Chapter 34 : Barcelona(1)

After the match against Athletic Club, Nico's next few days were spent in relentless training as Espanyol prepared for their biggest challenge yet—facing Barcelona away at the Camp Nou. Every session was intense, every drill sharper than ever. The anticipation for the derby was electric, the pressure immense.

The night before the match, as he lay in bed, his phone buzzed. Aitana was calling.

With a small smile, he picked up the call.

"You ready for tomorrow?" Aitana's voice was soft but laced with excitement.

Nico exhaled. "As ready as I'll ever be."

She chuckled. "Facing Barça at the Camp Nou… it's gonna be strange for you, huh?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I grew up dreaming of playing there, but never against them."

Aitana was quiet for a moment. "Do you want to win?"

Nico smirked. "What kind of question is that?"

"You know what I mean," she murmured. "It's your club, your home."

His voice was steady. "It's my home, but right now, Espanyol is my team. And tomorrow, I'm going there to win."

She sighed. "You're really something, you know that?"

Nico chuckled. "I try."

Aitana hesitated, then her voice softened. "Be careful, okay? I know how much this match means, but don't let them kick you around."

"I'll be fine, princesa," he reassured her. "You worry too much."

"Someone has to," she teased.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "Wish you were here."

Aitana was silent for a moment before quietly admitting, "Me too."

His voice was gentle. "Love you."

Aitana's reply was just as soft. "Love you too."

With a small smile, he ended the call, placed his phone on the nightstand, and lay back against his pillow.

Tomorrow was going to be a battle. But for now, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

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April 19 , 2025 - Matchday

Barcelona vs Espanyol

Camp Nou Stadium , Barcelona

The date was April 19, 2015. The location? Camp Nou—a cathedral of football, a stadium where legends were made, and where Espanyol arrived as the underdogs in the latest edition of El Derbi Barcelonés.

As the Espanyol team bus rolled toward the stadium entrance, the tension in the air was unmistakable. Thousands of Barcelona fans lined the streets, waving their blaugrana scarves, chanting, clapping, and jeering as the rival bus approached. The players inside could feel it—the sheer weight of history pressing down on them, the expectation, the hostility.

Security kept the path clear, but it did little to silence the booming voices echoing through the concrete tunnels as the bus entered the stadium's belly. The moment the doors opened, a wave of noise rushed in—Camp Nou was alive, and tonight, it demanded dominance.

For most of the Espanyol squad, it was a familiar feeling—intimidating, yet not unfamiliar. But for one player, this was his first visit to Camp Nou as a professional—Nico Cruyff. A 14-year-old prodigy, stepping onto the stage where his grandfather had once redefined football. The irony wasn't lost on him.

As he descended from the bus, his hazel eyes scanned the arena's towering walls, the massive Barcelona crest staring back at him like a test of fate. This was the club that raised him, the club that once called him the Crown Jewel of La Masia. And now, he walked into Camp Nou as the enemy.

The chants outside continued, but inside, Nico felt something else entirely. Not fear. Not doubt. Just purpose.

Tonight, he had something to prove.

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Espanyol Locker Room 

The Espanyol locker room was filled with a quiet intensity. Some players adjusted their shin pads, others rolled their necks, loosening the tension. Outside, the thunderous noise of the Camp Nou crowd seeped through the walls, a reminder of the battle waiting beyond the tunnel. This wasn't just another match—it was war.

In the center, Sergio González stood tall, his presence commanding. He waited for silence before speaking, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Sergio González:

"Alright, listen up. We all know what this is—El Derbi Barceloní. It's not just three points. It's pride, history, and a statement. We are stepping into their house, but we will not bow. We will not break. We fight."

His gaze shifted to the defensive unit—Álvaro, Moreno, Javi, and Juan Fuentes.

"Messi, Suárez, Neymar—one of the deadliest front threes in football. They'll move, they'll rotate, they'll drag you out of position. Don't get pulled apart. Stay compact, stay disciplined. Javi, Juan—Dani Alves and Alba will push high. Don't let them overrun you."

His focus moved to the midfield trio—Víctor Sánchez, José Cañas, and Salva Sevilla.

