The official call-up arrived on a Tuesday morning.
Not through rumors.
Not through newspapers.
Not through journalists.
An actual letter.
An actual invitation.
An actual opportunity.
Rio stared at the document for several seconds.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because despite everything that had happened recently—
first-team football.
Professional goals.
Contracts.
Media attention.
This felt different.
Perhaps because national teams represented something unique.
A different type of achievement.
A different type of responsibility.
The letter sat on the kitchen table while Bella practically vibrated with excitement.
"Read it again."
"I already read it."
"Read it again."
"No."
Bella looked offended.
"You're impossible."
"Correct."
His mother laughed softly.
The sound still surprised Rio sometimes.
Not because it was unusual.
Because it happened more often now.
The difficult years hadn't disappeared completely.
Life never worked that way.
But things were better.
Noticeably better.
And everyone in the family felt it.
Bella grabbed the letter before Rio could stop her.
"Selected for the preliminary youth national team squad."
She read dramatically.
Like an actress performing for a crowd.
"This is important."
"Yes."
"This is really important."
"Yes."
Bella narrowed her eyes.
"You should be more excited."
Interesting observation.
Maybe she was right.
Because part of Rio still processed success strangely.
Every achievement immediately became the next objective.
Every milestone became another starting point.
Useful mentality.
Dangerous mentality.
His mother seemed to understand.
She looked at him carefully.
Then smiled.
"It's okay to enjoy things."
The words lingered.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because he wasn't entirely sure he knew how.
Training that morning carried unusual energy.
Not because of Rio.
Because several players had received various youth national team recognitions.
The academy remained one of the greatest talent factories in football.
Call-ups happened regularly.
Still—
people noticed when Rio walked into the facility.
The congratulations started immediately.
Coaches.
Players.
Staff members.
Everywhere.
By the time he reached the changing room, he had heard "Congratulations" at least twenty times.
Messi made it twenty-one.
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
The Argentine sat down beside him.
Then grinned.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
"Does Sofia know?"
Rio closed his eyes.
Of course.
Of course that was his first question.
"Why would that be your first question?"
Messi looked genuinely confused.
"Why wouldn't it be?"
A completely useless answer.
Yet somehow it felt exactly like something Messi would say.
Before Rio could respond, Ronaldinho appeared.
"What's happening?"
Messi answered immediately.
"Rio got called up."
The Brazilian smiled.
"That's great."
A pause.
Then:
"Does Sofia know?"
Traitors.
All of them.
The worst part?
Neither looked remotely ashamed.
Training offered temporary relief.
Only temporary.
Barcelona's coaches immediately increased intensity.
The upcoming schedule looked brutal.
League matches.
Cup fixtures.
Travel.
Pressure.
Exactly the type of period that defined seasons.
Rijkaard gathered the squad before the main session.
"The next month matters."
Silence settled immediately.
Because everyone understood.
Barcelona remained in contention.
The opportunities were real.
The stakes were real.
Now came the difficult part.
Maintaining standards.
The training match that followed became one of the most competitive sessions of the season.
Every player pushed harder.
Ran harder.
Competed harder.
Nobody wanted to lose.
Rio and Messi ended up opposing each other.
A rare occurrence.
And immediately everyone started watching.
Interesting.
Because people enjoyed seeing them together.
They enjoyed seeing them against each other even more.
The first duel happened within two minutes.
Messi received possession between the lines.
Turned.
Accelerated.
Rio intercepted the passing lane before the attack developed.
The Argentine pointed accusingly.
"You knew where I was going."
"Yes."
"How?"
Rio looked at him.
"You always do that."
Messi looked offended.
Then thoughtful.
Then offended again.
Nearby, Xavi laughed.
"He's right."
The rest of training followed a similar pattern.
One predicting.
One adapting.
A fascinating battle.
And one that reminded everyone why their partnership worked so well.
Because they understood each other.
Perhaps too well.
Later that afternoon, after training ended, Rio checked his phone.
One message waited.
Congratulations on the call-up.
— Sofia
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because he hadn't told her.
Which meant she was paying attention.
The realization produced an unfamiliar feeling.
