Chapter 10 : Debut

By the end of training, Ciutat Esportiva Dani Jarque felt like it had been struck by a storm. The Espanyol players, who had started the session with playful banter and teasing remarks, now stood around in stunned silence.

Nico had left them all shocked.

He had danced through defenders like they were training cones, slipping past them with the effortless grace of a hot knife through butter. His dribbling was absurd, his touch immaculate, and his pace? Unbelievable. A 14-year-old shouldn't be this fast, this explosive—but he was.

Sergio García had tried to use his experience to contain him. Failed.

Álvaro González had gone in for a tackle, fully committed. Missed.

Lucas Vázquez had attempted to press him high up the pitch. Beaten.

Every time someone tried to stop him, Nico adjusted, flicking the ball past them, slipping through tight spaces, accelerating like a bullet. The veterans exchanged glances—they weren't dealing with an ordinary teenager.

Then came the moment that truly broke them.

During a short free-kick drill, Nico placed the ball down thirty meters out. The defenders were still catching their breath, watching him with curiosity.

"What's your style, kid?" Kiko Casilla asked from goal, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Nico smiled. "Invisible Hand."

The name meant nothing to them. Yet.

He took four steps back, eyes locked onto the goal, the fake wall set in front of him. He inhaled. Then, he struck the ball.

It swerved left. Then right. Then left again.

Kiko dived—too late. The ball curled into the top-right corner, brushing the net as it settled in.

Stunned silence.

Someone cursed under their breath.

"No way," Víctor Sánchez whispered.

"Alright, that was luck," Sergio García said, folding his arms. "Do it again."

Nico smirked. And he did.

Ten times.

Each shot followed the same impossible, mesmerizing pattern, carving through the air like it was being guided by an unseen force. Every single one landed in either the top-left or top-right corner.

After the tenth shot, Kiko Casilla stood there, hands on his hips, shaking his head.

"I give up."

The coach, Sergio González, who had been silently watching, walked forward and clapped his hands together.

"From now on," he said, his voice filled with certainty, "Nico takes our set pieces."

The players nodded—no one argued.

As they wrapped up training, walking off the pitch, Sergio García nudged Nico with his elbow.

"Hey, prince," he said with a grin. "Welcome to Espanyol."

___________

January 4, 2015 – Matchday

SD Eibar vs. RCD EspanyolEstadio Ipurua, Eibar, Spain

The bus rumbled through the narrow streets of Eibar, its dark blue exterior reflecting the cold January sky. The RCD Espanyol crest gleamed under the dim afternoon light, a symbol of a club seeking to rise beyond the shadows. Inside, the players sat in silence, some focused, some lost in thought. The faint hum of pre-match anticipation filled the air.

Nico Cruyff sat by the window, his hazel eyes scanning the Estadio Ipurua as it came into view—a compact, fortress-like stadium where the fans sat close, their voices bound to carry like thunder on the wind. He had seen grander arenas, trained on pitches where legends once played, but tonight, none of that mattered.

This was his first step into professional football.

The bus doors hissed open, and a gust of crisp Basque air rushed in. As he stepped out, boots clicking against the pavement, a chorus of whistles and jeers erupted from the home fans. Eibar supporters, clad in their red and blue scarves, leaned over the barricades, their voices sharp.

"Who's the kid?" one shouted."He's too young for this!" another laughed.

Nico didn't flinch. He had grown up surrounded by expectations, whispers of being Johan Cruyff's grandson, of being La Masia's prince. He didn't need to prove anything to the world—just to himself.

The squad entered the tunnel, the scent of fresh-cut grass and damp concrete mixing in the air. The low hum of the crowd outside grew louder. As the players began their warm-ups, Nico grabbed a ball and juggled it effortlessly, each touch feather-light, each movement precise.

___________

The Espanyol squad filed into the compact locker room of Estadio Ipurua, the air thick with anticipation. The scent of liniment and freshly laundered kits mingled, creating an atmosphere both familiar and electric. Nico Cruyff, the 14-year-old prodigy, found a spot on the wooden bench, his jersey emblazoned with the number 14—a symbol of his nascent journey.

