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The sharp, decisive whistle of Coach Oscar García signaled the end of the first half. The intensity that had gripped the Mini Estadi for forty-five minutes finally broke as the players slowed to a jog, heading toward the sidelines for water and instruction.
A fresh group of youngsters who had been waiting on the bench stood up, their eyes burning with the desire to prove they belonged. At La Masia, the hunger for a spot was never-ending.
"Lorenzo, Munir, Lee, Samper... rest for the second half!" García called out, checking his clipboard after a quick consultation with Sacristán and Kluivert.
The selected players exchanged glances. In a trial like this, being pulled at halftime usually meant one of two things: either your performance was so poor the coaches had seen enough, or you had already secured your place.
For Lorenzo, who had scored both of the half's only goals, the answer was obvious.
Munir El Haddadi, the 17-year-old standout who had assisted Lorenzo's goal, wiped sweat from his brow and walked over. He extended a hand, a look of genuine respect in his eyes. "Congratulations, Lorenzo. I guess I'll see you at the B-Team training tomorrow morning."
Lorenzo shook his hand firmly. "You think so? Nothing's official yet."
"Please," Munir rolled his eyes. "You scored a brace against the U-19's best defense in twenty-five minutes. If Sacristán doesn't pick you, he'll have to answer to Kluivert. Just don't forget to keep making those runs when we play Castilla this weekend."
Munir walked toward the showers, a slight sigh escaping him. As the academy's golden boy, he was used to being the center of attention, but today, he felt a rare sense of competition. Lorenzo's directness and clinical edge were things the academy had lacked since the departure of the older generation.
Across the field, the "East Asian group" was in a different state. The South Korean youngster Lee Seung-woo sat dejectedly in the shade, his head in his hands. He had been subbed off not because he was being promoted, but because he had been completely neutralized by the blue team's defense and overshadowed by Lorenzo. Nearby, the twelve-year-old Takefusa Kubo watched Lorenzo with an expression of quiet intensity, his eyes following every move of the older striker.
"Lorenzo! Come here!" García's voice pulled him back to reality.
Lorenzo turned to see the two imposing figures of Eusebio Sacristán and Patrick Kluivert walking toward him.
"Hello, Mr. Kluivert," Lorenzo said, extending a hand as he reached them.
"You have a good memory, kid," Kluivert said with a warm, booming laugh. "And an even better right foot. I haven't seen a Juvenil A player take a shot with that kind of confidence in a long time. Tell me, do you study the old tapes?"
"I've spent a lot of time watching the greats," Lorenzo replied with a polite nod. "The way you held the ball up in the box... it's the standard for any striker."
Kluivert's eyes twinkled. He liked the boy's maturity and lack of nerves. He turned to Sacristán. "See? He's got the brain to match the feet. He knows what the position requires."
Sacristán stepped forward, his expression serious but his tone encouraging. "Lorenzo, we have a crisis in the B-Team. Dongou is injured, and we are facing Real Madrid Castilla on Saturday. It's a match we cannot afford to lose. After seeing you today, I've decided to register you for the squad immediately."
Lorenzo felt a surge of adrenaline, far more intense than any crowd's cheer. "I'm ready, Coach."
"You're tall, and you have the speed," Sacristán noted, glancing at his clipboard. "But the Segunda División is a different world. You're going to be facing players like Nacho and Casado. They will try to bully you off the ball. You need to use your frame better and stay sharp."
"I understand. I won't let the team down."
"Good. Get some rest. Report to the B-Team facility at 8:00 AM tomorrow," Sacristán concluded with a firm pat on Lorenzo's shoulder. "The first-team manager will likely be in the stands for the Castilla game. Make sure you're ready to show them what you're made of."
As the coaches walked away, Lorenzo returned to the bench to remove his shin guards. He felt a profound sense of accomplishment. The path to the professional stage was finally open. But more importantly, the System was finally ready to settle the results of his performance.
Lorenzo closed his eyes, his consciousness diving into the blue interface.
[Ding! Side Quest: 'Showing Your Edge' - Completed!]
[Final Match Rating: 9.4 (Excellence)]
[Quest Objectives:
Maintain Rating above 9.0: Success.
Score at least two goals: Success.]
[Settling Rewards...]
[Congratulations! You have received: 1 Gold Treasure Chest, 1 Silver Treasure Chest, 1 Bronze Treasure Chest!]
[Rewards have been dispatched to the System Space. Please open them at your convenience.]
Lorenzo's expression sharpened. Three chests. After the Inzaghi template had revolutionized his positioning, he could only imagine what lay inside these new rewards.
He looked toward the stands, where Lucia was still holding her phone up, streaming the aftermath of the match to a global audience that was finally seeing the truth. He gave her a small, confident nod.
The trial was over. The professional journey was about to begin.