Not uncomfortable.
Not distracting.
Just...
pleasant.
Rio typed a response.
Thank you.
Several seconds passed.
Then another message arrived.
I'm proud of you.
The world seemed unusually quiet for a moment.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because plenty of people had congratulated him.
Coaches.
Players.
Journalists.
Yet somehow those four words affected him more than all the others combined.
And that realization was considerably more dangerous than any defender he had faced all season.
Rio should have deleted the message.
That was the logical solution.
Read it.
Appreciate it.
Move on.
Simple.
Efficient.
Safe.
Instead—
he looked at it again.
And then again.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because that wasn't normal behavior.
At least not for him.
The screen still displayed the same words.
I'm proud of you.
Nothing complicated.
Nothing dramatic.
Just four words.
Yet somehow they remained in his thoughts during the entire trip home.
Which became a problem.
A significant problem.
Because Bella existed.
The moment Rio entered the apartment, his sister took one look at him and narrowed her eyes.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
"What?"
Rio asked.
Bella pointed immediately.
"You're smiling."
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
Rio walked toward the kitchen.
A tactical retreat.
Unfortunately Bella followed.
A tactical disaster.
His mother looked up from the table.
Then looked at Bella.
Then Rio.
Then smiled.
Rio was beginning to believe there was a conspiracy.
A family conspiracy.
And he was losing.
"What happened?"
His mother asked.
"Nothing."
Bella laughed.
"Oh, something happened."
"It didn't."
His sister folded her arms.
"Was it Sofia?"
The silence lasted half a second too long.
Mistake.
Huge mistake.
Bella pointed triumphantly.
"IT WAS SOFIA."
Rio considered leaving through the nearest window.
Reasonable response.
His mother laughed softly.
"Leave him alone."
Bella looked shocked.
"No."
At least she was honest.
Eventually Rio escaped to his room.
A hard-fought victory.
Temporary victory.
Because five minutes later his phone buzzed.
A message from Messi.
Sofia proud of you?
Rio froze.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because that information should have been impossible to obtain.
He immediately replied.
How do you know that?
The response arrived instantly.
I guessed.
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
Rio stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
Was I right?
The midfielder briefly considered throwing the phone away.
Instead he typed:
I hate you.
Messi's answer arrived three seconds later.
You didn't answer the question.
Traitor.
The next morning the teasing somehow became worse.
Which shouldn't have been possible.
Yet here they were.
Messi was waiting outside the training facility.
Again.
Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
"You texted her."
Rio didn't even react.
The Argentine smiled.
"That's a yes."
"You're annoying."
"Correct."
At least he admitted it.
Ronaldinho arrived moments later.
Unfortunately.
The Brazilian immediately sensed entertainment.
An instinct that had never failed him.
"What happened now?"
Messi looked delighted.
"Sofia said she's proud of him."
Ronaldinho stopped walking.
Then slowly looked toward Rio.
Then grinned.
"Oh."
Not again.
The Brazilian placed a hand over his heart.
"That's sweet."
Rio immediately regretted coming to training.
The session itself provided some relief.
Not much.
But some.
Barcelona's preparations intensified as another major league match approached.
A difficult away fixture.
One that could impact the title race significantly.
Rijkaard demanded focus.
Concentration.
Discipline.
And for ninety minutes, football successfully pushed everything else aside.
Football always did.
The upcoming opponent defended aggressively.
Pressed aggressively.
Played aggressively.
Barcelona needed solutions.
Interesting solutions.
During tactical work, Rio spent most of his time analyzing movement patterns.
Possible weaknesses.
Potential opportunities.
The familiar process calmed him.
Football made sense.
People were significantly more complicated.
Especially Sofia.
And especially whatever was happening between them.
Later that afternoon, as training ended, Rijkaard gathered Rio privately.
The coach looked thoughtful.
A dangerous sign.
"You're leaving for national team camp soon."
Rio nodded.
"Yes."
The coach folded his arms.
"I want you to remember something."
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because Rijkaard rarely spoke without purpose.
"Nothing changes."
A pause.
"The call-up doesn't change who you are."
Another pause.
"The attention doesn't change who you are."
