Azul barely slept the night before. His mind replayed every touch, every pass, every collision from the evaluation match, as if his brain refused to let the memories fade. When the dawn finally arrived, the city outside his window glowed gold under the rising sun.
He lay still for a long moment, feeling the sunlight warm his face, as if it were gently nudging him forward.
*Today is the day.*
Today, he would learn the results.
The academy halls were quiet in the early morning. Too quiet. Boys whispered to each other in low tones, some confident, others nervous, all trying to hide the tension that seeped into the air like electricity.
When Azul entered the cafeteria, Pablo greeted him with a nervous grin.
"You look like someone who's going to throw up on Morales's shoes," he joked.
Azul forced a laugh. "Don't put that idea in my head."
Pablo nudged his shoulder. "Relax, hermano. You killed it yesterday. Everyone saw it."
"Doesn't mean anything until the coaches say it."
Pablo clicked his tongue. "Bro, you're too humble. It's annoying."
Azul smirked. "Shut up, Pablo."
They ate quickly — or rather, Azul pushed food around his plate and pretended to eat. The tension twisted his stomach too tightly for anything more.
At exactly nine-thirty, a staff member entered the room.
"Players selected for evaluation review, please report to Office Hall B."
A low wave of murmurs passed through the room. Boys stood slowly, shoulders tight, faces pale or controlled. Azul's heart thudded as he rose and followed the group.
Each step down the hallway echoed more loudly than it should've.
---
### **Waiting Outside the Office**
Office Hall B had a long bench outside it. All the players gathered there, thirty of them, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Azul sat between Pablo and a defender named Oriol, who bounced his knee nervously.
One by one, players were called inside.
One by one, players exited with unreadable faces.
Some smiled faintly.
Some looked devastated.
Some were expressionless, trained not to show anything.
Azul's stomach tightened more with each name called.
"Reyes."
His heart stopped.
He rose slowly.
Pablo whispered, "Dale, campeón."
Azul nodded once and entered the room.
---
### **Inside Coach Morales's Office**
The office felt impossibly large. The blinds were drawn halfway, letting in slanted stripes of sunlight that stretched across the desk. Morales sat behind it, an evaluator beside him, and two binders open — one blue, one red.
Blue was for promoted players.
Red was for those who didn't make the cut.
Azul swallowed. Hard.
"Close the door, Reyes," Morales said.
Azul did. Then took the seat in front of them. His heartbeat felt loud enough that they must have heard it too.
Morales leaned back, studying him silently for several seconds. Azul resisted the urge to fidget.
Then the coach finally spoke.
"Yesterday… I saw a player who understands Barcelona's DNA."
Azul's breath caught.
"A player with vision, intelligence, and most importantly: self-control."
The evaluator nodded. "Your ability to dictate tempo is far beyond your age group."
Azul sat frozen.
Morales continued.
"But we don't promote players just for what they did once. We look for what they can become. For how they react to pressure. For how they adapt across a full match."
He closed the blue binder.
Azul's heart dropped.
Then Morales opened it again — and turned it toward him.
Azul stared.
There, on the first page:
**"Promoted: Azul Reyes – U15 A Squad."**
His chest tightened. His breath shook. Relief and joy crashed into him like a wave so strong it almost knocked him back in his seat.
Morales stood and extended his hand.
Azul rose instantly to shake it.
"Congratulations, Reyes. You earned this."
The evaluator added, "We expect big things from you. Don't relax."
Azul nodded rapidly. "Yes, sir. Thank you. Thank you both."
Morales's expression softened.
"And one more thing," he said.
"You'll be joining an elite development program on top of the squad promotion. Only five players a year receive the invitation."
Azul blinked. "Elite program?"
"It involves specialized training and mentorship," Morales said. "You'll learn the positional play that shaped players like Xavi, Iniesta… and Messi."
The mention of his idol sent a shock through Azul's body.
"As long as you continue progressing," Morales added, "you may meet some of them sooner than you think."
Azul felt dizzy — with excitement, disbelief, everything at once.
"You may step outside now."
He bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Coach."
---
### **The Hallway After**
The moment Azul stepped out of the office, Pablo practically leaped to his feet.
"Well?!"
Azul opened his mouth — but the words stuck.
So he simply nodded.
Pablo shouted, "¡Vamos carajo!" and pulled him into a crushing hug.
Several other teammates clapped, a few offering congratulatory slaps on the back.
But not everyone smiled.
A few boys watched silently.
Jealousy, disappointment, envy — the usual mixture. Azul avoided their eyes.
He wasn't here to start rivalries.
He was here to chase something bigger.
---
### **Training With the U15 A Squad**
That afternoon, Azul attended his first session with the promoted group. The intensity was instantly different.
Passes were faster.
Touches were sharper.
Communication was quick and coded.
But Azul adapted.
The Emperor's Eye locked into its heightened rhythm.
He read patterns before they formed.
He slipped into the team's flow as if he had been playmaking there for years.
Midway through training, the U15 A coach — Coach Navarro — stopped the drill.
"Reyes," he called loudly, "switch to the first team group."
The players exchanged surprised looks.
Azul's pulse spiked.
The first team group consisted of the top five players in the age category — future stars.
He joined them.
The tempo jumped again.
Azul rose to match it.
A perfectly weighted through ball.
A disguised pass between two markers.
A tight turn under pressure.
Navarro blew his whistle.
"That's enough."
Azul froze.
Had he messed up?
But Navarro's voice was calm, almost impressed.
"You'll start training with this group from now on."
Azul couldn't breathe.
This was the path —
the exact path —
Messi walked.
He headed off the field that day with trembling legs, but his heart soared.
He wasn't just staying at La Masia.
He wasn't just promoted.
He was beginning to rise.
---
**End of Chapter 28**