Chapter 27 : Real Sociedad(2)
The second half had barely settled in, yet Real Sociedad already looked like a team drained of belief. Their pressing lacked urgency, their structure wavered under the weight of Espanyol's confidence. The visitors, on the other hand, moved the ball with an elegance that felt almost inevitable—like an artist painting his masterpiece, stroke by stroke.
It began deep in Espanyol's half, a patient exchange between Víctor Sánchez and José Cañas as they waited for an opening. The Sociedad players hovered uncertainly, reluctant to press too high, yet unwilling to sit back and absorb the pressure.
Then, in a flash, Espanyol sprang to life.
A clever switch of play sent the ball out wide to Lucas Vázquez, who immediately drove forward, his pace forcing Sociedad's full-back into a desperate retreat. Nico darted into space, dragging a defender with him, creating a passing lane. Vázquez didn't need a second invitation—he slid a pinpoint pass inside to Sergio García, who with one elegant flick, redirected it into the path of Felipe Caicedo.
Caicedo surged forward, the ball glued to his feet as he entered the final third. Sociedad's defenders scrambled, twisting and turning, trying to predict the next move. But the Ecuadorian was patient. He spotted an underlapping run from Javi López, and with the deftest of touches, he laid it off.
López, unmarked and surging into the box, wasted no time. He struck the ball first-time, rifling it past the helpless goalkeeper into the bottom corner.
The stadium fell into stunned silence.
The Sociedad fans watched in disbelief—it was too easy, too precise, too ruthless.
Espanyol's players wheeled away in celebration, swarming Javi López as the scoreboard flashed 3-0. The body language of the Sociedad players told the full story—heads down, hands on hips, the weight of defeat pressing on their shoulders.
They had come out with a dream of turning the match around. Instead, they were watching Espanyol tear them apart, piece by piece.
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For the past forty minutes, Real Sociedad threw everything forward, desperate to claw their way back into the match. Their forwards surged, their midfielders pressed, and their defenders even ventured into Espanyol's half in a last-ditch effort. But Espanyol's defense stood firm—unshaken, immovable, like a fortress braving a relentless siege. Every cross was cleared, every shot blocked, every moment of danger smothered before it could truly threaten.
Then, in the 91st minute, everything stopped.
A loose pass in midfield—a moment of hesitation from a Sociedad player—and suddenly, Nico had the ball at his feet.
The stadium held its breath.
With two defenders closing in, he barely seemed to notice. A sharp feint to the left, an elastico to the right—gone. The first man left grasping at thin air. The second lunged desperately, but Nico was already past him, gliding forward like a shadow, the ball never leaving his control.
Then he stopped.
39 meters from goal.
His gaze lifted—first at the goal, then at the ball.
The moment stretched endlessly, as if the universe itself had paused, waiting.
Everyone in the stadium felt it. Something was about to happen.
Then he struck it.
A clean, devastating hit—the sound of boot meeting ball like a symphony's final note.
The ball soared through the night sky, spinning, curving, dipping. The goalkeeper, fully stretched, reached out with everything he had—fingertips just inches away. But it wasn't enough.
The ball kissed the post.
And then, it was in.
As the ball nestled into the net, the Espanyol supporters erupted, their voices merging into one deafening roar that shook the very foundations of the stadium. On the pitch, Nico didn't slow down.
He sprinted toward them, his emerald-green eyes ablaze, his silky black hair bouncing with every step. Then, in one fluid motion, he grabbed his jersey, ripped it off, and flung it onto the ground.
The floodlights illuminated his chiseled physique—the lean yet powerful frame of a footballing prodigy sculpted by years of dedication. His muscles tensed as he flexed, standing before the fans like a warrior victorious in battle.
The Espanyol supporters went wild.
Arms stretched toward him, chants of his name filled the air, and some fans even clutched their heads in disbelief at what they had just witnessed. A 14-year-old had just scored one of the greatest goals they had ever seen.
Meanwhile, the Real Sociedad players could only watch in stunned silence. What more could they do? They had fought, pressed, and chased, yet this boy—this prince—had put them to the sword.
As Nico stood there, basking in the moment, he knew one thing—this was his kingdom now.