The coach's eyes remained steady.
"Success doesn't change who you are."
The words settled heavily.
Important words.
Because football history was filled with talented players who lost themselves after early success.
Rio understood the warning.
And appreciated it.
"I understand."
Rijkaard nodded once.
Conversation over.
Simple.
Effective.
That evening, Rio found himself exchanging messages with Sofia again.
Not intentionally.
At least that was what he told himself.
The conversation started with football.
Naturally.
Then moved toward other topics.
Again.
School.
Family.
Movies.
Plans.
Hours passed surprisingly quickly.
At one point Sofia sent a simple question.
Are you nervous about national team camp?
Rio stared at the screen.
Interesting question.
Because the honest answer was complicated.
Eventually he typed:
A little.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Then her reply.
Good.
Rio frowned.
Good?
Another message arrived.
It means it matters.
He looked at those words for several seconds.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because she was right.
Again.
And that was becoming a pattern.
A dangerous pattern.
As the conversation continued late into the evening, neither realized how naturally this had become.
Messages.
Conversations.
Shared moments.
The distance between them shrinking gradually.
Quietly.
Without either fully noticing.
And with a crucial league match approaching before national team duty, Rio suddenly found himself balancing something entirely new.
Football.
Family.
Expectations.
National teams.
And one girl who somehow occupied more space in his thoughts than any tactical problem ever had.
The away match arrived beneath heavy pressure.
Exactly the kind of pressure Barcelona expected.
Exactly the kind of pressure title contenders had to survive.
The stadium was already packed when Barcelona's bus arrived.
Supporters crowded the streets.
Journalists filled every available space.
Cameras followed the players from the moment they stepped off the bus.
Rio noticed something unusual immediately.
Not the media.
Not the atmosphere.
Not the pressure.
The scouts.
There were more than usual.
Far more.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Inside the stadium, several sections had been reserved for observers.
Club scouts.
Federation officials.
Youth national team staff.
People with notebooks.
People with reports.
People making decisions.
Most of them weren't there for Barcelona's senior stars.
Not today.
They were there for the younger players.
For Messi.
For Rio.
For the future.
The realization didn't change anything.
At least not for Rio.
Football remained football.
The pitch stayed the same size.
The goals stayed the same size.
The ball stayed the same.
External attention changed nothing.
Messi disagreed.
The Argentine kept glancing toward the stands during warmups.
"You see them?"
"Yes."
"There are so many."
"Yes."
Messi sighed.
"I liked it better when nobody knew who we were."
Interesting.
Because Rio understood exactly what he meant.
Fame offered opportunities.
It also removed simplicity.
Ronaldinho overheard the conversation.
The Brazilian grinned.
"Too late."
A pause.
"You're famous now."
Messi looked horrified.
Reasonable reaction.
Kickoff arrived shortly afterward.
The opening minutes were chaotic.
The home crowd created a hostile atmosphere.
The opposition pressed aggressively.
Every challenge carried extra intensity.
Barcelona needed to settle.
Needed to control possession.
Needed to impose rhythm.
Exactly the type of situation where Xavi thrived.
And exactly the type of situation where Rio excelled.
Minute eleven.
The first important moment arrived.
Rio received possession under pressure near midfield.
Two opponents immediately closed.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because both committed too aggressively.
One touch.
A quick turn.
Suddenly both defenders were behind him.
The crowd reacted.
A collective murmur.
Because moments like that looked effortless.
Yet they weren't.
They required vision.
Timing.
Understanding.
Qualities difficult to teach.
The attack continued.
Messi received possession.
Accelerated.
Shot.
Saved.
Close.
Very close.
The warning had been delivered.
Barcelona continued building pressure.
Minute twenty-three.
Another attack.
Ronaldinho danced past one defender.
Then another.
The crowd groaned.
Everyone knew danger was coming.
The Brazilian slipped a pass toward Rio.
The teenager barely touched the ball.
One touch.
That was all.
A perfectly weighted pass through the defensive line.
Messi exploded onto it immediately.
One-on-one.
Goal.
Barcelona led.
The away supporters erupted.
Messi sprinted toward the corner flag.
