Chapter 13 : Madrid(1)

January 9, 2015 – Matchday at the Santiago Bernabéu

The streets of Madrid were alive with anticipation. The sun had set hours ago, but the lights of the Santiago Bernabéu burned bright, illuminating the crisp winter air. Over 80,000 fans filled the legendary stadium, their voices blending into a deafening roar as they awaited kickoff.

The Espanyol team bus weaved through the city, escorted by police motorcycles. Through the tinted windows, Nico gazed at the sight before him—the fortress of Real Madrid, a cathedral of football where legends were made and broken.

The bus turned onto Avenida de Concha Espina, where a sea of Madridistas stood, waving white scarves, chanting, and jeering as they saw the Espanyol crest on the side of the vehicle.

Inside the bus, the atmosphere was a mix of focus and tension. Some players had their headphones in, others sat in silence. Nico, seated near the window, remained calm. This was what he had dreamed of.

As the bus pulled up to the entrance, the massive "REAL MADRID CF" sign loomed overhead. The doors hissed open, and one by one, the players stepped off. Cameras flashed as reporters and photographers captured their arrival.

Nico was the last to step off. Dressed in his Espanyol tracksuit, he pulled his hood up slightly, blocking out the noise. The world was watching him tonight. The 14-year-old who shook La Liga on his debut was now stepping into the biggest stage in Spanish football.

Inside the stadium, the Real Madrid squad was already warming up. Cristiano Ronaldo, standing near the tunnel, glanced toward Espanyol's arriving players. His gaze lingered on the young kid at the back.

A smirk played on Ronaldo's lips. He had heard the hype. Now, he wanted to see if it was real.

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The air inside the Espanyol locker room was thick with tension. The muffled sound of 80,000 Madridistas chanting outside created an almost suffocating atmosphere, but inside, only the voice of Sergio González—Espanyol's head coach—mattered.

The players sat on the benches, some taping their socks, others adjusting their shin guards, but all with their eyes locked on the whiteboard at the front. Sergio stood beside it, marker in hand, drawing arrows and circles with swift precision.

Sergio González: "Listen up, we all know who we're up against. This is Real Madrid. They will dominate possession. They will press high. They will look to kill this game early. But we will not roll over. We will be compact, disciplined, and lethal on the counterattack."

He tapped the board where Cristiano Ronaldo, Bale, and Benzema's names were circled in red.

Sergio González: "These three? They are world-class. They will try to pull us apart, especially on the wings. We don't give them space. Stay narrow, keep your shape, force them wide. Make them cross, not cut inside."

He then turned to Nico, who sat calmly, his fingers interlocked as he listened.

Sergio González: "Nico, you will start on the left wing. When we defend, drop deep and help out. But when we break forward—" He drew a long arrow streaking from midfield to the final third. "—I want you running at their full-backs. They'll expect you to pass it off, but I want you to be aggressive. Take them on. Make them panic."

The assistant coach stepped in, distributing water bottles while nodding in agreement.

Sergio González: "They'll press hard, but that leaves them exposed. We hit them with speed. If we get a set piece, Nico—" He pointed at him, his tone firm. "That free kick of yours… if we win one in a good position, take it."

The room was silent. Then, the captain clapped his hands, rallying the players.

Sergio González: "Alright, gentlemen. This is not just any match. This is the Bernabéu. Let's show them who we are."

The players rose to their feet. A few claps. A few nods. Then, as the match official knocked on the door, signaling "Five minutes to tunnel", the team huddled together.

Nico exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. He had never felt nerves before a match. And tonight was no different.

This was his stage.

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As the players emerged from the tunnel, the Santiago Bernabéu roared to life, a sea of white scarves and flashing camera lights. The Espanyol squad, dressed in their blue and white kits, walked onto the pitch, fully aware of the challenge ahead.

Ian Darke: "Good evening, everyone. This is no ordinary night in La Liga. At just 14 years old, Nico Cruyff is about to make history once again. The youngest player ever to feature in this league, the youngest to score, the youngest to score a brace, a hat-trick… and tonight, he faces the ultimate test—Real Madrid at the Bernabéu."

Àxel Torres: "It's a staggering achievement, Ian. 'The Crown Jewel of La Masia' is playing well beyond his years, but tonight is different. Madrid's defense, their experience, their physicality—it's a whole new level. How will this teenage prodigy handle the occasion?"

