The players from both teams stepped onto the pitch under the stadium lights.
Romeo Teixeira jogged in behind his teammate Pujic.
"Romeo, don't be nervous," Pujic said with a reassuring smile. "Just play like you do in training. I'll feed you the ball."
It was Romeo's first official start.
Pujic, being a good friend, tried to calm his nerves—but the calm, focused expression on Romeo's face caught him off guard.
Romeo's eyes were sharp, his posture relaxed, as if he'd been here a hundred times before.
That look…
Pujic blinked. Why does it feel like I'm the rookie here?
"Right… I forgot," Pujic chuckled to himself. "You're a wolf in sheep's clothing. Look all shy and quiet, but inside… you've got a lion's heart."
At midfield, the captains met the referee for the coin toss.
Romeo took the opportunity to scan the Real Madrid Castilla lineup.
None of the names rang a bell.
Not a single future star.
For Romeo, that was a relief. If no one here was destined to shine, then completing the system's task would be a breeze.
The coin toss ended.
Atlético Barcelona had the opening kick.
The teams lined up in the familiar 4-3-3 formation.
At Castilla's bench, the assistant coach leaned toward head coach Santiago Solari with concern.
"Coach… Are we sure we don't need to adjust our tactics? That Teixeira kid—he was juggling like Ronaldinho out there last game."
Solari waved him off.
"Relax. Football isn't won by one man. You think juggling makes him dangerous? There are tons of flashy kids with good touches."
He smirked. "How many of them change games?"
The assistant coach held his tongue, but names swirled in his mind:
Maradona… Ronaldinho… Messi… Xavi…
He swallowed his doubts. Solari was his boss after all.
The whistle blew.
The final match of the Segunda División B was underway—Barcelona B's last hope at survival.
From Castilla's side, no one paid Romeo any attention. They all locked onto Pujic, the supposed playmaker.
Immediately, Castilla launched a high press.
A tactic well-researched in top European leagues—it was the best way to disrupt passing teams.
And it worked.
Pujic was hounded by three players. Pressured, he nearly lost the ball but managed to offload it to central midfielder Patrik.
Patrik didn't hesitate. He turned and passed the ball straight to Romeo.
Three reasons:
First, Romeo's side was completely unmarked.
Second, Coach Herald's words still echoed in his ears: "Pass the damn ball to Teixeira!"
And third, he simply trusted Romeo.
Romeo dropped back, receiving the ball with his chest—back toward goal.
But instead of bringing the ball to the turf, he turned mid-air and gently redirected it.
So smooth.
So effortless.
It was as if the ball was an extension of his body.
Messi, watching from the stands, narrowed his eyes.
"What a touch…"
On the field, Romeo spun with the ball like it was choreographed.
Thanks to the [Maradona Ball Control Template] and a jaw-dropping 96 rating in ball control, the ball obeyed his every command.
A Castilla forward charged toward him.
Romeo didn't panic.
It looked like he was surveying the field.
In truth, he was analyzing the passing options, scanning lines.
Suddenly—ding!
A red-glowing passing route appeared in his vision: 97% success rate.
He didn't hesitate.
He swung his foot.
The pass was launched.
A curling, cross-field strike that sliced through the defensive line like a blade.
The fans were puzzled—until a streak of red appeared on the wing.
Luo Long came sprinting onto the screen.
The ball dropped perfectly in his path. No adjustments needed. No extra touches.
Just a clean strike.
Boom!
The ball rocketed toward the far post.
Real Madrid Castilla's keeper, the young Zinedine Zidane Jr.—yes, Zizou's son—could do nothing but flinch.
The ball smashed the post.
Ping!
And bounced into the net.
1–0!
The wing-back had pressed too high and left a gaping hole between himself and the keeper.
Romeo saw it all.
One pass. One goal.
The stadium was dead silent for a split second—then erupted like an earthquake.
Luo Long sprinted to the corner flag, roaring with emotion.
It was his first goal of the season.
After returning from an early injury and enduring a five-game scoring drought, the weight on his shoulders had finally lifted.
"What a ball!" Iniesta exclaimed from the stands, slapping his thigh. "That pass was perfect!"
Messi was still watching the replay, wide-eyed.
"His vision… it's elite."
Romeo had read the defense like a book, picked the perfect pass, and executed with surgical precision.
The forward didn't even have to stop or dribble—just run and shoot.
Iniesta pulled out his phone on the spot and dialed Coach Enrique.
"Turn on the B team match," he said quickly. "I've found a genius. He belongs in the first team!"
On the bench, Coach Herald grabbed Pimienta and shook him wildly.
"Did you see that? A genius! A world-class pass! That kid—he's the next Xavi. No… the next Messi!"
"Urgh… can't… breathe…"
Pimienta's face turned red as he gasped for air.
Herald quickly let go, laughing awkwardly.
"Ah, sorry! Got a little too excited there…"
You nearly killed me, you maniac! Pimienta thought as he gasped and muttered curses under his breath.
Back on the pitch, play resumed.
Castilla's players were rattled—but still convinced Romeo had just gotten lucky.
They didn't increase their pressure on him.
On the sidelines, Solari's assistant tried again.
"Maybe… we should mark Romeo more tightly?"
Solari scowled.
"Weak teams make excuses," he muttered. "That was a fluke. Don't embarrass yourself."
But deep down, even Solari felt a cold sweat trickle down his back.
Romeo Teixeira wasn't just some kid.
He was a storm on the rise.
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