The rain over Barcelona came without warning—thin at first, then heavy enough to blur the world beyond the academy windows. Azul sat on the locker-room bench tying his laces, listening to the constant drumming of water on the roof.
Rain usually meant slower drills, but not here.
Not at La Masia.
Not under Morales.
If anything, rain made the coaches *happier.*
Rain meant unpredictability.
Rain meant the ball moved differently.
Rain meant only players with real control could shine.
Azul took a breath.
*Good. Another test.*
Around him, the boys were louder than usual—jokes, slaps on shoulders, nervous energy. Pablo was bouncing on his toes like he was warming up for a boxing match.
"Bro, you see who's watching today?" Pablo whispered, eyes wide.
Azul blinked. "Who?"
"Coaches from Juvenil A. And Andreu Leaf from the technical office."
Azul froze with one boot half-tied.
That wasn't normal.
Coaches from Juvenil A didn't casually observe cadete-category training unless they were scouting someone for early promotion—or checking which kids had true Barça DNA.
Andreu Leaf?
He was even more serious. One of the men who had helped track, evaluate, or approve youth projects since the early 2010s. The kind of man who didn't waste his time.
Azul's stomach twisted, but not with fear—something sharper.
Focus.
Óscar walked by, snapping his shin guards into place. "They're probably here for Lamine and Jorge," he said flatly. "Maybe a few others."
Then he looked at Azul for one short second.
"Or you. So don't mess up."
He left before Azul could reply.
Azul finished tying his boots with fingers that felt stiff with adrenaline.
---
Training began sharply at 4:00 p.m.
Rain poured.
Wind hissed.
The pitch glistened silver under the grey sky.
Morales blew the whistle. "Warm-up rondos! Move like the weather wants to drown you!"
Azul stepped into a 4v2 rondo, heart hammering. The ball skipped on the wet grass, faster and lighter than normal. Two defenders closed on him. Azul used the sole of his foot to cushion the pass, adjusting instantly to the rain's speed.
Tap—tap—release.
He didn't look at Andreu Leaf, but he *felt* the man's attention.
His Emperor-like vision sharpened, adjusting to the distorted conditions:
the shine of water,
the bounce angles,
the movements made slightly irregular by wet boots.
Short passes.
Triangular shapes.
Quick shifts.
He belonged here.
---
The real test came half an hour later: the **pressing transition game**.
Two small goals.
Chaos.
Rain pouring so hard it felt like needles.
Morales shouted, "I WANT SPEED! INTELLIGENCE! THINK FASTER! MOVE FASTER!"
Azul locked in.
At first the game was messy—sliding tackles, water splashes, loose balls skidding unpredictable distances. But Azul thrived in unpredictability. His eyes caught movements earlier than others—foot direction, hip angles, intention before intention became action.
At one point, Óscar intercepted a loose pass and fired it toward Azul. The ball came too fast, skipping on water. Azul reacted instantly, cushioning it with the outside of his left boot, letting the motion glide with the wet grass instead of fighting it.
He turned with it, vision widening.
He saw:
* Pablo rushing the right channel,
* the defenders stepping late,
* the lane opening for half a heartbeat.
Azul sliced the pass through—wet, low, clean.
Pablo finished with a toe-poke into the mini net.
The boys cheered. Morales clapped once, sharply.
But Andalusian Leaf just nodded, chin down.
Azul didn't know if that was good or bad.
---
The final drill was the hardest: **11v11 on a waterlogged half-pitch**.
Every mistake looked worse in these conditions. Every touch mattered.
Azul played as the central interior again—Morales clearly wanting him to grow there. Óscar played as the pivot, controlling the tempo.
Rain dripped into Azul's eyes, stinging.
He wiped nothing away.
He kept running.
The ball came from Óscar, heavy from water. Azul trapped it with a subtle lift, tilting his foot to reduce splash. A defender pressed. Azul feinted inside, then dropped the shoulder outside.
The defender slid too far.
Azul slipped beyond him.
Lightning cracked overhead.
Then everything slowed—Azul's vision opening like a lens:
* Two defenders converging.
* The pivot line retreating.
* A gap between the left center-back and fullback opening for a fraction of a second.
* A teammate bursting into it.
Azul threaded the ball through, splitting the defenders in a razor-thin angle.
Even Óscar momentarily paused at the precision.
The play ended in a goal.
But Azul didn't celebrate. He just exhaled, heart pounding.
---
When training ended, the boys ran for shelter. The rain had drenched everyone down to the skin. Shirts clung to ribcages. Boots squelched.
Azul stayed behind, breathing in the cold rain.
He wasn't expecting anyone to speak to him.
He was especially not expecting **Andreu Leaf** himself to approach.
The man's jacket was soaked, but he walked with the calm authority of someone who had seen thousands of young talents rise and fall.
He stopped in front of Azul.
"You read space well in the rain," Leaf said. His voice was gravelly, steady. "Very few youth players adjust to unpredictable conditions. You did."
Azul swallowed. "Thank you, sir."
Leaf's eyes studied him—deep, measured.
"You're still raw," he said. "But your instincts… they're rare. Really rare."
Azul's breath hitched.
Leaf nodded once, then turned as if the conversation were already over.
But after three steps, he paused and added without looking back:
"Keep training like this… and we may have a place for you sooner than expected."
Then he walked away.
Azul stood frozen under the rain.
Because in 2016, being recognized by someone like Leaf wasn't normal.
It meant one thing.
One very big thing.
*He was officially on La Masia's radar for accelerated progression.*
---
**End of Chapter 31**.