AN : yeah i like messi lol
Lionel Messi's father, Jorge Messi, was standing near the junior football pitch of Newell's Old Boys, watching his son with a proud but complicated smile on his face. On the field, little Lionel was warming up with the other boys, moving lightly with the ball as if the entire world around him disappeared whenever his left foot touched it. Jorge should have been happy seeing that. In truth, he was happy. Every father would be proud seeing his child shine like that.
But behind that smile, his mind was filled with worry.
The Messi family had never been rich. Their life had always been simple, and sometimes it had been painfully difficult. Still, things had become much better after ZAGE School opened in Rosario two years ago. Because of Lionel's football talent, the school accepted him with a full scholarship. That alone had already changed everything for their family. Lionel could study properly in a safe and excellent environment, receive proper meals, train with good equipment, and grow around teachers who genuinely cared about talented children regardless of whether they came from wealthy families.
For Jorge, that was already more than he could have ever asked for.
ZAGE School did not only help Lionel academically. It also supported his football development. They recognized his talent early, worked together with people around Newell's Old Boys, provided him with proper gear, helped with basic nutrition, and even gave him access to facilities that Jorge could never have afforded by himself. For a poor family, that kind of help felt almost unreal. It was not just support. It felt like someone had reached down and pulled his son away from the edge of a future that might have swallowed his dream.
But recently, Jorge had received news that made his heart feel heavy again.
The doctor said Lionel had a hormone problem.
There was a real chance he would not grow properly. Lionel was still only nine years old, but he was already much smaller than many children his age. Right now, he was only around 131 centimeters, and the doctor warned that without treatment, his growth could be seriously limited. The treatment existed, but it was expensive. Far too expensive for the Messi family to handle alone.
That was why Jorge had started recording his son's matches with a camera he had barely managed to buy. It was not a fancy camera, nor was it something he could comfortably afford, but he bought it anyway because he had no choice. If he could record Lionel's ability and send the footage to European clubs, maybe someone would see what he saw. Maybe some scout, some coach, or some club director would recognize that his son was not just a small boy with quick feet.
He was special.
So far, there had been interest. Big clubs had looked at Lionel. Manchester United, Juventus, Barcelona, and several other European giants had shown curiosity. At first, their reactions gave Jorge hope. Scouts praised Lionel's control, his dribbling, his speed of thought, and the way he played with older boys as if age meant nothing.
Then they heard about the hormone problem.
And once they heard that, hesitation appeared.
That hesitation made Jorge furious in a way he could barely express. These people were willing to admire his son's talent, praise him, and call him extraordinary, but the moment they learned he needed expensive treatment, they suddenly became cautious. They started saying things like "we need more time," "we will continue monitoring him," or "his physical development needs to be observed carefully."
Jorge hated those words.
He understood business. He understood risk. He understood that football clubs did not spend money carelessly. But this was his son. This was Lionel. To Jorge, it felt as though they only wanted the miracle if the miracle came cheaply.
Still, Jorge could not truly do anything.
He was just a father with a camera, a poor family, and a son whose talent was larger than their means.
He had already explained Lionel's condition to ZAGE School in Rosario. Honestly, Jorge had expected them to say they were sorry but unable to help. After all, ZAGE Foundation had already done so much for his family. They had already given Lionel free education, better training support, and opportunities that would have been impossible otherwise. Jorge did not want to ask for more. He did not want to appear greedy. He did not want to become the kind of person who received kindness and then demanded even more.
But the people at ZAGE School did not dismiss him.
Instead, they told him they would contact the main branch and explain Lionel's situation properly. They said there was a possibility ZAGE Foundation might be able to help with the treatment, especially because Lionel was already part of the school's scholarship and athletic-support program.
That answer had nearly made Jorge cry.
He had not cried in front of them, of course. He still had his pride. But on the way home, he had gripped the steering wheel tightly and kept silent for a long time.
