Chapter 12 : Prelude to Madrid

Nico lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his body still buzzing with the adrenaline of his La Liga debut. The notifications on his phone were endless—messages from teammates, journalists, even former La Masia coaches congratulating him. But then, in the middle of it all, his phone started ringing.

He glanced at the screen. Andrés Iniesta.

A small smile formed on his lips as he picked up."Hola, Mister Iniesta."

"Nico, stop calling me Mister. It makes me feel old," Iniesta chuckled.

"Fine, fine," Nico laughed. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to say… that was ridiculous," Iniesta said. "A hat trick on your debut? The youngest to ever do it? And that free kick—" he let out a soft laugh. "Invisible Hand, in La Liga. The whole world saw it today."

Nico smirked. "Well, you saw it first in training."

"I did. But seeing it in training and seeing you pull it off under the lights, in a real match, are two different things. You made it look effortless, Nico. That's the scary part."

Nico was quiet for a moment, letting the words sink in. Coming from Iniesta, it meant everything.

"I've always told people that La Masia creates special players," Iniesta continued, "but you, Nico… you're something different. I don't know how long you'll be at Espanyol, but keep proving why Barcelona should never have let you go on loan."

Nico took a deep breath. "I will. When I return, I want to be undeniable."

"That's the right mindset," Iniesta said. "Enjoy your night, crack. You earned it."

The call ended, Just as Nico set his phone down, it buzzed again. His screen lit up with a name that made his heart skip a beat—Aitana.

He smiled, answering the call immediately.

"Hola," he said, his voice soft.

"Hola, estrella," she replied, her tone teasing but filled with warmth.

"Estrella, huh?" Nico chuckled. "I thought you were the star between us."

"Not tonight," she said. "Tonight, the whole world is talking about you. Youngest to play, youngest to score, youngest to score a hat trick, youngest to score a free kick... Should I keep going?"

"I wouldn't mind," he joked.

She laughed, and for a moment, the exhaustion in his body melted away.

"I watched the game," she admitted, her voice a little softer now. "I knew you'd do well, but that was… incredible. The free kick—your Invisible Hand—everyone saw it. I saw the reactions. They don't know how you do it, Nico."

"Neither do I sometimes," he admitted, lying back against his pillow. "It just happens. Like the ball listens to me."

There was a pause, a comfortable silence between them before she spoke again.

"I wish I could've been there," she said.

"You were," Nico replied.

"How?"

"Because when I was taking that free kick, I was thinking about all the times we trained together. You're the only one who's seen every version of it. So, in a way… you were there with me."

Another silence. This time, he could hear her breath hitch slightly, like she wasn't sure what to say. Then, finally, in a voice quieter than before, she whispered—

"I miss you."

Nico felt his chest tighten, warmth spreading through him.

"I miss you too," he said.

"Then come visit soon," she murmured.

"I will. As soon as I get a break."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Another pause.

"Get some rest, Nico," she finally said, her voice gentle. "And congratulations. I'm so proud of you."

"Gracias, Aitana," he whispered.

As the call ended, he placed his phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling once more—but this time, there was a smile on his face.

__________

The next morning, Nico woke up feeling refreshed. The adrenaline from his historic debut had settled, but the excitement still lingered in his chest.

He went through his usual morning routine—brushed his teeth, stretched a little, then stepped into a cold shower. The water ran over his body, washing away the last traces of sleep. As he stood under the stream, he thought about last night—Aitana's call, Iniesta's message, the way his name was probably still trending across Spain. It felt surreal.

After drying off, he dressed in a simple black Nike tracksuit, laced up his sneakers, and headed to the kitchen. His breakfast, carefully prepared by the club's nutritionist, was waiting for him. A neatly packed meal—high in protein, balanced in carbs, just enough to fuel his next session.

He grabbed the container, checking the contents briefly. Scrambled eggs, avocado, whole-grain toast, and a smoothie on the side. The usual.

As he picked it up, he glanced at his phone—already a few notifications from the club's group chat. His teammates were still buzzing about yesterday's match. He smirked, shook his head, and made his way to the dining table, ready to start his day.

___________

As Nico sat at the dining table, unpacking his breakfast, his grandparents were already seated, sipping their morning coffee. Johan Cruyff glanced at him over the rim of his cup, a small smile playing on his lips. Danny Coster, on the other hand, had a knowing look in her eyes.

"You barely slept last night, didn't you?" Danny said, setting her cup down.

Nico smirked as he took a bite of his toast. "I slept fine, grandma."

Johan chuckled, shaking his head. "Lying already? I could hear you pacing in your room. Your head is still buzzing from the match, isn't it?"

Nico chewed slowly before nodding. "I guess... It still doesn't feel real. A debut, a hat-trick, breaking records—two days ago, I was just training. Now suddenly, the whole world is talking about me."

Danny reached over and gently patted his hand. "That's because you've worked for this, Nico. You've earned this moment."

Johan leaned forward, his sharp eyes studying his grandson. "But don't let this be the peak. You know this is just the beginning, right?"

Nico met his grandfather's gaze and nodded. "Of course. This was just one game. I want more. I need more."

Johan smiled proudly. "Good. Then enjoy this moment, but don't get comfortable. Because now, defenders will start studying you. Coaches will plan against you. The hard part starts now."

Nico wiped his mouth with a napkin, leaning back in his chair. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

Danny chuckled, shaking her head. "You and your grandfather are exactly the same. Always thinking about the next step."

Johan grinned. "That's the Cruyff way."

