The sun rose over Barcelona in a soft golden haze, illuminating the sprawling fields of La Masia. Azul walked onto the training pitch, the smell of freshly cut grass filling his lungs. Today was different. Today, he would train on the same pitch where Messi had once honed his craft, where legends had been forged.
Azul felt a flutter in his chest. He had imagined this moment countless times, yet now that he was here, the weight of it settled over him like a tangible presence. The pitch seemed larger than he remembered in videos, wider, the goalposts gleaming under the morning sun.
Coach Morales, a tall man with a precise, commanding demeanor, blew his whistle. "Warm-up. Passing drills. Focus. And remember, observation is as important as execution."
Azul nodded, jogging lightly, scanning the field. He was surrounded by boys who had trained at La Masia for years, some of whom had already played with older teams, participated in tournaments, and earned praise from top scouts. He felt small, yet the spark inside him — the vision that had guided him through Rosario and Newell's — burned brighter than ever.
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The warm-up passed in a blur. Azul found his rhythm quickly, moving instinctively, anticipating passes, slipping into open space before the defenders even recognized his intentions. His teammates began to notice his precision. When a boy received a pass at the edge of the box, Azul was already there to support him, offering angles and timing that created space where none seemed possible.
"Reyes," Coach Morales called, "excellent awareness. Remember, the game is not just what you see, but what you make others see. Influence your teammates, shape the game."
Azul nodded, absorbing every word. This was the lesson he had been seeking — vision alone was not enough. It needed to translate into leadership, influence, and instinctive guidance.
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After warm-ups, the boys moved into small-sided games. Azul's team faced a particularly aggressive group, their passes sharp and fast, their pressing intense. Azul felt the challenge immediately, sensing defenders' movements before they committed. He positioned himself strategically, intercepting passes, creating openings, and linking play seamlessly.
At one point, a senior boy pushed aggressively to take the ball from him. Azul feinted, spun, and threaded a through-ball to a teammate cutting into space. The play ended in a goal. The coach whistled, raising a hand.
"Excellent timing and vision, Reyes. Keep connecting, keep leading," he said.
Azul's chest swelled with quiet pride. Not for himself, but for the moments where his vision had shaped the play, where he had influenced the outcome without needing to be the one who scored.
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Later that afternoon, the academy allowed the boys to visit a different training pitch, one reserved for older squads and special sessions. Azul's heart skipped when he realized he was walking onto the field where Messi had spent countless hours. The stands, though empty now, seemed to hum with the echoes of practice and applause, the invisible presence of greatness lingering in the air.
Azul traced the lines with his eyes, imagining Messi weaving through defenders, creating space, and reading the game with almost supernatural timing. He could almost feel the rhythm of Messi's movements, the invisible guideposts that had directed him from boy to legend.
Coach Morales noticed his reverence. "Messi's legacy is not just in goals. It's in vision, in timing, in intelligence. Watch, learn, and adapt. You can carry some of that insight with you."
Azul nodded. Every drill, every touch, every pass now carried an added weight. He wasn't just learning to survive here — he was learning to thrive, inspired by the player who had shown him what it meant to see the game differently.
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During scrimmage, Azul noticed subtle habits. Certain players instinctively curved their passes, anticipating teammates' runs. One forward always drifted wide, creating space in ways that disrupted defenders. Azul mirrored these observations, adapting his own play, blending instinct with strategy.
A sudden through-ball from midfield caught him slightly off-guard. Azul adjusted mid-stride, his vision predicting the defender's attempt to intercept. He tapped the ball lightly, guiding it to a teammate breaking toward goal. The goal was scored, and the coach nodded approvingly.
"See the play, but guide it too," Morales reminded him. "You are learning not just to react, but to influence."
Azul's mind was racing. He realized that Messi's greatness had never been accidental. It was the product of observing, predicting, guiding, and executing with precision. Every decision on the field was a deliberate choice, and now, Azul understood that he needed to build the same discipline in his own style.
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After training, Azul stayed behind for extra drills. He worked on passing patterns, ball control, and movement without possession. His vision had always given him an edge, but he understood that it could not replace fundamentals. Every touch needed refinement, every decision needed calibration.
While practicing, he caught a glimpse of a familiar routine — older players arriving for specialized sessions, shadowing drills, practicing finishing patterns Messi himself had once perfected. Azul absorbed everything silently, knowing that exposure to this environment was a rare privilege.
Pablo, his friend, joined him briefly. "You're really focused," Pablo said, panting. "Some kids would be starstruck by the field, but you… you just train."
Azul smiled faintly. "It's not just the field. It's what's happened here, what happened before. Messi… he's proof of what's possible. I want to see the game the way he did."
Pablo nodded. "Then you'll get there. Just keep going."
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Evening came, and Azul returned to the dorm exhausted but exhilarated. His muscles ached, his feet were sore, but his mind was alive with patterns, movements, and possibilities. He opened his notebook and began sketching passes, formations, and sequences from the day.
He thought of Rosario, of Newell's, of his first trials, and of the moments that had shaped his vision. Every day, every challenge, every adjustment brought him closer to the dream. Messi had shown the path; now Azul had to walk it, step by step, drill by drill.
Before sleep, he pressed his hands to his ball, whispering to himself: "One day, I'll share the same pitch. I'll see it like you did, and I'll make it my own."
The room was quiet, but inside Azul, the spark of determination burned brighter than ever. This was no longer a dream. It was a path — one he was determined to follow, guided by vision, skill, and the inspiration of the player he had idolized for so long.
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### *End of Chapter 9 – "First Impressions of Messi"*###