The training ground just outside Barcelona was filled with the familiar scents of freshly cut grass and sunscreen, typical of a warm summer morning where even the shadows felt cozy.
Alejandro Grimaldo was wrapping up a set of passing drills with a youth coach when Laurence Gonzales strolled up to the touchline. At just seventeen, the boy had sharp eyes, a lean build, and that hope of one day for Barcelona that seemed to be a dream of every La Masia graduate.
Laurence waited patiently until the drill was over. When the teenager jogged over for a quick drink, he introduced himself.
"I hope you may have recognised me. I am head coach of C.D.Tenerife- Laurence Gonzales. I've seen a lot of your footage," Laurence said, his tone calm and assured. "You've got something special."
Grimaldo who momentarily taken aback by seeing the man who had created a fairytale run last season, offered a small, polite nod. "Thank you, sir."
Laurence crossed his arms, leaning in slightly. "I remember what it was like to be eighteen, trying to find my place in a big club. You'll get your chances here, no doubt. But they'll come slowly, and you'll often find yourself overshadowed. Someone else will likely get the starting spot before you."
The boy raised an eyebrow, not defensive but clearly cautious.
"At Tenerife," Laurence continued, his voice steady but sincere, "I'm creating something different. It's not just about getting by. It's about proving to La Liga—and maybe even Europe—that a so-called small club can play with its own style. You'd get playing time. Maybe even starts. You'd be trusted."
Grimaldo paused for a moment, then spoke honestly. "I… still want to play for Barça someday."
"And you should," Laurence said, not missing a beat. "But to make that happen, you need to show more than just potential. You need a stage to shine on. You won't find that waiting behind three other full-backs here. I can give you a platform. What you do with it—that's entirely up to you."
The boy glanced down at his boots, pausing for a moment before giving a slight nod. "I'll think about it."
Laurence handed him a card. "When you're ready, give me a call."
________
Two days later, Istanbul buzzed with noise, heat, and the weight of late-night traffic. The Besiktas facilities had a cozy lounge tucked away behind the main training pitch, and it was there that Laurence spotted Ricardo Quaresma, casually sipping a drink.
"Coach from Spain, huh?" Quaresma said, his voice dripping with skepticism. "What do you want?"
Laurence took a seat across from him, unfazed by the casual posture and swagger. "I'm here to offer you one last chance."
Quaresma let out a chuckle, though it sounded more weary than amused. "I've had my chances, mister."
"You've had clubs," Laurence replied bluntly. "Mourinho had given you a chance, but you didn't have trust."
That made the winger's eyes flicker with interest.
"I don't need you to be a savior," Laurence continued. "I've got Neymar. I've got young players who can run until the stadium lights go out. But what I do need is experience. I need a man who can conjure something out of nothing. When the game is stuck and the clock is running out."
Quaresma tilted his head, still skeptical. "You really think I still have that?"
Laurence took a moment before responding. He pulled out a tablet, tapped a few buttons, and let an old clip roll—a stunning trivela assist against Atlético from years ago. The way the ball curved, the boldness of that strike, it all said more than words ever could.
When the video stopped, Laurence locked eyes with him. "I don't think you ever lost it. I think you just forgot what it felt like to be important. To be a part of something."
For once, Quaresma was at a loss for words. He leaned back, his expression a mix of caution and curiosity.
______
A week later, the morning sun in Lisbon danced on the cobblestones as Laurence walked into the Benfica training complex. João Cancelo was on the side field, sprinting through drills with a trainer. He was full of raw energy, quick on his feet, sharper than most players his age.
Laurence waited for the drill to wrap up. "João," he called out. "I'm Laurence Gonzales, coach of CD Tenerife."
That name carried weight now. Cancelo had heard about Tenerife's impressive season, about Neymar, Griezmann and Joel, and their unexpected journey. But hearing it straight from the coach felt different.
"We're heading to Europe next season," Laurence said as they found a patch of shade. "And I want you to be a part of it."
Cancelo wiped the sweat from his brow, listening intently but with a hint of skepticism. "Benfica says I have a future. Maybe a loan to a Primeira Liga team."
"You do," Laurence agreed, voice level. "But how long will you wait? Another year in the B team? Another loan where you're just filling a spot? Or you could play now. In Spain. Against Madrid, against Barcelona, in Europa. First-team football, minutes that matter."
He let it sit there. The boy was only seventeen, but even at that age he knew the difference between promises and reality.
"You'll get noticed," Laurence added quietly. "And you'll get tested against the big boys."
Cancelo exhaled, a mix of nerves and thought. "I'll talk to my agent," he said, voice careful but not closed.
"That's all I ask," Laurence replied, standing. "Opportunity knocks early. But it doesn't knock forever."