Laughing.
Celebrating.
Then immediately pointed toward Rio.
Of course.
Because of course it had been Rio.
Again.
The cameras captured everything.
The celebration.
The smiles.
The connection.
The narrative practically wrote itself.
The Twin Stars.
Again.
High in the stands, several federation officials made notes.
Detailed notes.
One coach leaned toward another.
"His decision-making is extraordinary."
The second official nodded.
"He doesn't play like a teenager."
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because that observation appeared repeatedly in scouting reports.
Rio thought differently.
Saw the game differently.
Processed information differently.
And everyone noticed.
The match remained difficult.
The opposition responded aggressively.
Barcelona defended well.
Puyol dominated.
Xavi controlled tempo.
Ronaldinho created chaos.
And the teenagers continued causing problems.
Minute sixty-eight.
The decisive moment arrived.
Barcelona led only 1-0.
Dangerous score.
Fragile score.
One mistake could change everything.
Rio collected possession near the halfway line.
Messi immediately began moving.
No signal.
No communication.
Just understanding.
The same understanding that had become almost instinctive.
Interesting.
Because neither really thought about it anymore.
The movement happened naturally.
Rio delivered the pass.
Messi returned it.
One-two.
Then another.
The defense broke apart.
Space opened.
Rio attacked it instantly.
The goalkeeper rushed forward.
Decision time.
Shoot.
Pass.
Shoot.
Pass.
The goalkeeper expected a shot.
The defenders expected a shot.
The crowd expected a shot.
Rio passed.
A simple square ball.
Messi arrived.
Tap-in.
Goal.
2-0.
Match over.
The away section exploded.
Barcelona's bench celebrated.
The players celebrated.
The title race remained alive.
And once again—
the two teenagers stood at the center of everything.
The final whistle arrived twenty minutes later.
Victory.
Important victory.
Necessary victory.
As players shook hands and walked toward the tunnel, a federation official approached Rijkaard.
A brief conversation.
A handshake.
A smile.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because Rio noticed it immediately.
The coach later confirmed his suspicion.
Inside the dressing room, after the celebrations settled, Rijkaard entered holding several envelopes.
The room became quiet.
Players recognized official federation documents instantly.
One envelope carried Rio's name.
Another carried Messi's.
The coach smiled.
Rare.
Very rare.
"Congratulations."
Messi immediately grabbed his envelope.
Rio opened his more calmly.
Inside sat the official confirmation.
Selected.
Not preliminary.
Not under consideration.
Selected.
Official youth national team call-up.
His first.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because for a moment—
just one moment—
the achievement actually felt real.
The room erupted into applause.
Ronaldinho started it.
Puyol joined.
Then Xavi.
Then everyone else.
Messi grinned.
"We made it."
Rio looked at his friend.
Then at the document.
Then back at Messi.
"Yes."
They had.
A year ago they had been academy prospects fighting for opportunities.
Now they represented their countries.
The future continued arriving faster than either expected.
And waiting outside that future—
unknown challenges.
New expectations.
New responsibilities.
But for tonight, none of that mattered.
Tonight was about achievement.
And for the first time in a long time, Rio allowed himself to simply enjoy it.
The official call-up remained on Rio's desk when he woke the following morning.
A simple piece of paper.
Nothing extraordinary.
Just ink.
Words.
A federation logo.
Yet every time he looked at it, the reality became a little clearer.
Selected.
Not a possibility.
Not a future goal.
Not a dream.
Reality.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because somewhere along the way, achievements had started arriving faster than he could fully process them.
Professional debut.
Professional goals.
First-team contract.
National team selection.
One after another.
Sometimes it felt less like climbing a mountain and more like being pushed up one.
Bella disagreed.
Strongly.
The moment she entered the kitchen and saw the letter again, she immediately started celebrating as though Rio had personally won the World Cup.
"National team player."
Rio continued eating breakfast.
"National team player."
Still eating.
"National team player."
"Yes."
Bella pointed triumphantly.
"I just wanted to hear you say it."
Reasonable.
Annoying.
But reasonable.
Later that afternoon, Barcelona's training facility felt slightly different.
Not because of football.
