The sun was beginning to dip behind the stands of the Mini Estadi, casting long, dramatic shadows across the La Masia training grounds.
Outside the wire fences, a familiar crowd had gathered. Local Barcelona residents, die-hard Culés, and curious tourists lined the perimeter, eager to catch a glimpse of the next generation. Hidden among them, scouts from across Europe adjusted their hats and took notes, their cameras clicking incessantly. Scouting at La Masia was a global industry, and everyone wanted to find the next diamond in the rough.
Lorenzo walked onto the pitch early, the grass still damp from a recent watering. He had spent six hours in the System's training simulation overnight, and he felt a newfound sharpness in his movements. His "Positioning" attribute was now at a solid 70, and his touch felt lighter, more intuitive.
He found a ball and began juggling on his own, the repetitive thud-thud against his laces acting as a meditation. He didn't look at the crowd. He didn't look at his teammates. He was in his own world.
Tonight wasn't a standard training session. The memo had been clear: three players from the U-19 Juvenil A squad would be selected for the B-team roster ahead of the weekend's high-stakes match against Real Madrid Castilla. With the first team on summer break, the eyes of the city were fixed on the Segunda División. It was a test of the academy's pride.
"Hey, Munir, look who's on the sidelines," a voice whispered nearby.
Lorenzo paused his juggling and followed the gaze of his teammates. Standing near the dugout was a massive, unmistakable figure.
Patrick Kluivert.
The Dutch legend, nearly 1.9 meters tall, was a titan of the center-forward position and a former Barcelona hero. While he wasn't yet the academy director, he was a frequent guest observer for the club, often brought in to evaluate the technical progress of the youth strikers. Beside him stood Eusebio Sacristán, the head coach of Barcelona B. The two were locked in a serious discussion, their eyes scanning the warm-up drills with clinical intensity.
"The selection is even more competitive than I thought," remarked Munir El Haddadi, the standout striker of the Juvenil A squad. Munir was currently the academy's golden boy, possessing a lethal left foot and a speed that had already caught the attention of first-team scouts. He was the primary rival for any open spot in the attacking line.
Munir's gaze drifted toward Lorenzo. He knew that with the B-team's primary striker, Jean Marie Dongou, out with an injury, Sacristán was hunting for a true "nine." Lorenzo, with his clinical finishing and Argentinian physicality, was the most direct threat to Munir's promotion.
Beside Munir stood a young Adama Traoré, whose incredible physical development made him look more like a sprinter than a footballer. They were the elite of the academy, the ones the fans expected to see at the Camp Nou in a few years.
"Everyone, gather 'round!"
The youth coach, Oscar García, blew his whistle, its shrill tone cutting through the evening air.
"Tonight is about focus. You know the stakes. Coach Sacristán is looking for hunger, discipline, and most importantly, results. Lead the warm-up, Munir! Get them moving!"
As the team began running laps, the "East Asian Contingent" kept their pace on the opposite side of the formation. The older Korean and Japanese players, who had been so confident on the bus earlier, were now silent, their faces set in grim masks of concentration. They noticed Lorenzo's presence immediately, he was a variable they hadn't expected to deal with so soon.
One of the South Korean midfielders nudged his teammate. "I thought he was blacklisted. How is he back already?"
A Japanese winger scoffed, though his eyes remained fixed on Sacristán. "It doesn't matter. He's been away for a week while we've been training. His rhythm will be off. Look at Munir, he's the one we have to worry about."
They glanced at the twelve-year-old Takefusa Kubo, who was training on a separate, distant pitch with the younger children. He was too small to be part of this battle, but the older players felt the pressure to perform for their home nations. To them, Lorenzo was an obstacle that needed to be cleared.
Lorenzo ran with a steady, effortless stride. He felt the weight of the gazes, the scouts, the legends, the rivals. In his previous life, he might have been nervous. But now, he had the System pulsing in the back of his mind and the "King of the Penalty Area" skill waiting to be unleashed.
He didn't need to be the fastest player on the pitch. He didn't need to be the most "disciplined" in the eyes of the academy cliques. He just needed one chance.
He looked toward Kluivert, the man who had defined the striker role for a generation. Watch closely, Lorenzo thought, his eyes narrowing. I'm going to show you why you don't need to look for a striker anywhere else.
The warm-up ended, and the coaches began handing out the colored bibs for the practice match. Lorenzo was handed a blue one, the starting "nine" for the challengers' side.
The stage was set. The Mini-Clásico trial was about to begin.