The walk home felt longer than usual.
Barcelona glowed gold beneath the fading light of evening, the city slipping slowly from the chaos of afternoon into something quieter. The streets near La Masia buzzed with life—cafés filling with tired workers, scooters weaving recklessly through narrow roads, voices spilling from open windows above old apartment blocks.
Rio walked beside Bella in silence.
His boots hung loosely over one shoulder, tapping softly against his leg with every step.
Sweat still clung to his neck.
Grass stains covered his socks.
Yet his mind remained somewhere else entirely.
On the training pitch.
On movement.
On timing.
On possibilities.
He had spent years watching football through screens.
Breaking it apart frame by frame.
Studying systems until the game stopped resembling sport and started looking like mathematics.
But today—
For the first time—
He had touched it again.
Real grass.
Real pressure.
Real consequence.
And one realization repeated itself quietly inside his head:
The gap is real.
Football in 2003 was talented.
Brilliant, even.
But tactically—
There was space.
So much space.
Enough for someone who knew the future to reshape everything.
Bella exhaled beside him.
Tired.
Too tired for seventeen.
"You're quiet," she said.
Rio glanced at her.
"So are you."
"That's because I'm stressed."
She tried to sound casual.
Failed.
Her fingers twisted nervously around the strap of her worn handbag.
A habit.
One Rio suddenly remembered with painful clarity.
Bella only did that when she was worried about money.
The memory surfaced instinctively.
Bills.
Late rent.
Their mother crying quietly when she thought nobody could hear.
Bella pretending she had already eaten dinner so Rio could have the last piece of bread.
The merge of memories still unsettled him.
Jake Simmons felt protective anger.
Rio Fiero felt guilt.
Together—
The emotion sharpened.
"What happened?" Rio asked.
Bella hesitated.
Then sighed.
"Mom's shift got extended."
Of course.
Elena worked too much.
Bakery mornings.
Cleaning shifts.
Anything available.
Always smiling.
Always pretending exhaustion didn't exist.
"She came home for twenty minutes," Bella continued quietly. "Then went back."
Rio frowned.
"She skipped lunch again."
His jaw tightened.
He hated how familiar that sounded.
Jake had spent thousands on meaningless things.
Takeout meals.
Subscriptions.
Football databases.
And here—
His mother skipped meals to keep electricity running.
Bella hesitated again.
Then said the part she clearly didn't want to.
"The landlord came by."
Rio slowed.
The warmth of the evening suddenly felt colder.
"What did he want?"
Bella laughed once.
Humorless.
"What landlords always want."
Rent.
The word didn't need saying.
"He asked if…" She stopped herself briefly. "He asked if we were planning to leave soon."
Rio's expression hardened.
Bella avoided looking at him.
"He knows your academy contract gets reviewed this month."
Ah.
There it was.
The fear nobody spoke aloud.
La Masia was brutal.
Most boys failed.
Most disappeared.
For every success story—
Hundreds quietly vanished.
Families built dreams around impossible odds.
And when the dream died—
Reality arrived quickly.
Rent notices.
Factory jobs.
Abandoned ambition.
Bella finally looked at him.
"You know how people talk."
Rio stayed silent.
She continued anyway.
"They think football's temporary."
The way she said it hurt.
Not because she doubted him.
Because she was afraid to hope.
That hurt more.
Rio stopped walking.
Bella took another step before realizing.
She turned.
"What?"
The setting sun painted the street gold around them.
For a moment—
Neither spoke.
Rio studied her carefully.
The tired eyes.
The protective posture.
The quiet panic hidden beneath forced strength.
Seventeen years old.
Already carrying burdens she shouldn't have.
Something shifted quietly inside him.
Jake Simmons had died alone.
Nobody waiting.
Nobody depending on him.
But now—
People were waiting.
Depending.
Believing.
And he refused to fail them.
"We're not leaving," Rio said quietly.
Bella blinked.
"Rio—"
"We're staying."
Something in his tone made her pause.
It wasn't teenage confidence.
Not optimism.
Certainty.
Calm, unsettling certainty.
"You don't know that," she said carefully.
"No."
He adjusted the strap on his bag.
"But I know this."
His gaze drifted briefly toward the city skyline.
"In two days, I play my first official match."
Bella frowned.
"You don't even know if you'll—"
"I'll play."
The confidence surprised even him.
But not because he believed in destiny.
Because he understood systems.
Selection patterns.
Human psychology.
Guillermo had noticed him today.
Not fully.
