The first night in Room 12 was quiet, save for the hum of a small desk fan and the distant, muffled sounds of other teenagers laughing in the hallway. The dorms of La Masia weren't luxurious; they were functional, steeped in the history of players who had sweated and bled for a chance to stand at the Camp Nou.
Rio lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. In his old life as Jake, he had lived in a cluttered apartment filled with tactical books and hard drives. Now, he had a suitcase and a roommate who was destined to be the greatest of all time.
Leo was sitting on the edge of his bed, peeling a sticker off a water bottle. He looked at Rio, his eyes curious. "The coaches say you played in the outskirts before this. But you don't play like a street kid, Rio. You play like you've already played a thousand professional games."
Rio turned his head, his expression draped in that signature calm. "Maybe I have, Leo. In my dreams."
Messi chuckled, a rare, shy sound. "I dream about the ball. But you... you look like you dream about the whole pitch. Why did you want to stay here? You could have stayed with your family with that new money."
"Because if we're going to change football, we need to be thinking about it at 3:00 AM, not just at 3:00 PM," Rio replied. "My mother and Bella are safe now. That was the first goal. The second goal is making sure no one ever forgets the names Messi and Fiero."
Leo nodded slowly, a newfound intensity in his gaze. "I like that. We don't just play. We change it."
The Celebrity of the Classroom
The following morning, the reality of Rio's new life hit him outside the training pitch. The academy players attended a local school integrated with the club's youth program. Before the Zaragoza game, Rio had been the "invisible kid" in the back of the class—the one who stared out the window and said nothing.
Now, as he walked through the stone archway of the school with Leo, the atmosphere shifted.
Whispers rippled through the hallways like a physical wave.
"That's him. That's Fiero."
"Did you see the pass? The 'Croqueta' into the diagonal?"
It wasn't just the boys talking football. Rio noticed a group of girls near the lockers. In his 15-year-old body, Rio possessed a "beautiful" symmetry—sharp jawline, deep, knowing eyes, and an effortless posture that suggested he was always the smartest person in the room. Combined with his sudden rise to fame, he had become a magnet.
As he walked toward his desk, a girl named Claudia, the daughter of a prominent local doctor and a known socialite in the school, stepped into his path. She was striking, with dark curls and a confident smirk.
"Nice game, Rio," she said, leaning against a desk. "My father says you're the first person he's seen who makes Messi look like he's actually trying. Are you always that quiet on the pitch?"
Rio didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He gave her a brief, polite nod—the kind of nod a king gives a subject—and kept walking.
"I'm busy, Claudia," he said smoothly. "I have a chemistry exam and a tactical briefing. Maybe another time."
The classroom went silent. No one turned down Claudia. Leo, walking behind him, had to hide a smile behind his hand.
The Weight of the Gaze
Throughout the day, Rio felt the eyes. It wasn't just admiration; it was hunger. He was the "new" thing in a city that obsessed over its icons. At lunch, several older girls from the senior years "accidentally" walked past his table, whispering about his height and his "enigmatic" eyes.
But Rio remained untouchable. He sat with Leo and Cesc, discussing the defensive transition of the first team's next opponent.
"You're going to have a problem, Rio," Cesc remarked, stabbing a piece of chicken. "You're too good-looking and too good at football. The girls in this city... they're going to hunt you down."
Rio took a bite of his apple, his mind already drifting to the training session that afternoon. "Let them hunt, Cesc. I'm only interested in people who can keep up with the pace."
The VIP Presence
As the school day ended, a black car with tinted windows pulled up near the gates. It wasn't his mother's bakery van.
Sofia Valera was leaning against the door, her sunglasses perched on her head. She wasn't a student here—she went to a prestigious private academy—but her father's influence gave her a pass to go wherever she pleased.
She watched Rio exit the building. She didn't call out to him this time. She simply stood there, watching the way the sunlight hit his face, her expression a mix of calculation and genuine intrigue.
Rio saw her. He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He simply adjusted the strap of his bag and walked toward the La Masia bus. He knew that in 2003, the "off-field" game was just as dangerous as the one on the grass.
He had the money. He had the fame. He had the beauty. But as he boarded the bus, his only thought was the drill Guillermo had promised for the afternoon: One-on-one finishing.
I need to fix the power in my legs, Rio thought, his eyes narrowing. The girls can wait. The goal cannot.