The next day.
Juninho D'Alessandro woke up early and headed straight to the airport.
After more than ten hours on the plane and several more on a cramped bus, he finally arrived in Rosario, Argentina, in the early hours of the morning.
Rosario. The hometown of Lionel Messi.
At this point in time, Messi had yet to be picked up by Barcelona's youth academy, which meant he was likely still here.
Juninho checked into a nearby hotel and planned to spend the next morning driving around Rosario in search of the neighborhood that resembled the one he'd seen in Messi's documentary back in his previous life.
---
At noon the following day, Juninho rubbed his eyes groggily as he crawled out of bed. The long journey had left him utterly drained.
Still, there was no telling when Barcelona might come knocking for Messi. Every hour counted.
Ignoring his exhaustion, Juninho stuffed some cash into his pocket, left the hotel, and flagged down a taxi.
"Drive me around Rosario. No repeats. I'll pay well," Juninho instructed as he got into the back seat.
The driver gave him a thumbs up, smiling. "No problem."
Juninho stared out the window, scanning every street, every building, trying to match it with the images burned into his memory.
"Hey, do you speak English?" Juninho asked after a while.
The driver held up his hand and pinched his fingers. "A little bit."
Juninho leaned forward. "Ever heard of a kid named Messi?"
"Messi?" The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, then returned his eyes to the road.
"You know him?" Juninho's eyes lit up.
"You mean the boy who plays football?"
"Yes!" Juninho said, barely containing his excitement.
The driver chuckled. "In Rosario, everyone knows the kids who are good at football. That one—he put out a fundraiser recently. Said he needed money for some kind of treatment."
Juninho's heart pounded. It had to be him.
"But not much came of it," the driver added. "Rosario isn't exactly rich. Most folks barely get by."
"Do you know where his house is?" Juninho asked urgently.
"Sure I do," the driver nodded. "North side of the city. That's where the fundraiser was. I remember the place."
"I'll give you one hundred euros if you take me now."
Juninho pulled out the note and handed it over.
The driver's eyes sparkled as he took the cash. "Let's go!"
---
About thirty minutes later, they arrived in a humble-looking neighborhood on the north side of Rosario.
The houses were old, modest, and tightly packed.
"Here we are," said the driver, pulling to the curb.
"I'll wait here if you want a ride back," he added.
"Perfect."
Juninho got out and walked up to one of the houses, knocking on the door.
It opened moments later, revealing a slightly overweight woman.
"Hello, is there a boy named Messi here?" Juninho asked in English, wearing a polite smile.
The woman looked him over cautiously but responded in English as well—a common enough language in Argentina.
"He's my son. Why are you looking for him?"
"I'm the owner of a football club in England," Juninho said confidently. "Someone showed me a video of your son. I think he's incredibly talented, and I want to bring him to the UK."
Technically, he was lying about the club source—but the jersey in the original video was from Barcelona. Just a small change.
The woman's eyes shifted, torn between skepticism and hope.
Messi had been training since he could walk, but the illness made their situation desperate. She couldn't afford to ignore any opportunity.
"And if he agrees, we'll cover the cost of his treatment," Juninho added, calmly dropping the bomb.
The woman gasped, her face shifting from cautious to overwhelmed.
"Really?!"
Juninho nodded and pulled out two vials of medicine. "This is the world's most effective growth hormone. Try it. You'll see the results."
Her hands trembled as she took the vials, tears forming in her eyes.
"I believe you. I do."
She turned her head and shouted into the house, "Messi!"
They had no other options. If there was even a sliver of hope, she had to seize it.
A small boy, barely 1.4 meters tall, sprinted into view, wide-eyed and wary as he saw Juninho standing in the doorway.
Juninho's chest tightened. There he was.
The face was still young and innocent, but unmistakable.
This was him—the boy who would rise alongside Cristiano Ronaldo and rule world football for a generation.
"Messi, go pack your things," the woman said, gently stroking her son's cheek, tears still running down her face.
"Huh?" Messi looked at her, confused.
"We're going to England. This man can give you a chance… and a cure."
She stepped back into the house. There were still precautions to take, of course—she needed to call her husband and bring essentials—but she wasn't letting this chance slip by.
Messi gave Juninho a stunned look, then ran to his room to get ready.
Soon, both of Messi's parents emerged, each carrying a small travel bag. They helped their son into the same taxi, with Juninho following close behind.
As the car drove off, Juninho looked at the young Messi sitting beside him and couldn't help but feel dazed.
He never thought it would be this easy.
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