The camera zoomed in on Nico, his hazel eyes scanning the stadium, his expression calm despite the magnitude of the moment. Around him stood seasoned professionals, some of the greatest players of the modern era. Across from him, Cristiano Ronaldo, Gareth Bale, Luka Modrić—icons of the game.

Ian Darke: "Let's take a look at the starting lineups, beginning with the reigning champions, Real Madrid. Between the sticks, the ever-reliable Iker Casillas. The back four—Dani Carvajal, Pepe, Sergio Ramos, and Marcelo. In midfield, Luka Modrić, Toni Kroos, and Isco. And up front, the devastating trio of Gareth Bale, Karim Benzema, and Cristiano Ronaldo."

Àxel Torres: "And now, Espanyol. Kiko Casilla starts in goal. The backline consists of Álvaro González, Héctor Moreno, Diego Colotto, and Juan Fuentes. In midfield, Víctor Sánchez and José Cañas hold, while Lucas Vázquez and Nico Cruyff take up the wide positions. Leading the attack, Felipe Caicedo and Sergio García."

Ian Darke: "A mix of experience and youthful energy in that Espanyol side, but there's no denying the key storyline here. Nico Cruyff, the teenager with a last name that carries the weight of football history. Can he rise to the occasion?"

The whistle blew, and with it, history awaited.

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The match began with an intensity that was expected from the reigning European champions. Real Madrid, playing at home, wasted no time asserting their dominance. Their passes were crisp, their movement fluid, and their attacking intent relentless. Espanyol, despite their defensive structure, found themselves pinned back inside their own half.

Cristiano Ronaldo and Gareth Bale stretched the flanks, while Luka Modrić and Toni Kroos dictated the tempo in midfield. Madrid's attack was suffocating, pressing high, winning second balls, and launching wave after wave of offensive pressure.

In the 23rd minute, Real Madrid came close to doubling their advantage. Toni Kroos, given too much space outside the box, unleashed a thunderous strike from 25 yards out. The ball rocketed towards the top corner, but Kiko Casilla, at full stretch, managed to get his fingertips on it, pushing it wide for a corner.

The Bernabéu erupted in anticipation as Kroos jogged over to take the corner. He raised his hand, signaling the movement, then delivered a perfect cross into the heart of the penalty area. The ball curled towards the penalty spot, where Cristiano Ronaldo, always a predator in the air, rose above everyone.

With his signature hang-time, Ronaldo powered his header past Casilla, sending the ball into the back of the net. The stadium exploded in celebration. 1-0 to Real Madrid.

Ian Darke: "Inevitable! Absolutely inevitable! Cristiano Ronaldo with a towering header, and Real Madrid take the lead!"

Àxel Torres: "That's just world-class. Kroos' delivery was pinpoint, but look at Ronaldo—his leap, his positioning, his execution—this is why he's one of the greatest of all time."

(sorry guys I lost the draft of the game, so i had to rewrite this again . It may not be that good , so please bare with me for this match)

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Real Madrid continued their relentless assault, suffocating Espanyol with their high press and rapid ball circulation. Every Espanyol clearance seemed to find its way back to a Madrid player, keeping the visitors under constant siege.

But football is unpredictable. It only takes one mistake to change the flow of a match.

In the 37th minute, under no real pressure, Dani Carvajal attempted a quick pass back to Raphaël Varane, but the ball was slightly underhit. Víctor Sánchez, reading the play, lunged in and intercepted, immediately launching a high, searching pass over the top.

The Santiago Bernabéu held its breath.

The ball dropped perfectly for Nico Cruyff on the right flank, just past the halfway line. Marcelo rushed forward to close him down, but Nico, with a feint of his shoulders, sent the full-back lunging the wrong way. A quick La Croqueta followed—shifting the ball effortlessly from his right foot to his left—leaving Marcelo behind.

Now, he was in full stride.

Luka Modrić, seeing the danger, sprinted to cut him off, but Nico executed a flawless Marseille Turn, spinning away from the Croatian maestro like a dancer in motion. The Bernabéu gasped. One defender down. Then two.

And then he saw it. The space. The opportunity.

From 30 meters out, Nico set himself. One step. Two steps. Boom.

