The days leading into the final La Masia evaluation felt both unbearably slow and dangerously fast — a strange paradox Azul had never experienced before. Every hour felt like a countdown. Every minute felt like a test. Every second carried weight.
The evaluation was more than a match. It was the gatekeeper to his dream: a promotion to the U15 A squad, the group one step below *Juvenil*, one step below the eyes of Europe, one step closer to Lionel Messi.
Azul woke early on the morning of the evaluation. Too early. The sky was still dark outside his window, the city of Barcelona asleep under faint orange streetlights. His roommate, Pablo, snored softly. Azul lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to his own heartbeat drum like a distant rhythm.
Today would change something in him — for better or worse.
He sat up, stretching his legs. The Emperor's Eye felt unnervingly sharp today. When he blinked, tiny patterns of movement predicted themselves in his mind — imagined but fully formed, like his brain had booted into a higher setting. He shook his head lightly to clear the sensation.
*Focus. Be present. Don't think ahead.*
He remembered Coach Morales's words:
**"Vision without discipline is chaos."**
Azul wasn't going to let his gift control him. He would control it.
---
### **Breakfast Before the Storm**
The cafeteria buzzed with quiet nerves. Trays clattered. Spoons tapped bowls. The air smelled of toast, eggs, and anxiety.
Pablo dropped into the seat beside Azul with a dramatic sigh.
"You look like you slept in a freezer."
Azul cracked a small smile. "Maybe I did."
"You nervous?"
"Yeah."
"Good," Pablo said, taking a bite of toast. "Only idiots aren't."
Azul laughed softly, tension easing.
"Look, Azul," Pablo continued more seriously. "Whatever happens today… you already showed everyone what you can do. You're different. In the good way."
Azul looked down at his hands — the hands that controlled passes, angles, rhythms. The hands that, someday, he wanted to guide the world's greatest players… maybe even Lionel Messi.
"Thanks, hermano."
"Anytime."
---
### **The Coaches' Room**
An hour before the match, the entire evaluation group gathered in the tactical room. The lights dimmed. A projector lit the wall with diagrams, player roles, and the day's team sheets.
Head Coach Morales stood at the front, arms crossed.
"This is not a friendly," he began. "This is not a drill. This is not a showcase."
The room was silent.
"This is us choosing who is ready to play real football at the next level. If you think talent alone gets you there, you haven't been paying attention."
He turned, tapping the board. Azul scanned the sheet — his name was *center midfield, left interior*. A position demanding creativity, work rate, intelligence.
Perfect.
Morales looked directly at Azul for a long moment. Not a warning — an expectation.
Then he addressed everyone.
"Play our style. Trust the ball. Trust yourselves. Fight, but think. Think, but act. If you're here, you have the talent. Now prove you have the mentality."
The room exhaled as one. Azul felt fire ignite in his chest.
---
### **Walking Onto the Field**
The warmup field gleamed under soft sunlight. Parents, scouts, analysts, and coaches filled the benches. The atmosphere was different — heavier, sharper.
Azul jogged lightly, each step steadying his breathing. The ball felt good on his foot during drills, clean touches traveling smoothly across the grass.
But what truly calmed him was the sight of the field's geometry once the Emperor's Eye activated.
Lines became pathways.
Players became moving arrows.
Spaces opened before they existed.
He was ready.
---
### **Kickoff**
The whistle pierced the air.
Immediately, Azul's heartbeat slowed — not from nerves, but from clarity. Espanyol's evaluation squad pressed aggressively, testing Barcelona's ability to play out from the back.
Azul dropped deep to support the buildup. A defender passed the ball to him with an Espanyol winger charging in.
Azul didn't even look up. He already saw the angle.
Tap-touch.
Half-turn.
Slip pass through the press.
Clean. Perfect. Effective.
The Barça bench murmured.
---
### **The First Breakthrough**
Ten minutes in, the game still locked at 0–0, Azul noticed a weakness — the opposing right-back stepped too high when Espanyol pressed. Every time.