ZAGE Foundation had already helped not only Lionel, but also their family. Some students from difficult backgrounds received additional family support, and the Messi family had been among those quietly helped. It was not always dramatic. Sometimes it came as school supplies, food support, medical assistance, equipment, or reduced costs that made life slightly easier. But those small things mattered.
To Lionel, however, one of the happiest gifts had been a ZEPS 3 console.
The boy loved it.
Whenever he had free time, he played Winning Eleven 2000 on ZEPS 3 with a bright grin on his face. Sometimes he played as Argentina. Sometimes he used European clubs. Sometimes he created imaginary matches and pretended he was already a professional footballer scoring goals in stadiums filled with thousands of cheering fans.
Jorge remembered seeing Lionel sitting in front of the television, holding the controller with complete seriousness, his small body leaning forward every time he tried to dribble past defenders in the game.
That sight had made Jorge smile.
Even in a difficult life, his son could still be a child.
Now, standing beside the pitch, Jorge looked at little Lionel as the boy laughed with his teammates before the match began. Lionel looked happy. He looked free. The worries about doctors, money, scouts, growth treatment, and Europe did not exist on his face right now. On the pitch, Lionel was simply Lionel.
Jorge's hands tightened around the camera.
"Don't worry, son," he whispered to himself. "I will find the right person who values your talent."
He did not know who that person would be. Maybe it would be a club in Spain. Maybe Italy. Maybe England. Maybe someone from ZAGE Foundation would help. Maybe Newell's Old Boys would find a way. Jorge did not know.
But he knew one thing clearly.
His son had insane football talent.
And as his father, Jorge would do everything he could.
The match began soon after.
Even though Lionel was only nine years old, he was playing with children around twelve or thirteen because he was simply too good for boys his own age. The size difference was obvious. Some of the older boys were much taller, stronger, and physically more developed. At first glance, Lionel looked like he should have been overwhelmed.
Then the ball reached his feet.
Everything changed.
The ball seemed glued to him.
One defender rushed forward.
Lionel shifted his body slightly and slipped past him.
Another tried to block the lane.
Lionel touched the ball with the outside of his left foot, changed direction instantly, and went around him as if the defender had moved too late in a dream.
A third boy tried to use his body to stop him.
Lionel lowered his center of gravity, protected the ball, spun away, and continued forward without losing control.
The people watching from the side began reacting. Some clapped. Some shouted. One coach shook his head with a laugh, as if even he could not fully understand how a child that small was controlling the match so easily.
Jorge lifted his camera and recorded everything.
Lionel did not only dribble. That was what made him even more special. He could pass too. His vision was absurdly sharp for his age. When defenders surrounded him, he did not panic. He waited for one teammate to move, then slipped the ball through a gap that barely seemed to exist. Several times, his passes created chances so clean that the receiving player only needed to shoot.
Then, when space opened, Lionel attacked again.
He scored once with a quick left-footed finish into the corner.
Then again after dribbling past two defenders.
Then he assisted a teammate with a low pass across the box.
Then another goal.
Then another assist.
By the time the match entered its final stretch, Lionel looked less like a child participating in a junior game and more like a tiny storm moving across the pitch. He was not physically dominant, but his timing, balance, awareness, and ball control made the older boys look confused. They could reach for him, chase him, surround him, even try to muscle him off the ball, but somehow Lionel always escaped.
Jorge smiled proudly as he kept recording.
"That's it, Leo," he murmured. "Show them."
When the match finally ended, Lionel had scored six goals and created three assists.
Six goals.
Three assists.
Against older children.
Jorge felt his chest swell with pride. For a moment, all the worry disappeared. The doctor's words, the treatment cost, the hesitation from European clubs, the fear of the future—all of it faded beneath the simple joy of watching his son dominate the pitch.
This was why Jorge refused to give up.
Because when Lionel played, the answer was obvious.
He belonged on a football field.
Meanwhile, not far from him, Zaboru Renkonan had been watching the entire match with increasing disbelief. seeing a child version of Messi directly in front of him was different.
It was almost strange.