Head coach Sergio González stood at the center, his presence commanding yet approachable. Appointed in May 2014, Sergio had transitioned seamlessly from leading Espanyol B to the senior team, bringing with him a philosophy rooted in tactical discipline and fluid play.

"Alright, gentlemen," Sergio began, his voice steady, "Eibar is formidable on their home turf. They press high and capitalize on any lapse in concentration. Our approach today hinges on maintaining possession and exploiting the flanks."

He turned his gaze to Nico, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Nico, you'll start on the right wing. Use your agility to stretch their defense, and don't hesitate to cut inside when the opportunity arises."

Nico nodded, his heart racing yet his exterior calm—a hallmark of his demeanor.

Sergio continued, outlining the defensive responsibilities and emphasizing the importance of transitions. The players absorbed his words, the gravity of the match settling in.

As the team prepared to take the field, Sergio's final words resonated: "Play with conviction, support each other, and remember—football is as much about heart as it is about skill."

With that, the players rose, a unified force ready to face the challenge ahead.

_________

As the players emerged from the tunnel into the cauldron of Estadio Ipurua, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation. The commentary team, comprising the seasoned Ian Darke and the insightful Àxel Torres, set the scene for the viewers.

Ian Darke: "Good evening, everyone. Tonight, we witness a historic moment in La Liga. At just 14 years old, Nico Cruyff steps onto the pitch, becoming the youngest player ever to grace this league. The weight of the Cruyff legacy rests on his young shoulders, and all eyes will be on him tonight."

Àxel Torres: "Indeed, Ian. Nico, affectionately dubbed 'The Crown Jewel of La Masia,' has been the subject of much speculation. His loan move to Espanyol is seen as a strategic step to grant him the playing time he couldn't secure at Barcelona. It will be fascinating to see how he adapts to the rigors of top-flight football."

The camera panned to the pitch as the teams lined up, and the commentators delved into the starting elevens.

Ian Darke: "Let's take a look at the lineups, starting with the hosts, Eibar. In goal, we have Xabi Irureta. The back four consists of Eneko Bóveda, Raúl Albentosa, Borja Ekiza, and Abraham. In midfield, it's Dani García and Javi Lara holding, with Saúl Berjón and Ander Capa on the flanks. Up front, Mikel Arruabarrena partners with Federico Piovaccari."

Àxel Torres: "Turning to Espanyol, Kiko Casilla starts between the sticks. The defense features Javi López, Álvaro González, Héctor Moreno, and Juan Fuentes. In midfield, Víctor Sánchez and José Cañas will anchor, with Lucas Vázquez and the young Nico Cruyff occupying the wings. Sergio García and Felipe Caicedo lead the attack."

Ian Darke: "A blend of experience and youth in that Espanyol side. All eyes, undoubtedly, will be on Nico Cruyff to see if he can live up to the monumental expectations."

As the referee's whistle signaled the start, the narrative of the match began to unfold, with history waiting to be written.

___________

The whistle pierced through the crisp Basque air, and like a coiled spring, Espanyol exploded forward. There was no hesitation, no cautious probing—just pure, relentless aggression. They came to take this match, not wait for it to unfold.

And at the heart of it all was Nico Cruyff.

At 14 years old, many wondered if he would shrink under the weight of expectation. But instead, he played like a man possessed. The ball felt like an extension of his body, dancing at his feet as he weaved through Eibar's press.

His first touch came early—a sharp pass from Víctor Sánchez found him near the touchline. The full-back charged in immediately, eager to test the boy's nerves. But Nico, ever composed, shifted his weight, stepping over the ball once, twice—then burst forward in a flash.

Ian Darke:

"Look at that! The first touch, the confidence—this is something special!"

The Eibar defender scrambled, trying to recover, but Nico was already two steps ahead. With space to work, he lifted his head, scanning the box. Felipe Caicedo had peeled away from his marker, calling for it. Without breaking stride, Nico whipped in a pinpoint cross—the kind that demanded to be finished.

Caicedo leaped, connected cleanly—but the ball whistled just over the bar.

A collective gasp rippled through the stadium.

Àxel Torres:

"That's a perfect delivery! The technique, the vision—this kid is playing like a veteran!"

