Chapter 9 : To Espanyol
As they neared Aitana's home, the warm glow of the porch light illuminated the entrance. Nico slowed his steps, reluctant to let the moment end.
Aitana, still on his back, sighed softly. "I guess we're here."
Nico chuckled. "Yeah. Safe and sound, princess."
She rolled her eyes playfully but didn't let go. Instead, she rested her chin on his shoulder for just a second longer before finally loosening her arms around his neck.
He carefully lowered her down, making sure she didn't put too much pressure on her injured ankle. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she winced slightly, and Nico instinctively steadied her by the waist.
"You sure you'll be fine?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
Aitana nodded. "Yeah, I'll ice it once I'm inside."
For a moment, they just stood there, the cool night air swirling around them. Then, Aitana smiled—soft and warm. "Thanks for today, Nico. For everything."
He smirked. "Of course. I couldn't just let my free-kick rival suffer, could I?"
She rolled her eyes but laughed. "Right."
She hesitated for a second before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him in a proper hug. Nico blinked in surprise but quickly melted into it, wrapping his arms around her gently.
"Goodnight, Nico," she whispered.
He pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. "Goodnight, Aitana."
With one last lingering glance, she turned and made her way inside. Nico watched as the door closed behind her before letting out a deep breath.
As he turned around and started walking home, a small smile tugged at his lips.
Today had been a good day.
_____________
Since that day, time had passed like sand slipping through fingers. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. The current date was December 27, 2014.
Nico sat in the living room with his grandfather, Johan Cruyff, a cup of tea in his hands. The fireplace crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the room. Outside, the winter air in Barcelona carried a crisp chill, but inside, the conversation between grandfather and grandson was anything but cold.
Johan studied Nico for a moment before speaking. "So, you've been thinking about the loan move?"
Nico nodded, leaning back into the couch. "Yeah. It's inevitable, right? I won't get minutes here, and staying too long in the youth team won't help me grow."
Johan sipped his tea, his sharp eyes not missing the determination in Nico's voice. "Have you decided on a club?"
Nico exhaled, rubbing the rim of his cup with his thumb. "Not yet. There are a few options on the table, but I want to make the right choice. It has to be somewhere I can develop properly—somewhere that challenges me but also allows me to play my football."
Johan nodded approvingly. "That's the right mindset. Talent means nothing if you don't find the right environment to nurture it."
Nico smirked. "Sounds like something you told me when I was five."
Johan chuckled, shaking his head. "That's because it's still true."
The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of the decision hanging in the air.
"Where do you feel drawn to?" Johan finally asked.
Nico sighed, his emerald-green eyes reflecting the firelight. "That's the thing, Grandpa. I don't know yet. But I'll figure it out soon."
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The next day, Nico sat in Luis Enrique's office, facing the Barcelona first-team coach. The room was tidy, the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air. Behind Enrique, a tactical board was filled with scribbled formations and strategies, a testament to the man's meticulous approach to football.
Luis Enrique leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. His sharp gaze studied Nico, as if trying to read beyond the words the boy was about to say.
"So," Enrique started, "I assume you didn't come here just for a casual chat."
Nico nodded, his voice steady. "I want to go on loan."
Luis Enrique wasn't surprised. He had expected this conversation at some point. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I figured you might say that. You're too good for the youth team, but the first team is packed with experienced players. You won't get the minutes you deserve."
"Exactly," Nico agreed. "I want to develop, and I need to play regularly against top-level competition. Staying here just for training won't do me any good."
Enrique tapped his fingers on the desk, considering his words carefully. "You understand that not every loan move is beneficial, right? Plenty of young talents go out on loan and disappear. The club won't send you just anywhere. It has to be the right fit."
Nico met his gaze. "I know. I'm not looking for a comfortable ride—I want a challenge. A club that will push me and give me responsibility on the pitch."
Luis Enrique studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Alright. I'll talk to the board and your agent. There are already clubs interested in you. We'll go through the options carefully."
Nico exhaled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. This was the next step in his journey.
"I appreciate it, coach."
Luis Enrique smirked. "Don't thank me yet. Your real test is about to begin."
