The rain in Barcelona was different.
It didn't tap politely against the windows like Amsterdam's drizzle. It hammered, relentless, as if the sky itself was furious. Femi Adeleye stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of the Hotel Arts, watching the Mediterranean churn under the storm. The water was the color of bruised steel.
Behind him, the Ajax U-23 squad buzzed with nervous energy. Liam was sprawled on a couch, idly flicking through tactics on his tablet. Josip sat at the edge of the group, sharpening his studs with a file, the scrape of metal against metal grating in the quiet.
"First match is tomorrow," Coach Bakker said, tossing a folder onto the table. The logo of FC Barcelona U-23 gleamed under the lamplight. "And they're not just any team."
Femi didn't need the reminder.
Barcelona.
Lars' team.
The folder contained dossiers on Barca's key players—their wonderkid winger, their metronome midfielder, their brick-wall center-back. But Femi's eyes snagged on one name: Marc Guillén.
18 years old. Left winger. Spanish youth international. The jewel of La Masia.
Liam whistled. "This kid's highlight reel is stupid."
Femi glanced at the screen. Guillén moved like liquid, slaloming through defenders with a lazy arrogance that made Femi's teeth itch.
Josip smirked. "He's fast. But he's never played against us."
Bakker's gaze cut to Femi. "Guillén drifts inside. Cuts onto his right. You can't give him an inch."
Femi nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.
Lars knows how I defend. He knows my weaknesses. What if he's told them?
The thought coiled in his gut like a live wire.
---
That evening, under the dim glow of the hotel's conference room, Bakker mapped out the battle plan.
"They'll control possession. That's their DNA. But here—" He tapped the screen, where a heat map showed Barca's left flank glowing red. "—this is where we hurt them. Guillén doesn't track back. Their left-back is slow. Femi, you overlap. Liam, you drift wide. We isolate their weak side."
Femi traced the tactical lines with his finger. Overlap. Attack. Don't let Guillén breathe.
Then Bakker added, "And if they adjust? If Guillén starts cutting inside?"
Femi knew the answer before Bakker said it.
"Then you stop him. By any means necessary."
Josip's grin was all teeth.
---
Femi couldn't sleep.
At 1:17 AM, he slipped out of his room and into the hotel's deserted gym. The treadmill hummed under his feet as he sprinted, Guillén's highlights playing on loop in his mind.
Cut inside. Feint right. Go left.
Over and over, until his lungs burned.
Then—
"You'll be dead by halftime if you keep that up."
Femi jerked the emergency stop. Josip leaned against the dumbbell rack, arms crossed.
"What are you doing here?" Femi panted.
Josip tossed him a water bottle. "Same as you. Preparing for war."
Silence stretched between them. The rain hissed against the windows.
Finally, Josip said, his voice quieter than usual, "Guillén's good. But he's not you."
Femi frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Josip shrugged. "You've spent a year becoming something they've never seen. A winger who learned to defend. A defender who attacks like a winger. Guillén? He's just… a winger."
Femi blinked, taken aback. Coming from Josip, it meant something. Maybe not friendship. But respect.
Josip pushed off the rack. "Sleep, Femi. Tomorrow, we hunt."
---
Game Day
The Camp Nou loomed like a cathedral.
Even at half-capacity for a youth match, the roar of the crowd vibrated in Femi's bones. As Ajax warmed up, he caught a glimpse of the opposition—Barca's famous blue and red stripes, their players moving with the effortless grace of kids bred for this.
And there, on the touchline, stood Lars de Groot.
Their eyes met. Lars gave the faintest nod.
No words. Just a challenge.
The whistle blew.
Starting Lineups:
Ajax U-23:
1. Daan Visser (GK)
2. Kenji Okoro (RCB)
3. Ramon Dekker (CB)
4. Femi Adeleye (LCB)
5. Noah Willems (RWB)
6. Josip Van der Berg (LWB)
7. Yassine Bouali (CM)
8. Timo van Loon (CM)
9. Liam Janssen (RW)
10. Souleymane Traoré (ST)
11. Jacek Kowalski (LW)
Barcelona U-23:
1. Hugo Martínez (GK)
2. Pablo Ruiz (RB)
3. Alex Rosas (CB)
4. Jordi Navarro (CB)
5. Sergio Calvo (LB)
6. Arnau Soler (CDM)
7. Victor Pardo (CM)
8. Enric Vidal (CM)
9. Marc Guillén (LW)
10. Bruno Peris (ST)
11. Nico Galiano (RW)
---
The Match
The first five minutes were a blur. Barca moved the ball like it was on a string, tiki-taka rhythms lulling Ajax into a false sense of control. Femi kept his position tight, stealing glances at Guillén as the ball rotated.
Then—
Guillén got the ball.
Femi's pulse spiked. The Spaniard danced forward, hips swaying, eyes locked onto Femi like a predator.
Femi crouched lower. Come on. Try me.
Guillén feinted left. Cut right. Accelerated.
And Femi matched him, step for step, forcing him wide. Guillén tried a quick cutback, but Femi was already there, poking the ball out for a throw.
The crowd gasped. Guillén's eyes flickered.
He didn't expect that.
Femi grinned.
This was just the beginning.
To Be Continued…