Eibar tried to settle, to slow the tempo, but Espanyol weren't interested in patience. They pressed high, suffocating their opponents, and every time they won the ball back, they looked to one man. Nico.

Twenty minutes in, he had already announced himself. But he was just getting started.

Receiving the ball near the halfway line, he found himself face-to-face with Eibar's left-back. The defender stepped in cautiously, wary of being beaten again. Nico hesitated for a split second—then exploded.

La Croqueta.

A lightning-fast shift of the ball between his feet left the defender grasping at air. The crowd roared as Nico surged into space. He sprinted towards the box, but another defender was closing in fast.

No problem.

Marseille Turn.

With a spin, Nico left him behind, pirouetting into open space at the edge of the box. He cut inside, Pendulum feinting once, twice, forcing another defender to overcommit. With one final shift, he opened up his left foot—the shot was coming!

The stadium held its breath. Nico struck it cleanly, the ball curling towards the top corner—

But Xabi Irureta dived, stretching every inch to push it away!

A stunning save.

Yet as Nico jogged back into position, there was no frustration in his eyes. No disappointment. Just the quiet, unshaken confidence of someone who knew his moment was coming.

__________

Espanyol continued their relentless assault, probing and pressing, looking for the breakthrough. Eibar were pinned back, struggling to escape their own half. The pressure was suffocating, and finally, the moment came.

José Cañas won possession near the center circle, his outstretched foot poking the ball away from Dani García before immediately shifting it to Víctor Sánchez. The veteran midfielder took one look up, saw the blur of Nico Cruyff on the right flank, and launched a long, arching pass over the top.

Ian Darke:"And there he goes again! Sánchez spots the run—what a ball!"

The ball dropped from the heavens, spiraling toward the young prodigy. Nico didn't break stride. He watched it descend, judged the bounce, and with a deft touch off his thigh, he brought it under control without losing momentum.

Àxel Torres:"Sublime first touch! And now it's him against Albentosa!"

Raúl Albentosa, Eibar's towering center-back, rushed to close him down. A defender who prided himself on strength, on brute force—but Nico wasn't looking for a battle of power.

He was too quick. Too smooth. Too gifted.

As Albentosa lunged, Nico executed a Cryuff Turn, rolling the ball behind his standing leg and spinning past the challenge with effortless grace. The big defender was left flailing, twisted inside out.

One down.

Eneko Bóveda came flying in next, desperate to stop him before he reached the box. But Nico saw him coming. A swift Pendulum feint sent Bóveda shifting left, only for Nico to explode to the right, ghosting past him.

Two down.

Now, it was just him and the keeper. Xabi Irureta rushed forward, arms wide, trying to make himself as big as possible. But Nico? He was ice-cold. No panic. No hesitation.

A simple feint with his right foot—Irureta dived early.

And then came the finish.

With the softest of touches, Nico chipped the ball over the helpless keeper, watching as it floated gracefully before nestling into the net.

Silence.

Then, chaos.

The Espanyol bench erupted. The away fans exploded in euphoria. On the pitch, Nico stood frozen for a moment, his Emerald green eyes locked onto the goal he had just made history in.

Then, he turned, sprinting toward the corner flag, arms outstretched, a wide grin spreading across his face. At 14 years old, Nico Cruyff had just scored his first La Liga goal.

Ian Darke:"Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing something truly special! A star is born in La Liga!"

Àxel Torres:"That's not just a goal—that's a statement! Look at the composure, the elegance! This boy… this boy is different!"

As the ball kissed the net, time seemed to freeze. For a second, the world stood still—just Nico, the goal, and the echoes of history being rewritten. Then, like a dam breaking, the roar of the crowd flooded the stadium.

Nico didn't scream. He didn't jump. He didn't flail his arms wildly like most would after scoring their first professional goal.

Instead, he sprinted toward the corner flag with effortless grace, like a monarch walking toward his throne. As he reached the flag, he slowed, turned to face the away fans, and bowed.

Not a childish celebration. Not a show of arrogance.

A prince acknowledging his people.

