half embarrassed, half proud. "You two are incredibly talented. Just keep following your training—and the rules—and I'm sure you'll be playing for the first team soon enough."
He gave them a firm, encouraging smile. "And whatever you see in this room… stays in this room. Got it?"
"Got it," they chorused, grinning.
"Good. Bye-bye," Mateo said, closing the door gently behind them.
Mateo stepped back into the room with a half-smile, shaking his head. "Kids these days…" he muttered, his voice light but carrying the kind of tired amusement only an older brother—or a seasoned troublemaker—could muster.
Leaning against the wall with a smirk, Gavi shot back without missing a beat, "You're one to talk."
Mateo laughed and jabbed a finger at him. "Dude, just shut up!"
They shared a laugh, the room filling with easy camaraderie. But then Mateo's gaze landed on Balde, sitting across from him, watching with that smug, cocky look that instantly set Mateo's brows twitching. Trouble.
"That's it," Mateo said, narrowing his eyes playfully. "Let's go again. But this time, no Barca if you're so sure of yourself."
Balde's smirk widened as he reached for a controller. "I can use any team I want. But to prove how much better I am, I won't pick Barca or Messi."
Mateo grabbed the other controller, already weighing his options when a hand suddenly covered his. He looked up, surprised, to find Gavi staring down at him with a deadpan expression.
"Loser drops, man," Gavi said flatly.
Mateo groaned, pleading, "Come on, just one more. Let me play him—I need to get this win back."
Gavi shook his head, tugging the controller away. "No, mate. You lost."
Grumbling, Mateo slumped back as Gavi settled in front of the TV. Balde wasted no time and picked Barca again.
"I knew it," Mateo said, raising an eyebrow. "Barca again? That's the only team you're good at."
"Well, at least I'm good with one team," Balde shot back, laughing.
Mateo turned to Gavi, "Gavi, use PSG. Neymar and Mbappé are insane in this game."
"No," Fermin interjected from the side. "Use Liverpool. Salah's unstoppable."
"Shut up," Gavi said with a grin, "Use them when it's your turn."
He then picked Bayern Munich. "Okay, let's go."
Mateo groaned. "You should've used PSG. Mbappé is super fast."
Casado leaned forward with a grin. "Speaking of fast—when did you get so quick? You were insane today. I've never seen you move like that. How'd you do it?"
Mateo laughed, shrugging it off. "What can I say? I'm just good."
Casado pushed him playfully. "Get outta here."
Laughter bubbled through the room as the match kicked off, the glow of the TV lighting their faces in the dim room.
Far away, in a sleek suburban mansion not far from here, a different kind of tension hung in the air.
Inside a spacious office lit only by a single desk lamp, Ronald Koeman sat alone, staring intently at a sheet of paper in his hand. The name Mateo was written clearly across it.
His jaw tightened as he muttered under his breath, "I guess I have to risk it…"
Slowly, he took the paper, then rose and walked toward the Board, his eyes fixed on the White Board there in the middle of the room.
Taking a deep breath, Koeman whispered with quiet resolve,
"This is the moment."
A/N
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