"They want to suffocate us with possession, make us chase shadows. But we won't chase—we'll be smart. When we win the ball, we don't panic. Quick passes, quick decisions. Salva, link with the attack. Find the gaps, break their lines."

Finally, his eyes locked onto Nico, who sat calmly, lacing his boots, his emerald-green eyes unreadable.

"And you—this is your stage. They know you, they fear you, and they will come for you. But we use that. Let them focus on you—drag them in, create space for others. When your moment comes, take it. No hesitation."

A small smirk played on Nico's lips. These were the nights he lived for.

Sergio took a deep breath, his voice rising.

"We don't play scared. We play smart, we play fast, and when we get our chances—we bury them. This is our derby. Let's make them remember us!"

The room erupted in fists pumping and voices roaring. The battle awaited.

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Barcelona Locker Room 

The Barcelona locker room was a blend of calm confidence and quiet intensity. The air hummed with the anticipation of El Derbi Barceloní—the battle for the city. From outside, the distant roar of nearly 100,000 fans seeped through the walls, a reminder of the gladiatorial spectacle waiting beyond the tunnel.

Some players sat in deep focus, others shared light-hearted words, but when Luis Enrique stepped forward, the room settled. He had their full attention.

Luis Enrique:

"Alright, listen up. This is not just another match—this is our city, our house. They come here hungry, desperate to prove something. But we don't let them. We set the tempo. We play our football. We make them chase shadows."

His eyes locked onto the defensive line—Piqué, Mascherano, Alba, and Alves.

"We know Espanyol will look for quick counters. We shut them down early. No gaps, no space to turn. Masche, Piqué—Nico Cruyff. You know him. He's special. Don't let him build momentum. Stay tight, stay aggressive, but don't dive in—he's slippery."

Piqué smirked, shaking his head. "That kid, eh? Still feels weird playing against him."

Mascherano chuckled. "Yeah, but we don't go easy on family."

Luis Enrique allowed the laughter before turning to Busquets, Iniesta, and Rakitic.

"This is where we control the game. They will press, they will fight for every loose ball. But we don't lose composure. One, two touches. Keep the ball moving. Iniesta—break their lines. Rakitic—late runs. Busi—always an option. We suffocate them."

Finally, he turned to Messi, Suárez, and Neymar.

"They have one star. We have three."

That was all that needed to be said. Suárez grinned. Neymar cracked his knuckles. Messi simply nodded.

Luis Enrique let the silence linger before stepping back. His voice was steady, unwavering.

"We don't let them breathe. We don't let them hope. We show them why we are the best in the world."

A roar of approval echoed through the room. As the players stood, clapping each other on the shoulders, Messi caught Neymar's eye and smirked.

"You think Nico will try something?"

Neymar grinned. "Of course. That's what makes him dangerous."

"Then we remind him who taught him."

Laughter rippled through the group. The game was about to begin. The battle for Barcelona was on.

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The tunnel was alive with energy. The buzz of anticipation, the distant roar of the Camp Nou crowd, the rhythmic pounding of boots against the concrete floor. Espanyol and Barcelona players stood shoulder to shoulder, some bouncing on their toes, others locked in quiet focus.

But amidst the tension, there was Nico Cruyff—La Masia's Crown Jewel—laughing and chatting with his old teammates.

Nico: "Sergi, what happened to your hair, man? Looks like Piqué's barber had a bad day."

Sergi Roberto ran a hand through his hair, chuckling. "You just had to say something, huh?"

Jordi Alba smirked. "Forget the hair, Nico—what's it like carrying Espanyol on your back every game?"

Nico grinned. "Heavy, but someone's gotta do it."

Rakitic nudged him with a smirk. "You sure you're playing against us? Or did you just come back to visit?"

Messi, who had been listening with a quiet smile, finally spoke. "Just don't try anything crazy, Nico."

Nico met his gaze, smirking. "Can't promise that, Leo."

The banter faded as the match officials signaled. The air grew heavier. The light at the end of the tunnel—the massive green battlefield of the Camp Nou—awaited them.

