The morning light slipped through the curtains of the dormitory, washing the room in a muted gold. Azul woke before his alarm, staring at the ceiling for a few quiet seconds, listening to the faint sounds of footsteps and distant chatter drifting through the La Masia halls. Something felt different today — a tightening in the chest, a sense of expectation he couldn't name.
He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Pablo was still asleep, sprawled diagonally across his bed like someone had thrown him there. Azul chuckled softly. Even in sleep, Pablo had energy.
Azul moved silently to the small desk where his training notebook lay. Every morning before breakfast, he wrote. Notes from yesterday's match review, what he wanted to improve, how he felt during pressing drills, new movements he wanted to try. It grounded him. It reminded him of why he was here.
As he began jotting down thoughts — *improve shoulder checks under pressure, quicker release when pressed on left side* — there was a knock on the door.
He frowned. It was early. Coaches didn't come around at this hour.
"Come in," he said quietly.
The door opened, and to Azul's surprise, **Coach Morales** stepped inside. His expression wasn't stern, nor was it casual. It was something else. Carefully neutral.
"Reyes," Morales said, "I need you to come with me."
Azul's heartbeat jumped. "Did I… do something wrong?"
"No," Morales said quickly. "Nothing like that. Just come. And wake up Pablo — he's coming too."
Azul blinked. The confusion deepened, but he nodded and nudged Pablo awake.
Pablo groaned. "Bro… the sun just woke up. Why are you touching me?"
"Morales wants us."
Pablo's eyes flew open. "What? Why? Did we fail fitness again? I swear if this is about those sprints—"
"It's not punishment," Morales said. "Move."
They followed him through the hallway, passing yawning teammates and early-rising staff. Azul's footsteps were light, his mind racing. They reached **the strategy meeting room** — a place usually reserved for match analysis or special presentations.
Inside stood a man Azul instantly recognized.
Tall. Bald. Athletic build. Barça jacket. Clipboard in hand.
**The senior scout. The one who watched their match last week.**
Azul's stomach tightened.
"Good morning," the scout said warmly. "Sit."
Azul and Pablo shared a glance before taking their seats.
Morales stood behind them, silent.
The scout looked at Azul first.
"I'm Ramón Vergara," he said. "Head scout for Barça's youth progression program. I've been observing the U13 and U14 squads for the past month."
Azul swallowed. Hard.
Vergara continued, "Last week's match against Espanyol… your performance stood out."
Azul felt Pablo stiffen beside him.
"Your movement between lines, your timing, your ability to anticipate plays — it's rare at your age. Very rare."
Azul stared down at his hands. Compliments made him uneasy. They felt heavy, like expectations stapled to his ribs.
But Vergara wasn't finished.
"I've reviewed your match footage. And I want to see more."
Azul looked up, eyes widening. "More?"
"Yes," Vergara said. "I want to invite you to a **closedtrainingevaluation** with select players from the U13–U14 pool. It's not a promotion. Not yet. But it *is* the first step toward joining the higher-tier development track."
Azul froze.
The development track wasn't a simple step up. It was the direct pipeline toward professional contracts. Very few entered it. Even fewer made it through.
"Coach Morales believes you're ready to be tested," Vergara said. "I agree."
Azul's voice felt trapped in his throat. "I… thank you. Truly."
Vergara nodded. "The evaluation is in four days. Morning session. High intensity. You'll be facing boys older than you — some already physically developed, some already competing internationally." He leaned forward slightly. "They won't go easy on you. You'll be pressured every second. They'll want to break you."
Azul felt a small fire ignite inside him.
"I understand," he said softly.
"Good." Vergara turned to Pablo. "And you — you're not being evaluated this time. But I want you to accompany him to the session. Support matters. Chemistry matters."
Pablo blinked. "Me? Why?"
"Because you two play extraordinarily well together," Vergara said. "I want him relaxed. And you… I want you studying how these older players move. You have potential too."
Pablo beamed. "So I'm like… emotional support?"
"More like tactical shadow," Vergara replied dryly.
Pablo saluted. "Understood."
Morales sighed. "Ignore him."
Vergara stood, closing the folder.
"Reyes, you have four days. Treat them as preparation. Don't overtrain. Don't exhaust yourself mentally. But sharpen your instincts."
Azul nodded.
The scout extended his hand. Azul shook it with steady fingers.
"See you soon," Vergara said. "Show me what you really are, kid."
Then he left the room.
---
When the door closed behind him, Pablo grabbed Azul's shoulders and shook him.
"BRO. BRO. YOU'RE ABOUT TO JOIN THE DEVELOPMENT TRACK. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?"
Azul felt lightheaded. "I'm not there yet."
"Yeah, yeah, but you're close! That's insane!"
Morales stepped forward, expression softer than usual.
"You earned this," he said. "But listen carefully — this will not be easy. Those boys fight for spots with everything they have. They won't like seeing someone younger trying to take one from them."
Azul nodded. "I'm ready to work."
"I know you are," Morales said. "That's why you're here."
---
The next days passed like a whirlwind.
Extra tactical review. Controlled training intensity. Sleep management. Breathing exercises. Film study. Mental preparation sessions.
Azul kept his emotions locked inside, focusing on each detail, each drill, each movement.
But the nights… the nights were harder.
He lay awake thinking of everything that had led him to this moment.
His parents working late shifts back in Rosario.
The empty fields where he practiced until his feet bled.
Watching Messi's matches on old televisions with broken speakers.
The dream he whispered into his pillow at age six:
*"One day, I'll play with him."*
This evaluation — this single morning — could be the doorway toward that impossible dream.
And yet…
Azul felt something else inside him too.
A fear.
Not of failure.
But of proving himself right — that he may actually belong among the best.
---
The night before the evaluation, Azul found himself unable to sleep. He stepped outside the dormitory and walked quietly toward the small artificial pitch behind the main building. The lights were dimmed, but moonlight made the surface glow faintly.
He walked to the center circle and stood there alone.
The city hummed in the distance.
He closed his eyes.
And for a moment, he imagined something impossible: standing on the Camp Nou pitch beside Lionel Messi. Wearing the same crest. The stadium roaring in a way only Barcelona could.
His chest tightened.
He whispered to the empty field:
"I won't waste this."
---
The next morning, the sun rose pale and cold over La Masia.
Azul and Pablo stood by the training complex entrance as Coach Morales walked toward them.
"You ready, Reyes?"
Azul nodded.
"Good," Morales said. "Because today, everything changes."
He placed a hand firmly on Azul's shoulder.
"Welcome to your first real test."
Azul inhaled deeply.
And stepped forward.
Into the unknown.
Into opportunity.
Into the next stage of the dream.
---
### **End= Chapter 19 – The Day the Scout Returned**###