The Emperor's Eye mapped it like a glowing red gap.
Azul waited.
And waited.
Then struck.
Receiving the ball in midfield, he shaped his body like he was switching play wide. Three Espanyol players bit the fake.
With the inside of his foot, Azul threaded a razor pass between the center-back and fullback. A teammate burst through, one-on-one—
Just wide.
The crowd gasped.
The Espanyol defense shouted at each other.
Morales quietly smiled into his clipboard.
Azul's influence was growing.
---
### **A Test of Fire**
But Espanyol wasn't going to let a boy with good vision dictate the match.
At the 25-minute mark, they intensified their pressure. Azul found himself double-teamed, shoved, marked tight. A big midfielder, taller and older-looking, bumped him off balance repeatedly.
Azul tasted frustration.
He tasted doubt.
But he bit down hard and stayed composed. His father's voice echoed from years ago:
**"If they can't stop your mind, they try to stop your body."**
So Azul adjusted.
He moved more.
He passed earlier.
He let the ball do the work.
And slowly… Espanyol's press weakened.
---
### **The Moment Everyone Saw**
Near the end of the first half, Barça earned a corner. The box crowded with bodies, elbows, shouts, and movement. Azul hovered outside the area, reading everything.
The Emperor's Eye saw it first — a defender cheating forward too early, leaving a lane just behind him.
When the corner was delivered, the ball pinballed off several players and spilled outward. Azul sprinted, eyes locked on the path before it existed.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't think.
He struck.
The ball sailed low, curling with vicious precision.
The keeper dove — too late.
**GOAL.**
The stands erupted.
His teammates swarmed him.
"AZUL!"
"Madre mía, qué golazo!"
"You monster!"
Azul felt pure electricity coursing through him.
---
### **Halftime: The Quiet Between Storms**
The locker room buzzed with energy. Azul sat breathing steadily, towel over his head. Morales approached him.
"Reyes," he said, voice calm but firm. "You're playing with intelligence. Not just talent. Intelligence."
Azul lifted his head.
"You see things others don't. Good. But don't force what isn't there. Keep controlling the tempo, not chasing it."
"I will."
Morales placed a hand briefly on his shoulder, an unusual gesture of trust.
"Finish the game the way you started it."
---
### **Second Half: Breaking the Seal**
Espanyol came out desperate. They pushed high, fouled often, and targeted Azul specifically. He took hits, elbows, and late tackles. But he didn't break.
Instead, he adapted again.
Faster touches.
Quicker rotations.
Sharper angles.
The game opened up.
Barcelona regained rhythm.
And then it happened — the play that cemented Azul's evaluation.
---
### **The Assist They'd Talk About**
Azul received the ball under pressure with his back to goal. Two defenders crashed into him. He pivoted left — a feint — then swiveled right — another feint — and slipped through the smallest channel between them.
The crowd audibly reacted.
Azul now had three seconds.
He saw the winger making a diagonal run.
He saw the keeper leaning.
He saw the defensive line stepping too slowly.
With a perfectly weighted chip over the line, he placed the ball exactly where only his teammate could reach it.
Volley.
Net.
Goal.
2–0.
Game sealed.
---
### **Full-Time: Realization**
When the whistle blew, Azul fell onto the grass, chest rising and falling with exhaustion and relief. His teammates gathered around him, laughing, shouting, hugging.
He had done it.
He had more than done it —
he had commanded the match.
As the players shook hands and thanked officials, Morales pulled Azul aside.
He didn't smile.
He didn't speak dramatically.
He simply said:
**"We'll talk tomorrow. Good work, Reyes."**
But Azul knew exactly what that meant.
Tomorrow… everything could change.
He walked off the field feeling lighter than air, heart full, mind racing with images of Messi, of Argentina, of the dream that no longer felt impossible.
This was the moment before the leap.
And Azul was ready to fly.
---
**End of Chapter 27**