Chapter 6 : Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper

He walked into the dining room, the scent of freshly prepared food filling the air. Seated at the table, his grandparents greeted him with warm smiles as he took his place.

Before him was a carefully prepared breakfast, crafted specifically by the nutritionist Johan had hired two years ago. Every meal was optimized for his development—balanced, nutritious, and calculated to the smallest detail. He had long since grown used to it, knowing that his body was a temple that needed to be maintained with precision.

As he began eating, Johan sipped his coffee, observing him with an amused look.

"You train harder than most professionals, nice," Johan said with a smirk. "If you keep going at this pace, there might not be anyone who can stop you."

Danny chuckled, cutting a piece of fruit. "He's already the most beautiful boy in the world, and soon, he'll be the best footballer too."

Nico smiled faintly, swallowing his food before responding. "That's the plan."

Johan raised a brow. "No doubts at all?"

Nico looked at him, his emerald eyes unwavering. "None."

Johan chuckled. "Good."

After Johan said, "Good," he leaned back in his chair, a glint of amusement in his sharp eyes. 

"Oh, I forgot to mention something," he said nonchalantly, taking a sip of his coffee. "Today is the under-10 trials at La Masia." 

Nico, who had just taken a bite of his carefully prepared breakfast, froze for a moment. His fork lingered in the air as his mind processed what his grandfather had just casually thrown out like it was nothing. 

Then, he let out a small laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "And you're telling me this now?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Johan merely shrugged, the corner of his lips curling into a knowing smirk. "It's a surprise," he said simply. 

Nico exhaled through his nose, still smiling. He wasn't upset—far from it. He was confident in his abilities, and no amount of surprise announcements could change that. 

"The trials start at 2," Johan continued, placing his cup down. "I'll be heading to Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper to meet with the Barcelona president. Do you want to come with me?" 

Nico wiped his mouth with a napkin, setting it aside as he looked at his grandfather with a smirk of his own. "Of course," he said without hesitation.

As they got out of the car, the air around Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper was alive with energy. The Barcelona training complex stood before them, a place where dreams were nurtured and legends were born. Even though Nico had memories of this place from his past life, seeing it again with fresh eyes filled him with a sense of nostalgia and excitement.

Johan led the way, his steps steady and purposeful, while Nico followed beside him, taking in the surroundings. The facility was as impressive as ever, a state-of-the-art footballing paradise where the best young talents in the world trained to become future stars. Large banners displaying Barcelona's greatest players lined the hallways, a constant reminder of the club's rich history.

As they walked, various staff members and coaches greeted Johan with respect, many of them stealing curious glances at Nico. Though just an eight-year-old child, there was something striking about him—his presence, his demeanor, the way he carried himself. It was as if he already belonged here.

The two soon arrived at the president's office, a grand wooden door standing before them. Without hesitation, Johan pushed it open, walking inside with Nico right behind him.

The room was spacious, adorned with Barcelona memorabilia, trophies, and pictures of past club presidents and footballing legends. Seated behind a large desk was the man they had come to see—the president of FC Barcelona.

As Johan and Nico entered the president's office, they were greeted by Joan Laporta, the president of FC Barcelona in 2008. Laporta stood up from behind his desk, a warm smile spreading across his face as he extended his hand to Johan.

"Johan, it's always a pleasure to see you," Laporta said, shaking Johan's hand firmly.

His gaze then shifted to the young boy standing beside Johan. With a curious expression, he asked, "And this must be Nico?"

Johan nodded, placing a gentle hand on Nico's shoulder. "Yes, this is my grandson, Nico."

Laporta's smile widened as he extended his hand to Nico. "Welcome, Nico. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Nico accepted the handshake, his emerald eyes meeting Laporta's with confidence. "Thank you, sir. It's an honor to be here."

The president gestured towards the seating area. "Please, both of you, have a seat. Let's discuss what brings you here today."

As they settled into the comfortable chairs, the atmosphere in the room was a blend of anticipation and warmth, setting the stage for the conversation ahead. 

As Johan and Laporta sat across from each other, they delved into discussions about various matters concerning Barcelona. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching upon the club's future, La Masia's development, and Johan's insights on the current state of football. Nico sat patiently, listening attentively, absorbing everything like a sponge. 

After a while, their discussion came to a natural end, and Laporta leaned back in his chair, turning his attention toward Nico. With a curious expression, he asked, "By the way, Johan, why is Nico here today?" 