_____________
The next day, Luis Enrique called Nico back into his office. The coach's expression was calm but serious, and Nico could tell that the club had already been working on a move for him.
"Sit down, Nico," Enrique said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.
Nico did as he was told, waiting patiently as the coach leaned forward.
"There's an offer," Enrique finally said. "From Espanyol."
Nico raised an eyebrow. Of all the clubs, he hadn't expected Espanyol—Barcelona's city rivals.
"They're in a pretty precarious situation," Enrique continued. "Their wingers are injured, and financially, they don't have the resources to bring in big signings. That's where you come in. They want you on loan until the end of the season."
Nico listened carefully, nodding as Enrique spoke.
"They promise you'll be a starter," the coach added. "You'll get regular minutes in La Liga, playing against top teams week in and week out. It's not an easy environment, but it's a chance to prove yourself at the highest level."
For a moment, Nico sat in silence, weighing the situation. He had no personal attachment to Espanyol, but he didn't care about rivalries. He wanted to play. That was all that mattered.
"I'll take it," Nico said firmly.
Luis Enrique raised an eyebrow. "No hesitation?"
"I need to play, Coach," Nico replied. "If they're offering me a starting role, I'm not going to turn it down just because of history. I'll go, I'll play, and I'll prove myself."
Enrique smirked. "Good. I'll let the board and your agent know. The loan move should be finalized soon."
Nico nodded. "Thank you, Coach."
As he left the office, he felt a sense of excitement building inside him. His first taste of top-flight football was coming. Now, it was time to show the world what he could do.
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Later that evening, as the golden hues of the setting sun painted long shadows across the training ground, Nico and Aitana were deep into their usual routine. The rhythmic sound of the ball being struck and the occasional rustle of the wind were the only things breaking the stillness.
Nico lined up another free kick, took a measured breath, and struck the ball. It swerved unpredictably—dancing through the air before nestling into the top corner of the net.
Aitana, who had been watching from the side with her arms crossed, let out an exaggerated sigh. "It's almost annoying how good you are at this," she muttered.
Nico chuckled as he retrieved the ball. "You say that like you're not getting better yourself. You nearly stopped one today."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her small smile. "Nearly isn't good enough."
They continued for a while longer, lost in the rhythm of training until the sky deepened into navy blue and the floodlights flickered on, illuminating the field in a soft glow. Eventually, they decided to call it a night and collapsed onto the grass, staring up at the sky, catching their breath.
Nico turned his head slightly, looking at her, his expression thoughtful.
"I'm going on loan," he said suddenly.
Aitana turned her head towards him, eyes widening. "What?"
"To Espanyol," he added. "Luis Enrique told me today. They need a winger, and they're guaranteeing me minutes. It's a good chance to play in La Liga."
Aitana sat up slowly, hugging her knees to her chest as she processed his words. "Espanyol…" she murmured. "That's… soon, isn't it?"
"In a few days," he admitted.
She was quiet for a moment, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the grass. Then, with a deep sigh, she turned to him. "I knew this was coming," she admitted. "I mean, you're too good to be sitting on the bench. You deserve to play."
Nico sat up too, resting his arms on his knees as he looked at her. "But?" he prompted softly.
She exhaled sharply before giving him a small, lopsided smile. "But… I'll miss training with you."
Something warm bloomed in his chest at her words. He chuckled, trying to keep the mood light. "I'll miss it too," he admitted. "I'll have to find someone else to challenge my free kicks."
Aitana huffed, nudging him playfully. "Yeah, good luck with that."
Nico smirked but then fell silent, just looking at her. The floodlights cast a soft glow on her face, highlighting her sharp yet delicate features. He hesitated for a moment before shifting slightly closer.
Without thinking too much, he reached out and gently took her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers. Aitana didn't pull away. Instead, she squeezed his hand back, her gaze flickering to their intertwined fingers before looking back at him.
"You better not forget me when you become a La Liga star," she teased, though her voice was softer than usual.
Nico scoffed. "Forget you? Not a chance."
Aitana studied him for a second before, without warning, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his shoulder.
Nico blinked in surprise but then melted into the hug, his arms coming around her instinctively. He held her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his. Her scent—something faintly floral, mixed with the crisp night air—filled his senses.