The boy was tiny. Extremely tiny compared to the older children around him. Yet the moment the ball arrived, his body seemed to understand movements that others had not even imagined yet.
Zaboru crossed his arms as Lionel dribbled past another defender.
"Damn," he muttered.
Carlos, who stood beside him, glanced at his face. "Boss?"
Zaboru did not answer immediately.
Lionel received the ball again, cut inside with his left foot, and passed through two defenders before calmly assisting another goal.
Zaboru groaned softly. "Damn."
Carlos blinked. "That good?"
Zaboru slowly nodded. "That's not normal football talent. That's the kind of talent that makes coaches question whether the sport is fair."
Carlos looked back at the pitch. "He's still very small."
"Yeah," Zaboru said quietly. "But the ball doesn't care."
Carlos looked at him.
Zaboru continued, "Look at the way he touches it. He doesn't kick the ball and chase it like most children. He carries it. Like his foot and the ball are having a private conversation the defenders weren't invited to."
Carlos stared at him for a moment. "Boss, sometimes you describe sports like game mechanics."
Zaboru grinned. "Football has mechanics too."
Carlos chuckled but said nothing else.
After the match ended, Zaboru remained silent for a few seconds, watching Lionel celebrate with his teammates. The boy looked happy, but not arrogant. He smiled shyly when his teammates praised him, then glanced toward the sideline, probably searching for his father.
That was when Zaboru noticed Jorge Messi standing nearby with the camera.
The man's expression was proud, but there was also worry behind it. Zaboru recognized that look immediately. It was the face of a father trying to carry a problem heavier than he wanted his child to know.
Zaboru's Living Scan gently spread outward.
He did not use it aggressively. Just enough to sense the emotional state of the people nearby.
Jorge's color was complicated.
Pride.
Love.
Fear.
Frustration.
Hope.
All mixed together in a way that made Zaboru's expression soften.
Carlos noticed the change. "Boss?"
Zaboru looked at Jorge for another moment.
Then he smiled faintly. "Let's talk to him."
Carlos immediately understood. "Jorge Messi?"
"Yeah."
Zaboru began walking toward him.
Jorge was still looking at the camera, checking whether the recording had captured Lionel's goals properly, when someone spoke to him politely from the side.
"Excuse me."
Jorge turned, slightly startled.
Then his eyes widened.
Standing in front of him was none other than Zaboru Renkonan.
For a moment, Jorge could not speak.
He recognized him immediately. How could he not? Zaboru was the founder of ZAGE, the man behind the company that had changed his family's life through ZAGE School. His son played ZAGE games. His son studied at a ZAGE Foundation school. Even the equipment Lionel used had been partly supported because of ZAGE's programs.
And now that same man was standing right in front of him.
Zaboru smiled gently and spoke in Spanish, though with a slight accent.
"Are you Jorge Messi?"
Jorge blinked several times before finally nodding. "Y-Yes. I am."
Zaboru extended his hand. "I'm Zaboru Renkonan. I watched your son play."
Jorge quickly shook his hand, still looking stunned. "Yes, yes, of course, I know who you are. It's an honor, Señor Zaboru."
Zaboru chuckled softly. "No need to be that stiff."
Jorge glanced toward the pitch, then back at him. His heart was suddenly beating faster. He did not know why Zaboru had approached him, but every instinct inside him told him this meeting might matter.
Zaboru looked toward Lionel, who was still speaking with his teammates.
Then he turned back to Jorge and said sincerely, "Your son is incredible."
Jorge's eyes trembled slightly.
Those words alone hit him harder than he expected.
Because Zaboru did not sound polite.
He sounded certain.
Jorge swallowed and forced himself to remain calm. "Thank you. Lionel… he loves football very much."
Zaboru smiled. "That much is obvious."
He paused, then looked at Jorge more carefully.
"I also heard he may need medical treatment."
Jorge's expression changed immediately.
His grip on the camera tightened while Zaboru he smile.
To be continued.
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