January 12, 2025 – Al-Awwal Park, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
The Barcelona locker room buzzed with quiet intensity. It wasn't loud, but the atmosphere had weight—like something big was about to unfold.
There was tension, yes, but it wasn't fear. It was purpose.
Lamine Yamal sat quietly, focused. Pedri leaned forward, elbows on knees, headphones still on. Gavi was stretching, a bundle of tightly wound energy, ready to erupt the second he stepped onto the pitch.
Luca sat a few seats down from Raphinha, pulling his socks up, heart pounding just a bit harder than usual. His first Clásico. In a final. Even if he wasn't starting, he was part of it.
And then the lineup was announced. Coach Hansi Flick entered and placed the formation board on the easel. Eyes turned toward it.
Starting XI:Goalkeeper: Wojciech SzczęsnyDefense: Koundé, Cubarsí, Martínez, BaldeMidfield: Frenkie de Jong, Pedri, FermínAttack: Lamine Yamal, Lewandowski, Raphinha
Flick looked around the room. "This is more than just a final. This is what you dream about. The kind of night you remember for the rest of your life."
He walked over to Luca, placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You may not start. But stay locked in. There's a moment waiting for you."
Luca nodded. "I'm ready, coach."
Kickoff: First Half – Barça Set the Tone
The Al-Awwal Park crowd roared as both teams stepped out. Real Madrid in white. Barcelona in blaugrana. Cameras flashed. Every seat taken.
From the first whistle, Barça were on fire.
Just 7 minutes in, Frenkie de Jong released Pedri with a smooth pass. Pedri spun, chipped it to Lamine on the right. The 16-year-old took on Mendy, cut inside, and whipped a left-footed shot—
GOAL!
1–0 Barcelona.
The bench exploded. Flick raised his arms. Luca jumped up with the others, screaming, "Let's goooo Lamine!!"
Real Madrid tried to recover, but Barça didn't let up. Pressing high, crisp passing, pure hunger.
In the 18th minute, a sequence of brilliance: Fermín to Lamine, to Pedri—who faked and fed Lewandowski at the edge of the box. The Polish striker took one touch and smashed it bottom corner.
GOAL! 2–0.
Lewandowski turned to the bench, arms wide. "Come on!!"
Luca was grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. "We're cooking tonight."
By halftime, the score stood. 2–0 Barcelona.
Halftime: Focus Over Flash
The locker room was buzzing. But Flick kept the team grounded.
"We are not done," he said. "You know Madrid. They only need a moment. Keep control. Keep movement. One more goal ends this."
Luca sat at the edge of his seat. Gavi leaned over. "If you get in, bro… do something crazy."
Luca smirked. "Say less."
Second Half: Pressure Builds
Madrid came out with more bite. Bellingham tried to assert himself, Valverde pushed forward. Still, Barça's shape held.
Szczęsny made a key save in the 55th. Koundé cleared a dangerous cross in the 58th.
Then it happened.
60th minute – Raphinha sprinted down the left. Vázquez lunged. Raphinha pulled up, grabbed his hamstring. Went down.
He tried to stand, but shook his head.
From the bench, Flick stood and looked straight at Luca.
"Warm up."
Luca's heart leaped. He pulled off his jacket, cracked his neck, and sprinted to the touchline.
The board went up:
11 – Raphinha OUT80 – Luca IN
Minute 75: Magic in the Making
Luca took his place wide left. First touch? A smooth take-down from a switch by Frenkie. He cut inside and fed Gavi. Confidence.
Then it happened.
Pedri intercepted a pass in midfield. Found De Jong, who passed to Fermín. One-timed to Lamine.
Lamine flew down the right. One-on-one. Cut back. Looked up.
Luca timed his run to perfection. Lamine whipped it in—curling beautifully.
Luca leapt, met it mid-air—volley with his left foot.
GOAL.
The net rippled.
He froze.
Then sprinted to the corner flag, arms wide. Screaming. The bench cleared.
Lamine was the first to reach him. "I told you it was coming!"
Gavi picked him up. "LUCAAAAA!! First Clásico goal!"
The stadium announcer shouted over the roar:
"¡Gol del Fútbol Club Barcelona! Número 80… LUCAAAAA!"
On the sideline, Flick just smiled. "Well done, kid."
Full-Time: Champions
Madrid did manage a late goal. 3–1. But it didn't matter.
The final whistle blew.
Barcelona – Supercopa champions.
Tears in some eyes. Joy in all hearts.
Lewandowski hoisted the trophy. Lamine, Pedri, and Gavi hugged in a circle. Luca stood off to the side for a moment, letting it sink in.
His debut goal. In a Clásico final. A win. A medal. A memory carved forever.
Flick clapped his back. "This is just the beginning."
Luca looked up at the lights.
"This is where I'm meant to be."