Barcelona returned home after the preseason tour.
The training ground was busy from the moment they arrived.
Coaches reviewed matches.
Players completed recovery sessions.
Reporters searched for stories.
And the biggest story wasn't difficult to find.
It was everywhere.
Newspapers.
Television.
Radio.
Even supporters discussing football in cafés.
The topic remained the same.
Cristiano Ronaldo.
Messi.
Rio.
Three names.
Three young stars.
Three futures that seemed destined to collide.
One newspaper published a full-page article.
"THE NEXT ERA OF FOOTBALL."
Another focused specifically on Barcelona.
"CAN MESSI AND RIO LEAD BARCELONA TO THE TOP?"
A third compared statistics.
A fourth compared potential.
A fifth compared absolutely everything.
The media couldn't help themselves.
Inside Barcelona's dressing room, however, nobody cared much.
At least not publicly.
Ronaldinho certainly didn't.
The Brazilian entered training carrying three newspapers.
Then dramatically threw them onto a table.
"Look."
Several players glanced over.
Immediately laughing.
The front pages featured the same three faces.
Cristiano.
Messi.
Rio.
Ronaldinho pointed at them.
"You children are becoming famous."
Messi barely looked up.
Rio pretended not to notice.
Neither strategy worked.
The Brazilian was relentless.
"You know what happens next?"
Nobody answered.
"You buy expensive cars."
A pause.
"Then terrible haircuts."
The entire room laughed.
Even Messi.
Especially because everyone knew Ronaldinho was speaking from experience.
Training began shortly afterward.
The atmosphere felt different compared to last season.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to notice.
The expectations had increased.
Barcelona weren't rebuilding anymore.
They were expected to compete.
Expected to win.
Expected to challenge for every trophy available.
And with every passing month, Rio felt that responsibility growing.
During a tactical exercise, he combined beautifully with Messi.
One pass.
Another.
Movement.
Space.
Goal.
The sequence looked effortless.
Rijkaard immediately stopped the drill.
Not because anything was wrong.
Because it was exactly right.
The coach pointed toward them.
"Again."
The exercise restarted.
The same movement appeared.
The same understanding.
The same result.
Several defenders groaned.
Loudly.
Messi seemed pleased.
Which usually meant bad news for defenders.
Meanwhile, journalists continued writing stories.
Many centered around Cristiano Ronaldo.
The Portuguese winger was developing rapidly at Manchester United.
Every week seemed to bring another spectacular goal.
Another highlight.
Another article.
The comparisons became unavoidable.
One television debate spent an entire hour discussing who would become the better player.
Cristiano.
Messi.
Or Rio.
Rio watched approximately thirty seconds before turning the television off.
Bella watched the rest.
Of course she did.
Then she summarized everything.
"Half of them think you're amazing."
Rio nodded.
"And the other half?"
Bella grinned.
"They also think you're amazing."
That answer was suspiciously convenient.
A few days later, Barcelona held an open training session.
Thousands of supporters attended.
Families.
Children.
Fans wearing shirts and waving flags.
The atmosphere felt almost like a match.
When Messi stepped onto the pitch, the crowd erupted.
When Ronaldinho appeared, they erupted again.
And when Rio emerged, the applause surprised him.
Not as loud as the veterans.
Not even close.
Yet noticeably louder than last season.
The realization felt strange.
Supporters expected something from him now.
They knew his name.
They believed in him.
That belief carried weight.
After training, several young fans waited near the exits.
One boy couldn't have been older than ten.
He nervously approached Rio.
Holding a shirt.
"Can you sign it?"
Rio smiled.
"Of course."
The boy handed over the shirt.
Then added something unexpected.
"My favorite player is Messi."
A pause.
"But you're second."
Rio laughed.
That seemed reasonable.
Very reasonable.
Messi was Messi.
As the day ended and supporters gradually left, one thought remained in Rio's mind.
Last season had been about introduction.
This season would be different.
The football world was watching.
The expectations were rising.
And somewhere in England, Cristiano Ronaldo was facing the exact same reality.
