The first morning at La Masia arrived with the kind of quiet intensity that only a place filled with possibility could have. Azul woke to the distant hum of the city and the faint murmur of boys in the halls. His room was small, spartan, but clean — a single bed, a desk, a locker for his kit. Everything felt new, unfamiliar, yet oddly full of promise.
He dressed quickly, tying his laces with precision. Today would be his first full day in the academy, the first real chance to prove himself among boys who had already trained under some of the most rigorous coaches in the world.
Breakfast was in a large dining hall filled with the murmur of dozens of other young players. Azul moved quietly through the room, scanning faces, noting the subtle ways the older boys carried themselves. Some were confident, some reserved, some indifferent. Few, if any, looked nervous.
A coach approached him, clipboard in hand. "Azul Reyes? Follow me. Today, you join the U13s for drills and scrimmage."
Azul nodded, following without hesitation. As they walked through the corridors of La Masia, he tried to absorb everything — the polished floors, the framed photos of legends, the faint scent of grass and training equipment that seemed to cling to the walls.
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The U13s were already on the field, stretching and jogging lightly in a circle. Azul hesitated for a second, feeling the weight of their gazes. These were boys who had trained their whole lives in the academy, accustomed to the structure, the discipline, the expectations.
The coach blew his whistle. "Warm up. Pass in pairs. Focus on accuracy and timing."
Azul picked a partner and began passing. At first, the rhythm felt different. The pace was faster, the movements sharper. The boys anticipated each other instinctively. Azul had to adjust, but he quickly found his flow. His vision, honed on the streets of Rosario and at Newell's, allowed him to see angles and gaps others missed.
He made a no-look pass that split two defenders, sending the ball perfectly to a teammate running into space. A murmur of approval ran through the group. The coach raised an eyebrow, jotting notes on his clipboard.
Diego Calderón was nowhere in sight, but Azul didn't need him. La Masia offered a thousand small challenges in every drill, every pass, every run.
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After warm-ups, the real test began: positional drills and small-sided games. Azul found himself in the middle of a formation he had only studied in diagrams — three defenders, two midfielders, three attackers. The movement was constant. The space shifted. Every touch required anticipation.
Azul thrived in it. He moved fluidly, anticipating runs, predicting defensive shifts, threading passes that others might not even see until it was too late. A senior boy tried to press him aggressively. Azul feinted, spun, and passed quickly to an overlapping teammate. The play ended in a goal.
The coach whistled sharply. "Excellent awareness, Reyes. Positioning and timing — very advanced for your age."
Azul's chest swelled. He smiled faintly, not out of pride, but recognition. He was finally in a place where his abilities mattered, where his vision was not just a curiosity, but a skill that could shape the game.
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During lunch, Azul sat alone at first, unpacking a sandwich from home. Other boys glanced at him, curious, some whispering. One boy approached cautiously.
"You're the kid from Argentina, right?" he asked. "Heard you've got… something special."
Azul nodded. "I'm Azul."
"I'm Marco," the boy said. "Come sit with us."
Azul joined the small group. Conversation flowed easily — training, drills, matches they'd played, goals they had scored. Azul listened, learning the dynamics of the academy life beyond the pitch. These boys were competitive, but they were also supportive, sharing tips, critiquing, helping each other improve.
For the first time, Azul realized that football wasn't just about individual skill. It was about connection, understanding teammates, seeing not just the space, but the people who moved through it.
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The afternoon brought scrimmages. La Masia's fields were immaculate, the grass perfectly trimmed, the goals regulation size. The sun was warm, but the intensity of play made it feel electric. Azul's team took possession first. He positioned himself instinctively, reading both defenders and teammates like a map.
He intercepted a pass near midfield, dribbled past two defenders, and passed to a winger cutting into space. The ball moved like it belonged to him. Every movement felt natural, as if the field itself responded to his perception.
The game continued, fast and demanding. Azul's stamina was tested, his focus sharpened, and his decision-making stretched. He made mistakes, yes — one misjudged pass led to a lost possession — but he adapted immediately, correcting his positioning, adjusting his approach, learning as he went.
The coaches watched carefully, whispering notes to each other. Azul noticed their glances, but he didn't falter. This was the kind of pressure he had imagined, the kind he had trained for.
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After the scrimmage, Domínguez pulled Azul aside. "You're doing well," he said. "But remember, it's not just about seeing. It's about communicating. Anticipate, yes, but also guide those around you. Make them see the game as you see it. That's how leaders are made."
Azul nodded, absorbing every word. He thought of Messi again, imagining the Argentine passing, guiding, reading the game with intuition. This was the first step toward understanding that level of play.
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Evening arrived quickly. Azul showered, changed, and sat quietly in his dorm room, the hum of the city outside blending with the murmur of other boys settling in. He took out his notebook and began sketching movements, analyzing the day's scrimmages, noting the patterns he had seen and the adjustments he had made.
He thought of Rosario, of the two-brick goals, of the streets and alleys where he had first discovered his vision. That foundation was still his strength, his secret weapon. Here, at La Masia, he would refine it, challenge it, expand it.
Before sleep, he pressed his hands to the ball beside his bed. "Tomorrow," he whispered, "Igetbetter. Iseemore. I'llearnmyplace."
And for the first time in a long while, Azul felt entirely certain: he belonged here.
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### *End of Chapter 7 – "First Day at La Masia"*###