The morning after the Clásico, Lorenzo woke up to a body that refused to cooperate.
His left hamstring felt like tightly coiled wire, his right calf kept pulsing with dull spasms, and shifting his weight sent a sharp pinch across the left side of his lower back. He had dragged Barcelona back from the brink, scored three goals against Real Madrid, and kept their historic streak alive. Now the bill had come due.
He dragged himself into the shower, brewed a mug of coffee, and sank into the living room sofa.
His phone rang an hour later.
Benitez was blunt on the other end. "Pintus wants you at the ground early. Practice is at eleven, be here by nine."
"That gives me barely an hour."
"He knows. He has someone for you to meet."
Ciutat Esportiva on a post-Clásico morning was usually quiet, reserved for light pool sessions and passive recovery. Today, the medical wing was buzzing.
Pintus caught Lorenzo near the entrance, skipping pleasantries entirely. "Follow me."
They walked past the primary treatment suites and stepped into an unfamiliar consultation room at the end of the hall. A young woman stood beside an examination table, scrolling through a digital tablet.
She looked to be in her mid-twenties, wearing tailored slacks, a grey blouse, and a thin silver chain, her dark hair pulled back neatly. When she looked up, her gaze was entirely detached from the hype of the previous night.
"Doctor Sofía Marchena," Pintus introduced. "She is consulting with our performance staff for the final stretch of the season."
Sofía gestured toward the padded bench. "Up on the table, please."
Lorenzo climbed up, wincing as his hamstring tightened.
"Your muscle tone is completely locked," she stated, eyes fixed on the screen. "Your workload metrics from last night clocked twelve point nine kilometers, forty-seven maximum-intensity sprints, and twenty-three peak vertical impacts. Your left hamstring is functioning at roughly seventy percent of its baseline capacity. That puts you directly in the red zone for a major tear."
"I can play through it."
Sofía lowered the tablet and met his eyes with a flat expression. "Your physiological markers are clear, Lorenzo. Lying about your condition wastes my time and yours."
Pintus let out a quiet scoff from the corner.
"Sofía finished her doctoral research at the Karolinska Institute in Stockholm," Pintus explained. "She spent two years with the German FA before heading load analytics for Ecuador. I asked her to review your telemetry because your recovery rates have been baffling my staff for months."
"The numbers deviate drastically from standard human baselines," Sofía said. "Either the sensors are malfunctioning or our performance models need recalibration. Either way, last night caused measurable trauma. You have micro-swelling in your left ankle, an elevated resting heart rate, and an overstretched hamstring. You are not clearing medical for Wednesday."
Lorenzo frowned. "Real Sociedad is a crucial league fixture."
"You are still ruled out."
"Martino won't accept that easily."
"I told him five minutes ago," Pintus grunted. "He should be walking through that door right about now."
The door swung open, revealing Martino with a thunderous scowl. He looked between Pintus, the new specialist, and Lorenzo.
"How bad is it?" Martino asked.
"He is compromised," Sofía answered directly. "If you field him against Sociedad on Wednesday, you risk losing him for the Champions League final in Lisbon. Protecting him now ensures he plays when the trophy is on the line."
Martino stared at her for a long second, then looked at Pintus, who gave a single, resolute nod.
The manager exhaled heavily, turning to Lorenzo. "You rest through Friday. If I catch you doing extra drills, I will keep you in the stands for a fortnight. Understood?"
Lorenzo started to object, but caught himself before the words left his mouth. "Understood."
She was writing something on her tablet. Without looking up, she said, "You did well last night. I watched the match on delay after your recovery data came in."
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't care about the football part."
Martino turned his attention back to Sofía. "Doctor, Pintus vouches for your methods, so I will back your call. Keep him ready for the final."
Once the coaches stepped out into the hallway, Sofía resumed tapping notes into her tablet. Without looking up, she spoke in a calmer tone. "Fine performance yesterday. I reviewed the match footage after checking your raw data."
Lorenzo offered a faint smile. "I thought you only looked at the numbers."
"The numbers explain the strain; the footage shows why it happened," she replied, glancing up briefly. "The movement for the header was sharp. The match-winner was exceptional. Still, seventeen-year-olds do not possess infinite durability. Playing through every fixture will shorten your career."
She tucked the tablet under her arm and headed for the exit. Pausing at the door, she added, "That curling strike reminded me of Del Piero in 2006 against Germany. His had slightly more dip, though yours was remarkably close."
She closed the door behind her, leaving Lorenzo alone in the quiet room.
He leaned back against the headrest, staring up at the fluorescent panels as his muscles throbbed. Deep within his awareness, the upgraded system hummed quietly, observing the physical recovery process without intruding.
That evening, Cecilia showed up at the villa carrying a warm bag of Colombian empanadas from a bakery near her father's firm. She set the table, handed him a plate, and sat down opposite him.
"You look a bit on edge," she said.
"You could say that. That match took a lot out of me."
"So you're really sitting out against Sociedad?"
"Yeah. Pintus and the new doctor ruled me out until Friday."
"That's good," Cecilia said between bites. "Take the break and recover properly."
"I'd still rather be out there."
"Which is exactly why the medical staff makes the decisions."
She reached across the table, resting her warm hand over his for a moment before letting go. "Now finish the rest of that food."
Lorenzo picked up another empanada and took a bite. The quiet hum of the villa settled around them, offering a rare, peaceful break from the season's grind.
You know what time it is! Drop those Power Stones to keep us climbing the ranks!
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