"I'll be back before you know it," he murmured, resting his chin lightly against her shoulder.
"You better be," she mumbled against him.
They stayed like that for a while, neither wanting to let go. For a moment, the world outside didn't matter—no upcoming loan, no matches, no expectations. Just the two of them, holding onto a moment that felt like it could last forever.
______________
On January 2, 2015, Nico arrived at Ciutat Esportiva Dani Jarque, Espanyol's first-team training ground. The winter air was crisp, his breath visible as he exhaled slowly, taking in his surroundings. This was his new battlefield.
He walked through the facility, noticing the differences from La Masia. Espanyol's training ground was smaller, less extravagant, yet it had an old-school charm to it. The walls were adorned with photos of club legends, the blue-and-white of Los Pericos standing proud.
As he made his way onto the pitch, players were already warming up, stretching, passing the ball around. Conversations lowered, glances were exchanged. They knew who he was—the Crown Jewel of La Masia, a Barcelona prodigy, now wearing their badge, if only temporarily. Some looked wary, others intrigued. Nico was used to the attention.
He spotted Sergio González, the head coach, standing near the technical area, arms crossed as he observed training. Taking a deep breath, Nico approached.
"Ah, Nico," González said, turning toward him with a firm nod. "Welcome to Espanyol."
Nico extended his hand. "Thank you, Coach. I'm ready to give my all."
González shook his hand, his grip strong. "That's exactly what I want to hear." He studied Nico for a second, as if sizing him up. "I won't lie to you—it won't be easy. We're in a tough spot. But I pushed to bring you here because I believe you can make a difference."
Nico nodded, his expression steady. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't think the same."
A smirk tugged at González's lips. "Good. Let's get you settled in."
As Nico followed him toward the group, he could feel the eyes of his new teammates on him. A new club, a new challenge, a new set of expectations. But his hunger, his ambition—those remained unchanged.
This was just the beginning.
____________
At Ciutat Esportiva Dani Jarque, the Espanyol training ground, the atmosphere buzzed with curiosity as Nico Cryuff walked onto the pitch. It was a crisp winter morning, the cold air carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the faint echoes of boots thudding against the ball. Sergio González, the head coach, had already been waiting for him, hands in his jacket pockets, observing him with an unreadable expression.
"Welcome to Espanyol, Nico," González said, offering a firm handshake. "I've been hearing about you for years. Let's see if you live up to the hype."
Nico grinned slightly, shaking his hand. "I plan to."
González turned to the gathered first-team squad, a mix of veterans and young talents. Among them stood Sergio García, Víctor Sánchez, Kiko Casilla, Álvaro González, Héctor Moreno, Lucas Vázquez, Felipe Caicedo, and Javi López—all watching him with a mix of intrigue and amusement.
The coach clapped his hands. "Alright, listen up! This is Nico Cryuff—I don't need to tell you who he is. La Masia's crown jewel, Barcelona's golden boy. He's here to help us for the next six months, so treat him like one of us."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the group.
Sergio García, the captain, smirked. "Damn, we got royalty now. You need us to bow, prince?"
Laughter followed. Nico chuckled. "No need for that, but if you want to, I won't stop you."
Víctor Sánchez crossed his arms, pretending to analyze him. "Wait, hold on. Weren't you the kid who scored something ridiculous? What was it again? 900 goals?"
Lucas Vázquez chimed in. "950 goals, 400 assists. Saw it on the news. Are we sure we signed a kid and not a footballing experiment?"
A few of the defenders whistled.
"That's a lot of goals," Héctor Moreno said, shaking his head. "Good thing you're on our side now."
"But the real question is," Álvaro González cut in with a smirk, "when we play against Barcelona, are you gonna take it easy on them?"
The squad quieted down, watching for his answer.
Nico's emerald-green eyes darkened slightly, his smirk widening. His voice was calm but carried weight.
"No," he said simply. "I'll make them regret loaning me off."
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then, Sergio García let out a low whistle.
"Shit," he muttered. "I like this kid."
Javi López clapped Nico on the shoulder. "Alright, hotshot. Let's see what you've got. Training starts now."
The jokes faded as they jogged onto the pitch. The time for banter was over. Now, it was time to prove himself.
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