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The referee's whistle echoed through the stadium, signaling the end of Real Sociedad's nightmare and the completion of Espanyol's masterpiece. A dominant 4-0 victory, sealed in ruthless fashion, left the home fans in stunned silence while the traveling Espanyol supporters sang with unfiltered joy.
At the heart of it all? Nico Cruyff.
Another hat-trick. Another statement to the footballing world.
Ian Darke:
"An absolute demolition job by Espanyol, orchestrated by their teenage prodigy! Nico Cruyff, take a bow! A hat-trick, a moment of pure magic from distance, and a performance that will be talked about for weeks!"
Axel Torres:
"It's hard to believe what we're witnessing. He's 14, but he plays like he's been dominating La Liga for years. The way he reads the game, the way he executes—it's unreal. This wasn't just a hat-trick; it was a masterclass in footballing brilliance."
As he walked off the pitch, jersey back on, sweat glistening under the stadium lights, the cameras stayed locked on him. A 14-year-old had come to the Anoeta and dismantled Real Sociedad with elegance, power, and sheer genius.
The Espanyol players embraced each other, celebrating their emphatic win, while Real Sociedad's squad trudged off, defeated in every sense. Their game plan had been shattered, their resolve broken, and in the end, they had no answer for the boy in blue and white.
Ian Darke:
"And that final goal… 39 meters out? Off the post and in? That's a goal that will be replayed over and over. The fans in this stadium won't forget this night anytime soon!"
Axel Torres:
"He's not just scoring goals—he's putting on a show. The confidence, the technique, the celebration… he knows exactly what he's doing. And right now, the football world is watching."
The headlines would write themselves. A second La Liga hat-trick. Another moment of magic. The Prince of La Masia continues his reign.
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CBS Sports – Post-Match Analysis
The CBS Sports studio buzzed with excitement as Kate Abdo welcomed the panel back from the break. The atmosphere was electric—how could it not be after what they had just witnessed? Espanyol's 4-0 dismantling of Real Sociedad, led by 14-year-old Nico Cruyff.
Kate Abdo:
"Welcome back to CBS Sports, and gentlemen, what did we just witness? Another hat-trick, another statement performance—Nico Cruyff is making La Liga look like his personal playground!"
Thierry Henry:
"Kate, I have no words. I really don't. That's his second La Liga hat-trick at 14 years old. And let's talk about that third goal—39 meters out? Off the post? That's the kind of goal you score in your dreams. The confidence, the execution—this kid is special."
Micah Richards:
(laughing) "I mean, Thierry, come on! Who even thinks about shooting from there? And the way he just stopped, looked at the ball, looked at the goal—you knew something was coming! And then the celebration? Taking off the shirt, flexing in front of the Espanyol fans? This kid is a star already."
Jamie Carragher:
"You know what I love about him? It's not just the talent, it's the mentality. He plays like he belongs at this level. 14 years old, running the show, embarrassing defenders—he's got skill, vision, and most importantly, he's got that killer instinct."
Kate Abdo:
"And let's talk about his numbers this season. Since joining Espanyol on loan, Nico has played 13 matches (8 in La Liga, 4 in the Copa del Rey) and has already recorded 15 goals (11 in La Liga, 4 in the Copa) and 10 assists (6 in La Liga, 4 in the Copa). Those aren't just impressive numbers for a young player—those are elite numbers for any forward in world football!"
Thierry Henry:
"Look, we've seen young talents before. But this? This is different. He's not just keeping up—he's dominating grown professionals. That's what makes him special."
Micah Richards:
"And let's be honest, this won't be his last hat-trick. He's just getting started."
Jamie Carragher:
"Absolutely. If anything, this is just the beginning."
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Kate Abdo:
"Alright, gentlemen, I want to show you something. We've been talking about Nico's talent, but let's take a look at this…"
The screen lit up, displaying a side-by-side comparison—on one side, a famous image of prime Cristiano Ronaldo, shirtless, flexing his sculpted physique, and on the other, Nico Cruyff from tonight, doing the exact same celebration after his 39-meter screamer.
The studio erupted in laughter and disbelief.
Micah Richards: (eyes wide, laughing)
"Oh my days! Look at that! Look at the confidence! The boy's built like a superhero at 14!"