Nico laughed softly, then took another bite of his breakfast. No matter how big his name got, moments like this—sitting here with the two people who had raised him, who had believed in him from the very start—these were the things that truly mattered.

____________

January 7, 2015

The winter chill hung in the air at Ciutat Esportiva Dani Jarque, but the energy on the training ground was electric. The players were locked in, the tension palpable. In four days, they would march into the Santiago Bernabéu, a stadium where dreams were either made or shattered. Real Madrid was waiting.

Nico stood among his teammates, sweat dripping from his forehead as he finished another set of sprints. He wasn't just training—he was preparing for war. His lungs burned, his legs ached, but he wouldn't stop. He had already proven himself against Eibar, but this was different. This was Real Madrid, the biggest club in the world.

Sergio González clapped his hands, calling everyone into a huddle. His expression was serious, his voice carrying authority.

"Listen up! Madrid is no joke. You give them an inch, they'll take a mile. You hesitate for even a second, and they'll tear you apart. We don't go there to admire their stadium, we go there to fight. We go there to show them we belong!"

The players nodded, determination in their eyes. Sergio scanned the group, then locked eyes with Nico.

"And you, wonder boy. You ready for this?"

Nico wiped his brow, taking a deep breath before flashing a small grin. "I was born ready."

A few chuckles rippled through the squad, but there was no doubt that the kid meant every word.

Sergio smirked. "Good. Because we'll need your magic. But don't get carried away. Play smart, play quick, and when you get the chance—punish them!"

They moved straight into tactical drills. Madrid played fast, aggressive football, but their fullbacks pushed high. That left space behind them. Sergio wanted Espanyol to stay compact, press when the moment was right, and break forward with speed.

The team practiced transitions—how quickly they could turn defense into attack. The midfielders had to find Nico early, give him space to run. Every pass had to be perfect, every movement precise. They went over set pieces, corners, and defensive positioning. The goal was to frustrate Madrid, to force them into mistakes.

During a short water break, Felipe Caicedo slung an arm around Nico's shoulder, grinning.

"So, kid... how do you feel knowing you're about to face Cristiano Ronaldo at the Bernabéu?"

Nico smirked, wiping his face with his sleeve. "He should be the one nervous. He has to face me."

The squad burst into laughter.

"Man, this kid is crazy," Víctor Álvarez shook his head, still chuckling. "What do they feed you at La Masia?"

Nico shrugged. "Just normal food… and a lot of defenders to dribble past."

"Bro, you better not try dribbling past Ramos like that," Álvaro González laughed. "That guy will send you into next week."

Nico raised an eyebrow. "If he catches me."

Even Kiko Casilla, the goalkeeper, chuckled. "Alright, superstar. If you score at the Bernabéu, you have to treat the whole team to dinner."

Nico folded his arms, pretending to think. "If I score at the Bernabéu, you guys should be treating me."

The team howled with laughter, but they all knew—Nico wasn't joking. He wasn't afraid. He was stepping into Madrid's home, and he was ready to shake it to its core.

The training session ended with tired legs but focused minds. The challenge ahead was massive, but Nico didn't feel pressure. He felt excitement. The Bernabéu was a fortress. Real Madrid was a monster.

But monsters could be slain.

And he was ready to make history.

_______

The night before the match, January 8, 2015, Nico lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The dim glow of the city lights filtered through his window, casting faint shadows across the room. His body was exhausted from the intense week of training, but his mind refused to rest.

Tomorrow, he would step onto the pitch at the Santiago Bernabéu.

It was a stadium where legends were made. The sheer thought of playing there, under those bright floodlights, in front of tens of thousands of Madridistas, sent a shiver down his spine. He had dreamed of this moment in his past life, and now, at just 14 years old, he was about to live it.

He turned on his side and reached for his phone on the nightstand. It had become a habit—a routine, almost—calling her before bed. He tapped her name, and after a few rings, her voice came through.

"You're calling late today."

Nico smiled. "You were waiting?"

Aitana scoffed playfully. "No, I just noticed, that's all."

"You totally were."

There was a pause, then a soft laugh. "Maybe a little."

Nico let out a small chuckle, adjusting his pillow. "Big game tomorrow."

"I know," she said. "Real Madrid at the Bernabéu… It's crazy. Are you nervous?"

He exhaled, thinking about it. "Not really. I feel… ready."

Aitana was quiet for a second. "I watched your match against Eibar. You were incredible. But this… this is Madrid. It won't be easy."

"I know," Nico said. "But I don't want it to be easy. I want the challenge."

She sighed, amused. "You really are insane."

"Maybe. Or maybe I just love football too much."

She hummed in agreement. "You know I'll be watching, right?"

That made him pause. The thought of her watching made his heart beat just a little faster. "Yeah?"

"Of course," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "How could I not?"

Nico grinned. "Then I'll make sure to put on a show."

Aitana chuckled. "You better. If you score, do the 'A' celebration."

"The 'A'?"

"For Aitana," she said, her voice quieter now.

Nico felt warmth spread through his chest. "Alright," he whispered. "If I score, I'll do it."

She didn't say anything for a moment, but he could hear her breathing softly through the phone. It was comforting.

"You should sleep," she finally said. "You have history to make tomorrow."

Nico smirked. "Goodnight, Aitana."

"Goodnight, Nico."

He hung up, placing the phone back on the nightstand. His heart was still beating a little faster than before, but this time, it wasn't just because of the match.

Tomorrow, the world would watch.

Tomorrow, history would be written.

______