Ian Darke:"Oh, now that… that is class! The Prince of La Masia makes his mark, and look at that celebration—pure royalty!"

His teammates rushed toward him—Caicedo, Víctor Sánchez, even the goalkeeper Kiko Casilla came sprinting the length of the pitch to join the celebration. They mobbed him, ruffling his silky black hair, patting his back, shouting in his ear.

Felipe Caicedo, grinning:"Eres un maldito fenómeno, niño!" (You're a damn phenomenon, kid!)

But through it all, Nico remained calm.

He glanced toward the Espanyol bench—his coach was clapping, shaking his head in disbelief. The substitutes were on their feet, some laughing, some staring in shock.

He looked up toward the VIP section. He knew his grandfather was watching.

And for just a moment, he allowed himself a small, knowing smile.

The Prince of La Masia had arrived.

________

Espanyol were in full control now, their attacks flowing like a symphony, and Nico was the conductor. Every touch, every movement, every feint carried purpose.

And then, in the 39th minute, he struck again.

It started with José Cañas once more, the midfield enforcer snapping into a challenge and winning the ball. Without hesitation, he slid a crisp pass toward Nico, who had drifted centrally, hovering in the half-space between Eibar's midfield and defense.

The moment the ball touched his foot, he felt the pressure—Dani García lunging in, desperate to stop him from turning.

But Nico was already ahead of him.

A simple Marseille Turn, his left foot rolling the ball behind his standing leg as he spun away, and Dani García was gone.

Ian Darke:"Oh my word! That spin! He makes it look effortless!"

The crowd gasped, but Nico wasn't finished.

Next came Dídac Vilà, stepping up to close him down. The fullback tried to stay low, tried to read his movement. But Nico, ever the artist, sold him a La Croqueta—left to right, a blink-and-you-miss-it shift of the ball between his feet.

Vilà lunged—too late.

Two down.

Now, space opened before him. He had time. He had options. But he didn't need them.

He had a moment of inspiration.

He saw Irureta off his line. The keeper, expecting a pass or a dribble, had taken a step forward. And that was all the invitation Nico needed.

Without breaking stride, he swung his left foot through the ball.

The strike was pure.

The ball rocketed off his boot, swerving, dipping, moving like it had a mind of its own. It started high, too high, but then, like it had been touched by the hand of the footballing gods, it dropped.

It dropped like a falcon diving for its prey.

Irureta scrambled, backpedaling desperately—but he had no chance. The ball slammed into the top corner, kissing the net with violent beauty.

Silence. Then an explosion.

The entire Espanyol bench leaped to their feet. The fans in the away section lost their minds.

Nico?

He just stood there for a moment, watching the replay on the big screen, as if confirming what he had just done.

Then, slowly, he jogged toward the same corner flag. And once again, he bowed.

Ian Darke:"STOP IT. JUST STOP IT! THIS KID IS UNBELIEVABLE!"

Àxel Torres:"We're watching history! A 14-year-old just scored that in La Liga?! Are you kidding me?!"

As his teammates surrounded him, ruffling his hair, patting his back, one thought echoed through the stadium.

This wasn't just a debut.

This was a coronation.

__________

As the players settled into the locker room, the air was thick with adrenaline. Espanyol led 2-0, thanks to Nico's record-breaking debut and a first half that had left Eibar stunned. But the game was far from over.

Standing in the center of the room, Sergio González, the Espanyol manager, clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. His voice was calm, but firm.

Sergio González:"Listen up. We've got the lead, but they're going to come at us hard in the second half. We can't afford to leave gaps at the back. So here's the plan—"

He turned to the whiteboard, where a rough sketch of the pitch was drawn.

"We sit deeper. We defend as a unit. Let them have the ball, let them get frustrated. But when we win it?"* His eyes moved across the squad, making sure everyone understood. "We break. Fast. Direct. Nico, Caicedo, you're our outlets. Use your pace. We kill this game on the counter."

He paused for a moment, then looked at Nico.

"And Nico?" He smirked slightly. "If they give you space again—punish them."

The team let out a few chuckles, but the message was clear. The second half would be a battle.

Espanyol wouldn't just defend their lead.

They would strike when the moment was right.

___________