Thierry Henry: (chuckling, shaking his head)
"You know what, I respect it. The moment, the goal, the celebration—he knew exactly what he was doing. That's a player who wants to own the spotlight."
Jamie Carragher: (grinning)
"He's got the football, the physique, and the mentality… you're telling me he's not the second coming of CR7?"
Kate Abdo: (laughing)
"So, are we looking at the next Cristiano Ronaldo?"
Jamie Carragher: (grinning, shaking his head)
"You know Barcelona fans are going to kill us for this, right? Comparing their 'Prince of La Masia' to Ronaldo?, I'm telling you, if this clip reaches Barcelona fans, we're finished!"
The camera zoomed in on the comparison again—prime Cristiano Ronaldo, a footballing legend, and Nico Cruyff, a 14-year-old phenom carving his own path.
The resemblance was uncanny. The pose. The physique. The aura.
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Kate Abdo: (grinning as she leans forward)
"And since we're on the topic of Barcelona… yesterday, they took care of business against Osasuna, winning 4-1 to book their place in the Copa del Rey final."
She lets the moment sink in before delivering the twist.
"And guess who they'll be facing?"
A brief silence filled the studio before Micah Richards started laughing.
Micah Richards: (shaking his head)
"Oh, this is pure cinema! The Barcelona derby in a cup final?! You couldn't script it better!"
Thierry Henry: (nodding, smiling)
"Think about the weight of this… La Masia's Crown Jewel, Nico, facing Barcelona—his parent club—for a trophy. He's spent years at La Masia, built his name there, and now, he's standing in their way."
Jamie Carragher: (grinning as he gestures toward the screen)
"The irony is incredible. Barcelona sent him on loan for experience, and now, that very decision might come back to haunt them in a final. If he performs the way he has been, Barcelona fans might not know whether to celebrate or cry."
Kate Abdo: (smirking)
"A final with history, rivalry, and the best young talent in Spain at the center of it. The stakes couldn't be higher."
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After the match, as the adrenaline slowly faded and the celebrations died down, Nico lay on his bed, still buzzing from his performance. The three goals replayed in his head, but so did something else—Aitana.
He picked up his phone and called her.
"Hola, campeona," he said, grinning.
"Hola, hat-trick hero," she replied teasingly. "I saw the goals. You really had to flex, huh?"
Nico chuckled. "Had to let them know."
"Mmm," Aitana hummed. "That last goal… 39 meters out? You had no right."
"Had to try," he said smugly.
"I swear, you love making goalkeepers suffer," she laughed. "Also, taking your shirt off? You just wanted an excuse to show off your abs, didn't you?"
Nico smirked. "Maybe… but can you blame me?"
Aitana rolled her eyes, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "You're impossible."
"And you're stuck with me," he said softly.
She paused for a second before replying, "Wouldn't have it any other way."
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Nico hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his voice a little softer now.
"Hey… Aitana?"
"Hmm?"
He took a breath. "Do you want to meet my grandparents?"
There was a brief silence on the other end, and then he heard her let out a small laugh, almost as if she was caught off guard. "Wait… for real?"
"Yeah," Nico said, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, they already know about us, and, well… you're important to me. I want you to meet them properly."
Aitana was quiet for a second before she spoke again, her voice softer now. "I'd love to, Nico."
He smiled, relieved. "Great. How about this weekend?"
"Sounds perfect," Aitana said, then after a brief pause, she let out a breathy laugh. "Wow… this is surreal. I mean, I'm actually going to meet Johan Cruyff. The Johan Cruyff. The founder of La Masia. Nico, do you realize how insane that is?"
Nico chuckled. "Yeah? Well, to me, he's just my grandfather who nags me about my passing and tells me to keep my head up when I dribble."
"Just your grandfather?" Aitana repeated, shaking her head. "You do realize he's the reason both of us are even playing football the way we do, right?"
"I know, I know," Nico grinned. "But trust me, he's just an old man who complains when I leave my boots lying around."
Aitana laughed. "Still, I think I might be more nervous to meet him than I was during my Champions League debut."
"Don't be," Nico reassured her. "He's going to love you. My grandmother too. And besides…" He smirked. "You're already family to me."
Aitana was silent for a moment before she spoke, her voice softer now. "You're such a smooth talker, you know that?"
Nico chuckled. "I try."
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