Because several young players were leaving for international duty.
Suitcases appeared.
Travel plans were discussed.
Schedules changed.
The atmosphere carried excitement.
And anticipation.
Because international football meant something special.
Even at youth level.
Inside the changing room, Messi sat beside his bag.
The Argentine looked unusually thoughtful.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"You nervous?"
Rio asked.
Messi immediately denied it.
"Of course not."
A pause.
Then:
"A little."
Rio nodded.
Reasonable answer.
Because despite everything they had experienced recently—
this was still new territory.
New teammates.
New coaches.
New expectations.
A different environment.
The familiar routines would disappear for a while.
And for footballers, routines mattered.
Before either could continue, Ronaldinho appeared.
Unfortunately.
The Brazilian carried the expression of a man preparing mischief.
A dangerous expression.
"Leaving us already?"
Messi laughed.
"For a few days."
Ronaldinho nodded dramatically.
"Good."
Both teenagers looked confused.
The Brazilian grinned.
"Maybe then we'll get some peace."
Several nearby players immediately started laughing.
Piqué nearly fell off a bench.
Traitors.
All of them.
Then Ronaldinho looked toward Rio.
A dangerous development.
Very dangerous.
"More importantly..."
The grin widened.
"Will Sofia miss you?"
The entire room exploded.
Messi laughed so hard he nearly dropped his bag.
Rio immediately regretted coming to training.
Again.
Some things never changed.
After training ended, players gradually began leaving.
Cars departed.
Suitcases disappeared.
The facility slowly emptied.
Rio was heading toward the exit when he spotted a familiar figure waiting nearby.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because Sofia wasn't supposed to be here.
Yet there she was.
Standing near the entrance.
Smiling.
The sight immediately improved his day.
A realization that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Sofia noticed him approaching.
"Congratulations."
Rio smiled slightly.
"I've heard that a lot recently."
"Good."
She folded her arms.
"You deserve it."
Simple words.
Honest words.
The best kind.
For a few moments they stood together outside the facility.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking area.
Players occasionally passed by.
Most were too distracted to pay attention.
Most.
Unfortunately, Messi existed.
The Argentine walked past carrying a bag.
Then immediately stopped.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
He looked at Sofia.
Then Rio.
Then Sofia.
Then Rio again.
The grin arrived.
"Oh."
Not again.
Sofia laughed.
Messi pointed dramatically.
"I knew it."
Rio sighed.
"What exactly did you know?"
"I don't know."
A pause.
"But I knew it."
A completely useless statement.
Yet somehow Sofia laughed even harder.
Messi looked incredibly proud of himself.
Then finally left.
Mostly because Rio threatened him.
A reasonable response.
Once they were alone again, the conversation became quieter.
More personal.
Sofia looked toward the training fields.
"You'll be gone for a while."
"Not long."
"I know."
A pause.
"Still."
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because neither of them really knew what to say.
Not because things were awkward.
Because some moments carried weight.
And this was one of them.
Eventually Sofia smiled.
"You'll do well."
Rio looked at her.
"How do you know?"
The answer came immediately.
"Because you always do."
For a second, neither spoke.
The words lingered.
And somehow they mattered.
More than they should have.
More than Rio expected.
Finally she stepped back.
"You should go."
Probably true.
The flight left early the next morning.
Schedules existed.
Responsibilities existed.
National team camps waited.
A new chapter waited.
Rio nodded.
Then hesitated.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because hesitation wasn't something he did often.
Not in football.
Not in life.
Yet here it was.
Eventually he smiled.
A real smile.
"Thank you."
Sofia smiled back.
"Good luck, Rio."
"See you soon."
And for some reason, saying those words felt important.
As Rio walked away, suitcase in hand, he felt something unfamiliar.
Excitement.
Certainly.
Anticipation.
Definitely.
But something else too.
Because for the first time, leaving Barcelona didn't just mean leaving football behind for a few days.
It meant leaving someone he would miss.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The next morning, Rio boarded the flight that would take him to his first national team camp.
A new team.
A new environment.
A new challenge.
And somewhere ahead, an entire country was about to get its first real look at Rio Fiero.