Azul woke the next morning with a strange feeling humming beneath his skin — not adrenaline, not nerves… something quieter, something deeper.
Momentum.
The evaluation had changed everything.
He could feel it in the quiet confidence of his breathing, in the calm way he moved around the room, in the way Pablo grinned at him like he'd been waiting years to say "I told you so."
"Bro, you were unreal yesterday," Pablo said around a mouthful of cereal. "Like— like Messi mixed with Iniesta mixed with… with YOU."
Azul laughed softly. "That's too many players."
"Okay, okay. You're right." Pablo slammed the bowl down. "More like Messi + you."
Azul shook his head, but his smile lingered.
Across the cafeteria, some of the older U14 boys glanced at him — not with the dismissiveness from weeks ago, but with measured, curious recognition. A silent admission: *you earned your seat at the table.*
Not acceptance.
Not yet.
But respect.
And that was enough.
---
The morning meeting was held in the tactical room. Screens lined the walls, showing clips from the previous day's match simulation. Vergara stood with a tablet in hand, while Coach Morales leaned against the desk.
"Listen up," Morales said. "We're reviewing yesterday's evaluation. Not to make anyone feel good or bad — but to sharpen. This is a professional environment. If you're here, it's because we believe you can be better."
Players murmured in agreement.
Vergara tapped his screen. "Let's begin."
A clip appeared on the large monitor — Azul's press-resistance escape between three older players.
A few players sat up straight.
A few whispered, "Damn…"
Vergara pointed at the screen. "This is what high-level midfield play looks like. Shoulders open. Hips aligned. Weight distribution perfect. He doesn't react — he anticipates."
Azul swallowed hard as heads turned toward him. Being praised in front of others felt heavier than the moment itself.
Vergara continued, "Now, another clip."
This time, it was the assist — the unselfish pass to the younger teammate.
"This," Vergara said, "is Barcelona football. The correct pass, not the heroic shot. Many older players choose ego. Azul chose the system."
Even Morales nodded subtly.
Pablo tapped Azul's leg under the table.
*Look,* his eyes said. *Look at what you did.*
But Azul kept his gaze on the screen.
Not with pride — with hunger.
Because for the first time, he understood something real and sharp:
He wasn't just trying to survive anymore.
He was trying to rise.
---
After the meeting, Vergara pulled him aside.
"Reyes," he said calmly, "walk with me."
Azul followed him down the hallway toward the balcony that overlooked the training pitches. The mid-morning sun bathed the grass in smooth gold. The place looked peaceful from above, nothing like the fierce battlefield of the day before.
Vergara rested both hands on the railing.
"I watched you yesterday," he said. "Not just your technical ability. Your decisions. Your composure. How your teammates respond to you. How you respond to pressure."
Azul waited, breath steady.
Vergara glanced down at him. "Do you know why this matters?"
"No," Azul said softly.
"Because your dream requires far more than talent. Messi wasn't great because of his dribbling or goals. He was great because he elevated everyone around him. He saw the field differently. He understood the game emotionally."
Azul felt something warm bloom inside his chest.
"That's what I'm testing," Vergara said. "Not whether you can play football. Plenty of boys here can. I'm testing whether you can *think* football."
Azul lowered his gaze to the field.
"I'm trying," he said.
"No," Vergara corrected gently. "You're doing."
A silence passed between them — meaningful, not empty.
"What comes next?" Azul asked finally.
Vergara handed him a small printed schedule.
"Advanced development training begins Monday morning, 8 AM. It's intensive. Tougher physically, mentally. You'll be working with players a year or two older. Some of them don't want competition. Be prepared."
Azul nodded.
He felt no fear.
Only readiness.
Vergara added, "And one more thing — your file will be reviewed by the head of youth development at the end of this month. If your progress continues, you'll be put on a monitored trajectory."
"A trajectory?" Azul repeated.
"To potentially reach the Juvenil A pathway," Vergara said. "From there, the professional track becomes real."
Azul's breath hitched.
That path — that long, difficult road — was the closest anyone could come to reaching the Barcelona first team.
Reaching… *him.*
Messi.
Vergara walked away, leaving Azul alone on the balcony.
Azul gripped the railing tightly.
His heart beat a little faster.
His dream wasn't a distant cloud anymore.
It was a path.
A direction.
A reality forming around him.
---
Later that afternoon, Azul and Pablo headed for the small gym room assigned for recovery sessions. The room was quiet, sunlight warming the rubber flooring. Azul began stretching, focusing on mobility, breath, and slow muscle activation.
"You okay?" Pablo asked, sitting beside him.
Azul nodded. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"About Messi?"
Azul let out a small exhale. "Always."
Pablo leaned back on his palms. "You're getting closer, you know. Closer than anyone from home could ever dream."
Azul's eyes softened. "Closer… but still far."
"Bro," Pablo said firmly, "you're thirteen. THIRTEEN. Chill. You're meant to be far." He nudged him. "But one day? You'll get there."
Azul looked up at the ceiling, letting the silence wrap around him.
He hoped Pablo was right.
---
That night, Azul sat at his desk, training notebook open.
He wrote.
*Evaluation complete.*
*Promoted to advanced group.*
*Nextstep: consistency.*
He paused.
Then added something he had never written before.
*A future with Barcelona is possible.*
*Playing with Messi one day is possible.*
He stared at the words for a long moment.
Then closed the notebook gently, like sealing a promise.
Outside, the dorm lights dimmed.
Voices quieted.
Night settled in soft layers over La Masia.
But Azul remained awake a little longer, sitting on his bed with the window open. A breeze drifted in, carrying the distant hum of the city — a city where legends were made.
He watched the lights, breathing slowly.
"You'll see me," he whispered to the darkness.
"I'm coming."
---
# **End= Chapter 22 – The Weight of Moving Forward**#