Johan smiled and casually replied, "I'm taking him to the Under-10 trials at La Masia." 

Laporta raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh? So he's serious about football?" 

Johan chuckled. "Of course. More than serious." 

Now even more interested, Laporta asked, "And who's been training him?" 

Johan leaned back, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "I have." 

Laporta's eyes widened slightly. "You personally trained him?" He knew Johan's football philosophy was second to none. If Johan had been training his grandson, then Nico wasn't just another talented kid. Now, curiosity turned into genuine excitement. 

"Then I have to see for myself," Laporta said, his gaze shifting toward Nico. "If Johan Cruyff has been training you, then you must be something special."

Laporta led them out onto the training grounds of Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper, where the Barcelona first team was in the middle of their session. The moment they stepped onto the pitch, conversations paused, and curious eyes turned toward them. It wasn't every day that the club president walked onto the field with Johan Cruyff and a young boy by his side. 

Nico's emerald-green eyes swept across the field, instantly recognizing the players. Lionel Messi, Xavi Hernández, Andrés Iniesta, Samuel Eto'o, Thierry Henry, and Carles Puyol were all present, along with the rest of the squad. These were not just players—they were icons, legends who had defined an era of football. 

For any other eight-year-old, being in their presence would have been overwhelming. Their knees would have trembled, their breath would have caught in their throat, and their hearts would have pounded with nervousness. 

But Nico? 

He didn't even blink. 

There wasn't a single trace of hesitation or intimidation on his face. He stood with a calm, composed expression, his posture relaxed, his gaze unwavering. It was as if he belonged here. 

Laporta had expected some form of nervous excitement from the boy. After all, these were world-class footballers, some of the greatest to ever play the game. But instead of being awestruck, Nico looked at them with a familiarity that caught Laporta off guard. 

Of course, how could he know? That in Nico's past life, he had played alongside some of them, competed against them on the biggest stages, and even stood on the same podium as them when he won the Ballon d'Or. To him, they were not unreachable figures—they were simply players he knew well. 

The training ground slowly fell silent as more players and coaches took notice of their presence. 

Some of them exchanged glances, their eyes flickering toward Johan Cruyff and then to the young boy standing beside him. It was rare for Cruyff to come to training, and even rarer for him to bring someone with him. That alone was enough to spark their curiosity. 

Laporta turned to Nico with an amused smile. "Alright, show me something special." 

Nico didn't hesitate. 

His gaze flickered across the field, scanning for an opportunity. That's when he saw Messi near the edge of the penalty box, setting up a free kick. The Argentine was placing the ball down, preparing to take his shot, when Nico confidently strode toward him. 

Messi noticed the small figure approaching and raised an eyebrow. He was used to seeing young academy players around the facilities, but this one carried himself differently. 

Before he could say anything, Nico spoke first. 

"Can I take a few?" 

Messi blinked, caught off guard by the direct request. 

Then, a smirk played on his lips. He reached out and ruffled Nico's silky black hair, amusement dancing in his eyes. 

"Sure, go ahead, nice." 

By now, the entire training ground had stopped to watch. 

The first-team players, the coaching staff, and even Pep Guardiola, who had been observing from a distance, turned their attention toward the scene. 

Johan Cruyff's grandson was about to take a free kick. 

And everyone wanted to see what he could do.

Nico took a few steps back, his emerald-green eyes locked onto the goal. The distance was 29 meters—far for an eight-year-old, but he didn't care. His technique was what mattered. 

Standing between the posts was Víctor Valdés, Barcelona's first-choice goalkeeper. He was watching Nico with curiosity, but there was also a hint of amusement in his eyes. After all, what could a kid possibly do from this distance? 

Nico inhaled deeply, exhaled, and then ran forward. 

As his foot connected with the ball, there was a crisp, clean sound—an experienced ear could tell it was struck perfectly. The ball cut through the air, swerving with an erratic, unpredictable movement. 

Left. 

Right. 

Left again. 

Víctor Valdés reacted late, caught off guard by the unnatural s-shaped trajectory. By the time he dived, it was too late. The ball swerved one last time before nestling into the upper left corner of the net. 

For a moment, there was silence. 

Then, a few murmurs spread across the field. Some players raised their eyebrows in surprise. Others glanced at Johan Cruyff, wondering just how much training had gone into this. 

But Nico wasn't done. 

He calmly retrieved another ball, placed it down, and prepared for his next shot. 