Three young stars.
Three different paths.
One generation.
A generation that many believed would define the future of football.
Whether they wanted that responsibility or not.
The new season was only days away.
Barcelona's training sessions grew sharper with every passing morning.
The easy part of preseason had ended.
Now came preparation.
Real preparation.
The kind that separated contenders from pretenders.
One morning, after training, several players were called into a meeting.
Rio was among them.
He wasn't sure why.
Neither were most of the others.
The mystery didn't last long.
The equipment manager entered carrying several shirts.
Immediately, players understood.
Squad numbers.
One of football's smallest details.
One of football's biggest traditions.
Numbers mattered.
Supporters bought them.
Players identified with them.
Sometimes careers became attached to them.
One by one, names were called.
Players received their shirts.
Then came Rio's turn.
The equipment manager handed him the jersey.
Rio looked down.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The number had changed.
No longer a young academy player's number.
No longer temporary.
It was a first-team number.
A number that signaled something important.
Barcelona considered him part of the future.
Not a prospect.
Not a temporary promotion.
A real first-team player.
The realization hit harder than he expected.
Last season he had fought for minutes.
Now the club expected him to contribute every week.
A different challenge entirely.
Nearby, Ronaldinho noticed his expression.
The Brazilian smiled.
"You finally look like you belong."
Rio glanced at the shirt.
Maybe Ronaldinho was right.
Maybe this was different.
Not because of the number itself.
Because of what it represented.
Trust.
Responsibility.
Expectation.
Afterward, the players returned to training.
The first league match was approaching quickly.
And with it came familiar pressure.
Supporters expected victory.
The media expected victory.
Barcelona expected victory.
Nothing unusual there.
The training intensity reflected that expectation.
Every drill became competitive.
Every mistake was punished.
The coaches demanded precision.
The players delivered it.
Mostly.
One afternoon, Rio found himself on the same side as Messi during a small-sided game.
Bad news for everyone else.
The pair moved almost instinctively now.
A glance.
A run.
A pass.
Sometimes they didn't even need words.
The understanding had developed naturally over the previous year.
Messi slipped a pass through a narrow gap.
Rio reached it.
Goal.
The defenders complained immediately.
"That's unfair."
Messi looked genuinely confused.
Which somehow made it funnier.
The Argentine rarely understood why defenders disliked facing him.
A mystery that would likely never be solved.
Meanwhile, outside the club, expectations continued growing.
Television programs discussed Barcelona's title chances.
Journalists debated whether Messi could become the best player in the world.
Others discussed Cristiano Ronaldo's rise in England.
And increasingly, Rio's name appeared alongside both.
He disliked that.
Not because of the attention.
Because comparisons were pointless.
Messi was Messi.
Cristiano was Cristiano.
And Rio intended to become his own player.
Not a copy of anyone else.
The night before the opening league match arrived.
As always, the squad gathered for a final meeting.
Rijkaard stood before them.
Calm.
Focused.
The same as ever.
"The season starts tomorrow."
The room listened carefully.
"What happened last year is over."
Several players nodded.
The victories.
The defeats.
The heartbreak against Madrid.
All history now.
"This team can achieve something special."
A pause.
"But talent isn't enough."
Everyone knew that.
Barcelona had plenty of talent.
What mattered was consistency.
Discipline.
The ability to perform every week.
Not just in big matches.
Every match.
The meeting ended shortly afterward.
Players headed home.
The city already felt different.
The season was beginning.
Supporters could feel it.
The excitement.
The anticipation.
The belief.
At home, Bella immediately noticed the new shirt.
Naturally.
"You got a new number."
Rio nodded.
Bella studied it carefully.
Then smiled.
"It suits you."
Coming from Bella, that was practically a speech.
Rio laughed.
For a moment, he looked down at the jersey again.
A year ago he had dreamed of earning a place in the first team.
Now he had one.
But dreams changed.
Once one was achieved, another took its place.
Tomorrow a new season would begin.
And with it, a new challenge.
Not proving he belonged.
Proving he could help lead Barcelona back to the top.