His right foot struck through the ball with venom, the contact crisp, the technique flawless. The ball exploded off his boot, spinning viciously through the air. Iker Casillas, one of the greatest goalkeepers in history, saw it late. He dove—stretching, reaching—but the ball was already past him, crashing into the top-left corner.

Silence. Shock. Then an eruption.

Ian Darke: "What have we just witnessed?! Nico Cruyff, at 14 years old, has just scored an absolute screamer at the Santiago Bernabéu!"

Àxel Torres: "That is not just a goal. That is a statement. Look at this—takes on Marcelo, spins past Modrić, and then... my goodness! Casillas had no chance! This boy is special!"

Nico stood there for a moment, staring at the stunned Madrid crowd. Then, with an air of regality, he ran to the corner flag and bowed—a prince acknowledging his kingdom.

The scoreboard now read Real Madrid 1-1 Espanyol. The boy had arrived.

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Espanyol Locker Room

The players trudged into the locker room, their jerseys damp with sweat, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and determination. The Santiago Bernabéu was a battlefield, and they had survived the first half against a relentless Real Madrid.

Espanyol's coach, Sergio González, stood in the center, his hands on his hips, scanning the faces of his players. His voice was calm but firm as he addressed the team.

Sergio González:

"We are still in this. 1-1 at the Bernabéu is no small feat. We knew they would come at us, and they will do the same in the second half. But we have shown them that we are not here to be pushed aside."

His gaze turned to the backline.

"Javi, Álvaro—stay tight on Ronaldo. Don't let him turn. When Bale cuts inside, track his movement. We cannot give him space. Héctor, communicate with Víctor and Cañas, make sure Modrić and Kroos don't have time on the ball."

He then turned his attention to the midfielders.

"Víctor, Cañas—hold your shape. Don't rush in, force them to play wide. They want to break through the middle, but if we stay disciplined, we can force them into mistakes like the one that led to our goal."

Finally, he looked at the attack. His eyes met Sergio García's first.

"Sergio, keep dragging Varane out of position. The more we stretch them, the more space we create."

Then, he turned to Nico Cruyff.

"Nico—keep running at them. They're terrified of you. Marcelo is pushing up, but if we catch them on the break, you'll have the space to exploit. Use your dribbling, draw them in, force them to foul you."

Nico nodded, his expression unreadable but his mind sharp.

Sergio González clapped his hands. His voice grew sharper now, the final instructions ringing clear.

"In the last ten minutes, I want us to be smart. Draw fouls in dangerous areas. If they press too high, they will leave gaps behind. Nico, Sergio—win us free kicks in good positions. We know what happens when we get them."

There was no need to say it. The entire team knew.

All eyes turned to Nico, who simply gave a small, confident smirk.

The whistle for the second half loomed. The battle was far from over.

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Real Madrid Locker Room

The air inside the Real Madrid dressing room was tense. The players sat in silence, catching their breath, their white jerseys stained with sweat. They had dominated the first half, yet somehow, Espanyol had clawed their way back.

Carlo Ancelotti stood at the center of the room, his arms crossed, his expression calm but serious. He didn't shout. He didn't need to. His players knew they had let their control slip.

Carlo Ancelotti:

"We are controlling the game, but control means nothing if we don't finish them off. We cannot allow them to counter like that again. One mistake—one pass—and suddenly, we are level."

His gaze moved to Toni Kroos and Luka Modrić.

"Toni, Luka—keep the tempo high. Do not let them settle. Move the ball quickly, force them to chase shadows. When you have space, take the shot. Their goalkeeper has already been tested. Keep testing him."

He turned to Cristiano Ronaldo.

"Cris, keep pulling their defense out. You are getting chances, and you will get more. But be patient. The goals will come."

Then, his focus shifted to the defense. Sergio Ramos and Raphael Varane were already nodding, knowing what was coming.

"We cannot get careless at the back. They are waiting for us to make a mistake. If we give them a chance, they will take it. Stay compact. No reckless pressing."

Finally, he looked at Marcelo.

"Marcelo, be careful. You are pushing up too much. He is fast, he is technical, and he has no fear. If you leave too much space, he will punish us."

Ancelotti paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. He looked around at his players, then delivered his final instruction before they headed back out onto the pitch.

"One more thing—never give that kid a free kick."

The players exchanged glances. They had seen what Nico Cruyff did to the ball in training clips, but now they had seen it live.

They nodded. They understood.

The second half was about to begin.

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