One by one, he took ten more free kicks. Each time, the ball crossed the fake wall with precision. Out of the ten, six found their way past Víctor Valdés and into the net. 

By now, the players had stopped murmuring. 

They were simply staring. 

Laporta, who had initially been watching with mild interest, now had his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. His mind was racing—this wasn't normal. 

The Barcelona players weren't just impressed; they were stunned. 

A kid—an eight-year-old—had just showcased a free-kick technique that was nearly impossible to execute consistently. It wasn't just talent. 

It was something far beyond that.

After the final free kick nestled into the net, a few players who had been watching closely decided to approach him. 

Xavi was the first to walk over, a small smile on his face. He crouched slightly to be at eye level with Nico. 

"That was incredible, chaval," Xavi said, ruffling his hair. "Where did you learn to hit a free kick like that?" 

Nico, unfazed by the presence of one of Barcelona's greatest midfielders, simply smiled. "From my grandfather," he replied, glancing at Johan Cruyff. "And a little bit of practice." 

Andrés Iniesta, who had been watching with keen interest, chuckled. "A little bit? If that's just a little, I wonder what a lot looks like." 

Messi, who had been practicing his own free kicks before Nico interrupted, now stood beside him, arms crossed, studying him with intrigue. "You're really something, eh?" he said, his Argentine accent thick. "Eight years old and already taking free kicks like that." 

Nico just shrugged, his confidence shining through. "I still have a lot to improve." 

Samuel Eto'o, standing nearby, let out a laugh. "Madre mía! This kid is talking about improving after what we just saw. You've got a strong mentality, chico." 

Dani Alves clapped a hand on Nico's back. "If you keep going like this, you'll be playing at the Camp Nou sooner than we think!" 

The players were clearly impressed—not just by the technique, but by the way Nico carried himself. He wasn't nervous. He wasn't starstruck. He talked to them like he belonged. 

And in their minds, maybe he already did.

Seeing how effortlessly Nico had scored free kicks, the players decided to test his dribbling ability.

Iniesta, known for his impeccable ball control and defensive composure, stepped forward as the one to defend him. There was a light-hearted energy around the training ground, but there was also curiosity—just how good was Johan Cruyff's grandson?

Nico took the ball at his feet, his posture relaxed but focused. As he moved forward, he began with the Pendulum, shifting the ball rapidly from left to right in a rhythmic motion.

Iniesta, experienced beyond his years in reading movements, remained still, watching Nico's feet carefully. He didn't take the bait.

Nico noticed this instantly. He knew that simple feints wouldn't be enough against someone like Iniesta, even if he wasn't playing seriously. So, he quickly shifted to his left before executing a Cruyff Turn, cutting back sharply. Iniesta slightly adjusted, but Nico was already one step ahead.

As soon as he completed the turn, he executed a La Croqueta, sliding the ball smoothly from one foot to the other, bypassing Iniesta in an instant.

Now free, Nico didn't hesitate. He struck the ball cleanly, sending it soaring into the upper left corner of the empty net.

Silence.

The Barcelona players stood there, momentarily dumbfounded.

They knew Iniesta hadn't been playing at full intensity—but still, this kid was only eight. The execution, the composure, the timing—it was far beyond what any child should be capable of.

Iniesta himself let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Dios mío... I wasn't expecting that."

Xavi whistled. "That was smooth."

Messi, arms crossed, gave Nico an appraising look. "You play like someone who's been doing this for years."

Eto'o, still processing what he had just seen, laughed in disbelief. "Johan, what kind of monster have you been raising?"

Johan Cruyff, watching everything with a small, knowing smile, simply replied, "A future legend."

After the display of skill that left even the Barcelona first-team players stunned, Nico turned to them with a polite smile. 

"Thank you for letting me train with you," he said, his voice filled with confidence and gratitude. 

The players chuckled, still amazed at what they had just witnessed. Messi patted his head, Iniesta gave him an approving nod, and Xavi smirked. 

Just as Johan signaled for him to leave, Nico turned around one last time, looking at the stars of Barcelona with a bold grin. 

"See you when I'm 15." 

The confidence in his voice was absolute—like it was a certainty, not a dream. 

The players exchanged glances, some raising their eyebrows, some smiling. 

Eto'o laughed. "This kid is something else." 

Laporta, who had been quietly observing everything, muttered under his breath, "If he keeps this up... maybe even sooner." 

With that, Nico walked off with Johan, his next destination clear—the Under-10 trials at La Masia.