Not enough.
But enough to test him.
Football coaches always chased answers.
And Rio had presented a question they couldn't ignore.
Bella crossed her arms.
"You sound strange lately."
Rio almost smiled.
Fair observation.
Because technically—
Her brother had died yesterday.
"I'm serious," she said softly.
"You're fifteen."
Her voice weakened.
"Don't break your own heart."
There it was.
Fear again.
Not criticism.
Fear.
Fear of watching him fail.
Fear of watching their mother break.
Fear of hoping for something too expensive.
Rio looked at her for several seconds.
Then said quietly—
"I'm not guessing."
She frowned.
"What does that mean?"
He searched for words.
Couldn't tell her the truth.
Couldn't explain reincarnation.
Couldn't explain future football.
So instead—
He said the closest thing.
"I finally understand what I'm doing."
Bella stared.
Long enough that he almost regretted saying it.
Then—
Unexpectedly—
She reached up and shoved his shoulder.
Lightly.
"You better."
Her voice cracked slightly.
"Because Mom believes in this way too much."
Rio nodded once.
"I know."
And for the first time since waking up—
Failure felt unacceptable.
Not for ambition.
For family.
The next morning arrived colder than expected.
Rio reached La Masia early.
Earlier than memory suggested he usually did.
His body woke naturally now.
Athlete habits.
The training grounds remained quiet.
Ground staff prepared cones.
Sprinklers misted the pitch.
The smell of wet grass filled the air.
Rio stood near the touchline alone.
Watching.
Thinking.
Yesterday had confirmed something important:
He couldn't force dominance.
His brain moved faster than his body.
Decision-making?
Elite.
Vision?
Possibly elite.
Physical execution?
Still fifteen.
That missed shot replayed in his head.
Correct technique.
Correct placement.
Weak power.
His body lacked strength.
Timing.
Maturity.
That mattered.
Football punished arrogance.
Then—
A voice interrupted him.
"You came early."
Rio turned.
Messi.
Hands shoved awkwardly into jacket pockets.
Hair messy.
Still quiet.
Still difficult to read.
"You too," Rio said.
Messi shrugged.
"I like training."
Simple answer.
Honest.
Rio believed him instantly.
Because obsession recognized obsession.
They stood quietly for several seconds.
No awkwardness.
Just silence.
Then Messi spoke again.
"You knew where I wanted the ball yesterday."
Rio smiled faintly.
"You make good runs."
Messi shook his head immediately.
"No."
He hesitated.
"You saw them before me."
Interesting.
Even now—
Messi processed football differently.
Rio filed that away mentally.
Before either could continue—
Coach Guillermo's whistle echoed.
Players gathered quickly.
Energy buzzed across the pitch.
Something felt different today.
Whispers followed him.
Glances.
Nothing dramatic.
But noticeable.
Yesterday had changed perception.
Slightly.
Cesc arrived late.
Confident stride.
Controlled arrogance.
Future captain written all over him.
His eyes found Rio immediately.
"You weren't terrible yesterday," Cesc said.
High praise.
Coming from him.
Rio smirked slightly.
"I'll treasure that."
Cesc ignored the joke.
"We're on the same side today."
That got Rio's attention.
Interesting.
Guillermo stepped forward.
"Split session!"
Players quieted instantly.
"Blue team—Fàbregas, Piqué…"
Pause.
"…Fiero."
Whispers again.
Rio noticed.
Yesterday he was invisible.
Today—
People were paying attention.
Not respect.
Curiosity.
Guillermo continued organizing teams.
Messi landed opposite them.
Small.
Quiet.
Dangerous.
Even now.
Cesc nudged Rio lightly.
"You know him?"
"Not really."
"You played like you did."
Rio looked toward Messi.
"He sees football quickly."
Cesc snorted.
"Understatement."
Then lowered his voice.
"So?"
Rio glanced toward Red Team.
Messi drifting deeper already.
Watching space.
Studying defenders.
And suddenly—
The shape became obvious.
"If we press him directly," Rio said quietly, "we lose shape."
Cesc raised an eyebrow.
"Go on."
"Let him receive."
Cesc frowned.
"Seriously?"
"Just don't let him turn."
Rio pointed subtly.
"The second pass matters more than the first."
Cesc followed his gaze.
Thinking.
Rio continued.
"Force him sideways."
"Cut support."
"Make him play backwards."
Silence.
Then—
"…You think weird," Cesc muttered.
Rio took that as a compliment.
The whistle blew.
And the game began.