The first week at LaMasia hit Azul harder than he expected. Football had always been his language, but the academy was a world unto itself. Coaches barked instructions in rapid Spanish, different from the accent he was used to. Boys joked and laughed in Catalan, their voices weaving around him like a code he could not yet decipher.
Azul tried to follow, nodding and smiling when appropriate, but he felt the tension of being slightly out of sync, like a player running a fraction of a second behind everyone else. It frustrated him. Back home in Rosario, he had commanded the pitch; here, he was just another boy trying to prove himself.
The drills were relentless. From the early morning wake-up calls to the evening conditioning, the schedule left little time for thought outside football. Azul's body ached in ways he had never felt — calves tight from sprints, feet raw from constant practice, muscles trembling from resistance exercises. But his mind, his vision, remained sharp.
---
On the second day, Azul joined a technical drill where the coach emphasized one-touch passing under pressure. Boys moved in tight patterns, passing and moving without hesitation. Azul noticed immediately that many players were excellent physically, but their reading of the game lagged behind their skill.
He positioned himself slightly behind the main play, observing. When a teammate received the ball with his back to goal, Azul called for it and executed a perfect first-touch pass splitting two defenders. The coach whistled, and Azul felt the first spark of recognition in this new environment.
"You see the field well," the coach said, writing something on his clipboard. "Keep it up. But do not rely only on vision. Your body must match your mind."
Azul nodded. He understood. Vision was useless if he could not execute. He redoubled his effort, pushing his stamina, agility, and strength.
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The boys began to notice him too. Some whispered about the new kid from Argentina who seemed to anticipate every pass, evade every defender, and find the perfect line. Others watched cautiously, testing him in scrimmages, pressing harder, challenging him physically.
Azul learned quickly. He absorbed every challenge, every mistake, every successful pass. When a taller, stronger opponent tried to bully him off the ball, Azul adjusted his angle, changed his timing, and used anticipation rather than strength to regain possession.
By the end of the first week, the whispering had grown into cautious respect. Coaches began including him in more advanced drills. Teammates began passing to him instinctively, trusting his reading of the game.
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But life at La Masia wasn't just about football. Azul had to navigate the unfamiliar culture — the meals, the schedules, the communal living. Breakfasts were early and quick, dinners were structured and quiet, and the dorm was shared with boys who had lived in Barcelona their whole lives.
Language was a constant challenge. Azul's Spanish from Argentina differed enough that jokes and casual conversation were sometimes incomprehensible. He felt isolated at times, aware of being a stranger in every sense — not just in culture, but in daily rhythm, in social cues, in humor.
One evening, after a particularly grueling conditioning session, Azul sat alone on the dorm steps, exhausted and frustrated. He traced patterns on the ground with his fingers, replaying the day's drills in his mind.
"You're the new kid, right?"
Azul looked up to see a boy with tousled brown hair and freckles leaning against the railing. "Yes," Azul said.
"I'm Pablo," the boy said. "Don't worry. It's tough at first. Everyone's intense here. But you… you move differently. I've never seen someone your age read the field like that."
Azul hesitated, then nodded. "Thanks. It's… a lot to adjust to."
Pablo smiled. "Yeah. But you'll get it. And soon, you won't feel like the outsider."
For the first time, Azul felt a small connection, a bridge into the new world he was building for himself.
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Training sessions grew more competitive. Coaches pushed harder, emphasizing tactical awareness, team coordination, and relentless stamina. Azul found himself challenged in new ways — forced to make split-second decisions, coordinate plays with boys who moved unpredictably, and communicate despite language barriers.
One afternoon, during a high-pressure scrimmage, Azul noticed a gap in the defense. A striker was charging toward the goal. Without hesitation, Azul positioned himself, anticipating the pass that never came. Instead, he intercepted a diagonal ball, dribbled forward, and fed the ball to a teammate running into space. The play ended with a goal.
The coach whistled sharply, raising a hand to get the boys' attention. "Reyes!" he called. "Your awareness is exceptional, but remember, communication is key. Anticipation alone is not enough. Make the others see what you see!"
Azul nodded. He understood that his vision, honed on the streets of Rosario and in Newell's, needed translation into teamwork. It wasn't just about seeing the game — it was about guiding it.
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Evenings in the dorm were quieter, filled with notebooks and sketches. Azul studied professional matches, analyzing Messi's positioning, passes, and timing. He replayed La Masia's drills in his mind, identifying opportunities he had missed, mistakes he needed to correct.
His vision began to evolve. He started not only predicting movements, but influencing them — guiding teammates through subtle gestures, a glance, a shift of body weight, positioning himself in ways that drew defenders away from open space.
Slowly, boys began to notice. Pablo, now a friend, commented during drills, "I don't know how you do it. You see things before they happen. But it helps me play better too."
Azul realized then that the power of vision wasn't just in individual brilliance. It was in creating opportunities, enabling others, shaping the game beyond himself.
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One weekend, Azul ventured outside LaMasia for the first time, walking the streets of Barcelona with Pablo. The city was vibrant, alive with color, sound, and movement. Street footballers played in small squares, parents chatted over café tables, and cyclists wove through traffic with ease.
Azul felt both foreign and at home. The ball felt heavier in his backpack than it did in his hands. Yet, every corner, every square, every pitchless street reminded him of Rosario, of the first place he had learned to see the game differently.
"I miss home sometimes," Azul admitted quietly.
Pablo nodded. "I get it. I moved from Madrid when I was nine. It's not easy. But you're here for a reason. Talent like yours… it won't go unnoticed."
Azul smiled faintly. "I just hope I can keep up. Not just on the field… with everything."
Pablo shrugged. "You're already keeping up. You're just learning the rhythm. Give it time."
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That night, back in the dorm, Azul lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The intensity of the week had left him exhausted, but energized. His vision had become sharper, more nuanced. He was learning to combine anticipation with communication, skill with influence, awareness with strategy.
He thought of Messi again, imagining the Argentine guiding him through the drills, correcting, encouraging, showing what it meant to lead with vision. Azul's determination solidified. He would not just adapt. He would thrive.
And one day, he would stand on a pitch not as a newcomer, but as a player capable of seeing the game as Messi did, of shaping it, of leaving his mark.
Tomorrow, he would train harder. He would push further. He would continue to adjust, to learn, and to grow.
Because that was the only way to reach the dream waiting for him across the sea.
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### *End of Chapter 8 – "Adjusting to Barcelona"*###