Azul barely slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, he replayed the scrimmage.
The tight spaces.
The pressure.
The speed.
The pass.
The respect in the older players' eyes.
But also—
the mistakes.
The moments he hesitated.
The split-second where he misjudged a run.
The one turn he almost lost.
By the time dawn broke, Azul was already sitting on his bed, staring at his boots.
Today, the coaches would tell him whether he'd stay with Juvenil A…
or return to Juvenil B.
He wanted it.
More than anything.
But he couldn't force it.
All he could do was show up.
**A QUIET BREAKFAST**
His parents insisted on joining him for an early breakfast in La Masia's cafeteria—Roca had already allowed them temporary access during their visit.
His mother placed a plate in front of him. "Eat. You'll need the strength."
He wasn't hungry.
But he ate anyway.
His father sipped coffee, watching him with those analytical eyes that Azul inherited.
"Remember," he said calmly, "whatever the outcome is, you already proved you belong."
Azul nodded, though the knot in his stomach didn't loosen.
His mother reached across the table.
"You played with boys older than you, and you didn't just survive—you shined."
Azul finally found his voice.
"I just… I don't want to go backward."
His father shook his head.
"Growth isn't a straight line. But trust me… you're not going backward."
Azul wasn't fully convinced, but having them there helped—grounded him.
**THE MEETING**
He met Coach Miravet in the upstairs office at 10 AM sharp.
The door was half open. Azul knocked once.
"Enter," Miravet said.
Azul stepped in. Coach Roca was there. And Jordi—the scout who discovered him—stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
Three pairs of eyes focused on Azul.
"Sit," Miravet said.
Azul did.
There was a moment of silence—long, heavy, intentional.
Then Miravet spoke.
"Yesterday… you played well."
Azul held his breath.
"But playing well is not the same as fitting into the group. Juvenil A is different. Older players expect a certain maturity."
Azul nodded.
Miravet continued, "To be honest… we expected you to struggle. Most players do when they jump categories."
Roca added, "We thought you'd be overwhelmed."
Azul felt his chest tighten.
Then Jordi stepped forward.
"But you weren't."
Azul blinked.
Jordi smiled faintly.
"In fact… you did more than survive. You influenced the game. You controlled moments. You saw spaces no one else saw. The older boys don't hand out respect easily, but they gave it to you."
Azul's heart began to race.
Miravet leaned back in his chair.
"Azul Cortez… after discussing your performance, your progression, and your mental readiness—"
Azul swallowed.
"—we've decided to **promote you to Juvenil A permanently.**"
Azul's breath caught.
"Starting today."
He didn't speak.
He couldn't.
It felt unreal.
Too big.
Too soon.
And yet…
exactly right.
Roca cracked a grin. "Don't faint. That would ruin the moment."
Azul laughed shakily.
Jordi placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You earned every bit of this. Argentina will be proud."
Azul finally found his voice.
"Thank you… all of you… I won't let you down."
Miravet nodded.
"We know. Now go. You train with them this afternoon."
This afternoon.
It was happening.
### **CALLING HOME**
The moment Azul left the office, he sprinted down the hall and out into the courtyard before pulling out his phone and calling his parents' room.
His mother answered instantly.
"Mamá… I—"
His voice broke.
She gasped. "Azul. What happened? Are you alright?"
He wiped his eyes quickly even though she couldn't see.
"I got it," he said, voice shaking. "I'm in Juvenil A."
There was a pause.
Then—
Screaming.
Screaming so loud he had to pull the phone away.
His father's voice cut through the chaos.
"We're on our way. Stay there."
Azul laughed through tears.
"Papá, you don't have to—"
But they had already hung up.
**THE HUG THAT MEANT EVERYTHING**
Ten minutes later, his parents arrived at the gates of La Masia—his mother sprinting like she hadn't run in years, his father walking quickly behind her.
She threw her arms around him.
"Azul… mi hijo… Juvenil A… how is this real?"
His father placed a steady hand on his back.
"You did it. You really did it."
Azul let himself lean into them.
Just for a moment.
Just to feel what all this meant.
Then he pulled back, wiped his eyes, and smiled.
"I'm not done yet."
His father smirked.
"Good. Because the top is still far."
Azul nodded.
"But I can see it now."
**A NEW BEGINNING**
That afternoon, he walked into the Juvenil A locker room for the first time as *one of them*, not a guest.
Some players nodded.
Some clapped him on the back.
Some simply acknowledged him with a raised eyebrow.
But he felt something powerful.
He belonged.
Coach Miravet blew the whistle.
"Warm up! We have work to do."
Azul tied his boots.
A new chapter had begun.
A harder one.
A bigger one.
One step closer to Messi.
One step closer to the dream.
He walked onto the pitch.
The wind shifted.
The grass gleamed.
The future opened.
Azul Cortez—
**Juvenil A midfielder.**
**The boy with the Emperor's Eye.**
**The future of Argentina.**
And Barcelona…
was just beginning to notice.
---
END