Nico exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He knew what was coming.

Tonight, he was no longer La Masia's Crown Jewel.

Tonight, he was Espanyol's Prince. And he was ready for war.

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The tunnel was alive with energy. The buzz of anticipation, the distant roar of the Camp Nou crowd, the rhythmic pounding of boots against the concrete floor. Espanyol and Barcelona players stood shoulder to shoulder, some bouncing on their toes, others locked in quiet focus.

But amidst the tension, there was Nico Cruyff—La Masia's Crown Jewel—laughing and chatting with his old teammates.

Nico: "Sergi, what happened to your hair, man? Looks like Piqué's barber had a bad day."

Sergi Roberto ran a hand through his hair, chuckling. "You just had to say something, huh?"

Jordi Alba smirked. "Forget the hair, Nico—what's it like carrying Espanyol on your back every game?"

Nico grinned. "Heavy, but someone's gotta do it."

Rakitic nudged him with a smirk. "You sure you're playing against us? Or did you just come back to visit?"

Messi, who had been listening with a quiet smile, finally spoke. "Just don't try anything crazy, Nico."

Nico met his gaze, smirking. "Can't promise that, Leo."

The banter faded as the match officials signaled. The air grew heavier. The light at the end of the tunnel—the massive green battlefield of the Camp Nou—awaited them.

Nico exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He knew what was coming.

Tonight, he was no longer La Masia's Crown Jewel.

Tonight, he was Espanyol's Prince. And he was ready for war.

___________

As the players filtered out of the tunnel and onto the legendary Camp Nou pitch, the stadium roared to life. The LaLiga anthem played over the speakers, but it was drowned out by the sheer energy of the crowd.

In the commentary box, the voices of Carlos Martínez and Guillem Balagué took over the broadcast.

Carlos Martínez: "A beautiful night here in Barcelona, and we are moments away from the Catalan Derby—Barcelona against Espanyol. A match with history, passion, and tonight, a special reunion."

Guillem Balagué: "That's right, Carlos. All eyes will be on Nico Cruyff, La Masia's Crown Jewel, now wearing the colors of Espanyol. He grew up in this very stadium, trained on these very pitches, but tonight, he faces his boyhood club as the opposition. How will he handle the pressure?"

As the camera panned to the Barcelona team, Carlos broke down the lineup.

Carlos Martínez: "Let's take a look at Barcelona's starting XI under Luis Enrique. In goal, Marc-André ter Stegen. The back four: Dani Alves, Gerard Piqué, Jérémy Mathieu, and Jordi Alba. In midfield, the usual trio—Sergio Busquets holding, Ivan Rakitić providing the link-up, and Andrés Iniesta, the magician himself. And up front—the deadliest attack in football: Lionel Messi, Neymar, and Luis Suárez."

Guillem Balagué: "It's a world-class lineup, as always. But let's talk about Espanyol. Sergio González has set up his side with a clear game plan."

The camera shifted to the visiting side, where Nico stood among his teammates, his expression unreadable.

Carlos Martínez: "Espanyol start with Kiko Casilla in goal. A solid backline of Javi López, Álvaro González, Héctor Moreno, and Juan Fuentes. In midfield, Víctor Sánchez, José Cañas, and Salva Sevilla will have their hands full against Barcelona's passing game. And up front—Lucas Vázquez on the right, Christian Stuani leading the line, and the young prince himself, Nico Cruyff, on the left wing."

The camera zoomed in on Espanyol's captain, Javi López, as he exchanged handshakes with Barcelona's captain, Andrés Iniesta.

Guillem Balagué: "Javi López wears the armband for Espanyol tonight. A veteran, a fighter—he will be crucial in keeping the backline organized. But of course, the one to watch is Nico. He has the goals, he has the assists, but tonight—this is the biggest test of his career so far. Can he handle the Camp Nou? Can he hurt the club that raised him?"

As the referee blew the whistle, the players took their positions. The crowd was deafening. The Catalan Derby was about to begin.

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Author's note : Vote if you like what you're reading . Do comment about things you dont like , so i can fix it in the upcoming chapters