The morning air was sharp with the scent of wet grass as Azul stepped onto the pitch at Newell's Old Boys. Even after weeks of training, each visit felt like stepping into a new world. Here, dreams were tested, and talent was scrutinized relentlessly. Today was different — today, a scout from Barcelona was visiting, observing every movement, every touch, every decision.
Azul's heart thumped with anticipation. He had trained for this moment in his mind countless times, visualizing himself on the grass, passing, dribbling, reading the game the way he always did. But knowing someone from one of the greatest clubs in the world would be watching made everything sharper, heavier.
Coach Domínguez blew the whistle. "Warm-up. Focus. Eyes open. Remember, this isn't just about skill — it's about intelligence, vision, and understanding the game."
Azul nodded. He began stretching, feeling the familiar pull in his muscles, the tension in his calves, the energy in his legs. Every nerve seemed alert.
The scout arrived quietly, almost like a shadow, clipboard in hand, observing without interrupting. Azul could feel the weight of his gaze even from across the field.
---
The day began with small-sided games. Azul's team played cautiously, but as soon as the ball reached him, the flow changed. He moved with intention, scanning the field, anticipating passes, seeing the positions of players before they even shifted.
A winger broke down the flank, aiming to cross the ball. Azul intercepted with a soft touch and threaded a pass to the striker cutting through the middle. The goal was effortless, but to Azul, it was the culmination of countless hours of practice, observation, and vision.
The scout leaned forward slightly, making a note on his clipboard. Domínguez's eyes met Azul's and flicked a subtle nod.
Diego Calderón, ever the rival, tried to counter Azul's influence. But Azul anticipated his movements, dodging, feinting, passing. Every interaction was a silent conversation of skill and intelligence.
---
After the drill, the scout called Azul over. The boy's heart pounded as he approached.
"Azul Reyes?" the scout asked, voice calm and precise.
"Yes, sir," Azul replied.
"I've been watching you," the scout said, glancing down at his notes. "Your vision is… remarkable. Your positioning, your anticipation, your ability to read the game — it's beyond your age. You don't just see the ball, you see the play before it happens."
Azul's stomach flipped. "Thank you, sir."
"You're young," the scout continued. "Very young. But talent like yours doesn't wait. It demands challenge, guidance, and exposure. You understand that?"
"I do," Azul said without hesitation.
"Good," the scout said, closing his notebook. "We'll discuss your future with your parents. There's a possibility for a trial at La Masia in Spain. But understand this — this is only the beginning. Talent can only take you so far. Discipline, humility, and resilience will carry you beyond."
Azul's pulse quickened. *LaMasia.* The name alone sounded like a dream too vast to reach. Yet, here it was, tangible, within the realm of possibility.
---
The afternoon was spent in technical drills. Azul tried not to think about Spain. He focused on every pass, every movement, every decision. The scout watched quietly, taking notes, occasionally nodding.
Diego approached him between drills. "You're getting attention," he said, voice low. "Don't let it get to your head. One mistake, one lapse, and everyone will see you're just a kid."
Azul smiled faintly. "I'm aware. But I also know I see things others don't."
Diego's eyes narrowed, a mix of irritation and respect. "We'll see who's better, Reyes. One day, this rivalry will matter more than any scout."
Azul didn't reply. He returned to the drill, focusing entirely on the ball, the field, and the players around him.
---
After training, Domínguez gathered Azul and his parents. Jorge's expression was skeptical, as always, but there was a subtle flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
The scout spoke first. "Azul Reyes has exceptional talent. His vision, awareness, and football intelligence are rare. I recommend that he attend a trial at FC Barcelona's academy. If successful, he could train there for several years, learning at one of the best clubs in the world."
Jorge shifted uneasily. "Spain? That's far. Too far."
Lucía placed a hand on her husband's arm. "It's his future, Jorge. Look at him. He's ready."
Azul felt a surge of hope. "I'll do whatever it takes," he said firmly.
The scout nodded. "That's good. Commitment will be just as important as talent. We'll provide details for the trial. But remember — the boy who goes to Spain will face challenges he's never imagined. Not just in football, but in life."
Azul listened intently, absorbing every word. He knew the road ahead would be difficult. Leaving home, adapting to a new country, living away from his family — these were trials in themselves. But if it meant a chance to play, to learn, to see the game like never before… it was worth everything.
---
That night, Azul lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Messi again. The letter he had received weeks earlier still rested in his pocket. He remembered the words: *"Keep playing with joy. Keep seeing. Maybe one day we'll share the same pitch."*
He imagined walking onto the grass at Camp Nou, the stadium lights shining down, the crowd roaring. Messi standing beside him, passing, guiding, challenging.
Azul clenched his fists. *Someday. Someday I'll get there.*
He turned to his mother, who sat quietly in the doorway. "Mamá… do you think I can really do it?"
Lucía smiled softly. "I don't just think it, Azulito. I know it. You've seen the game in a way no one else has. And now, the world is finally starting to see it too."
Azul closed his eyes, letting the warmth of her words settle around him. The path ahead was daunting, the sacrifices immense, but the spark inside him burned brighter than ever.
He would go to Spain. He would train. He would face every challenge, every rival, every expectation. And one day, he would stand on the same pitch as Messi, not just dreaming, but playing.
And when that day came, Azul knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would see the game — the real game — and he would make it his own.
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### *End of Chapter 5 – "The Scout's Report"*###