The trial match had concluded, but the heavy silence near the sidelines told the story of those left behind. Among the "East Asian Contingent," the atmosphere was particularly somber. Lee Seung-woo, the fifteen-year-old South Korean who had been touted as the academy's next great playmaker, sat with his head down, his jersey soaked in sweat. He had played with flair, but he hadn't played with results.
Beside him sat a much Takefusa Kubo. Though too young to participate in a B-team trial, Kubo had watched every minute from the bench, his dark eyes fixed on Lorenzo's movements. For the younger kids at La Masia, watching the Juvenil A was like looking into a crystal ball of their own futures.
"It's just a training match," one of the older Japanese players muttered, trying to break the tension. "Sacristán is looking for a specific type of striker because of an injury. It doesn't mean the hierarchy has changed."
"Kagawa didn't move to Europe until he was older," another added, looking at the dejected Lee Seung-woo. "We have time. The technical level we show is what Barcelona values most. Physicality is for teams that can't pass."
But as they watched Lorenzo, the "problem child" they had dismissed walk toward the exit with the B-team coaches' praises still ringing in the air, their words felt hollow. Lorenzo hadn't just used power; he had used a ghostly positioning that made their "technical" style look static. The sense of frustration among the older Asian prospects was palpable. They were the ones who had expected to be the first to bridge the gap to professional football.
Lorenzo, passing by on his way to the locker room, caught a few of their hushed, resentful whispers. He paused for a moment, glancing at the group. In any other circumstance, he might have ignored them. But as a transmigrator, he possessed a piece of knowledge that made him look at these boys with a touch of professional pity.
He knew about "Article 19."
In his previous life, he remembered the 2014 hammer blow from FIFA. Barcelona was already under investigation for the irregular transfer of minors. Within months, the lives of these boys - Kubo, Lee Seung-woo, and several others would be thrown into chaos. They would be banned from official matches for years, forced to either rot in the stands or return to their home countries. Their "genius" labels wouldn't protect them from the bureaucracy that was already closing in.
They were dreaming of the Camp Nou, but the floor was about to fall out from under them.
Lorenzo gave them a meaningful, silent glance before turning away. He didn't have time for academy politics. He had his own hurdles, a Mini-Clásico to prepare for and a "Beast" template that required a total physical overhaul.
"Lorenzo! You're finally out!"
As he exited the main gate of the Ciutat Esportiva, Lucia skipped toward him, her face radiant with a mix of relief and pride. She had closed her live stream the moment the coaches had confirmed his promotion.
"The numbers were incredible," she said, leaning in close. "People back in Argentina are starting to see the footage of the Ezeiza tackle side-by-side with your goals tonight. The 'thug' narrative is falling apart. Even the sports radio in Buenos Aires is starting to ask why the AFA let a Barcelona B striker walk away."
"Let them talk," Lorenzo said, his voice level. "The more I score here, the more their local politics look like a joke."
"By the way," Lucia said, gesturing toward a group of girls standing near the fountain. "I met some friends from the international student society. They stayed specifically to meet the 'Hero of the Night.'"
Lorenzo saw a diverse group of girls, Argentinians, Brazilians, and a few Spanish locals. Among them was a Japanese girl with pigtails named Shana, who was looking at him with wide-eyed adoration.
"Lorenzo..." she started, her voice high-pitched and slightly nervous. "Your goals... they were incredible. Truly. I've never seen a striker move like that. We were going to celebrate the trial results... would you join us for dinner?"
Lucia leaned toward Lorenzo, a playful but protective glint in her eyes. "I already told them you're extremely disciplined. I know you usually stick to your high-protein, low-carb 'Spanish' diet at night. I was going to make you a clean, nutritious meal at home to help you recover."
Lorenzo shrugged, his mind already calculating his new requirements. "Actually, the plan has changed. I need to bulk up. The B-team coaches were clear, I'm too light for the Segunda División. To fully integrate my next phase of training, I need calories. Serious mass."
Lucia blinked in surprise. "Wait, you're actually going to break your diet?"
"I need to hit eighty-five kilograms to handle the Real Madrid defense," Lorenzo said, pinching Lucia's puffed-up cheek affectionately. "If that means a massive steak and a mountain of pasta, then that's the mission today."
The group of girls cheered, and as Lorenzo led the way toward a nearby restaurant, he felt the weight of his new reality. He was seventeen, he had just been promoted to one of the world's most famous reserve teams, and he had a professional debut against Real Madrid Castilla in seventy-two hours.
As they walked, he noticed the older Japanese and Korean players exiting the facility behind them. They watched from a distance as Lorenzo was surrounded by fans and friends, the laughter of the group echoing in the evening air. For them, Lorenzo was a reminder of everything they hadn't yet achieved. They saw his strength, his confidence, and his sudden ascent, and they felt the gap widening between their "technical" dreams and the reality of the professional game.
Lorenzo didn't look back. He knew that the world of football was a meat grinder that didn't care about your nationality or your "genius" label, it only cared about who survived. And with the Drogba template beginning to settle into his bones, he intended to be the biggest survivor of them all.
[System Note: Weight Gain Phase Initiated.]
[Target: 85kg | Current: 75kg]
[Progress toward 100% Drogba Integration: 75%]
The feast was just the beginning. The "Beast" was waking up, and the Mini-Clásico was going to be its first meal.