The two days following El Clásico dragged by in a strange, heavy blur.
Lorenzo collapsed into twelve solid hours of sleep on the first night, followed by nine more on the second. Sofía had restricted his schedule to light mobility exercises, while Pintus took the extra precaution of literally padlocking the heavier free weights in the gym to keep him from squeezing in extra reps. When Lorenzo pushed back on Tuesday morning, Pintus shut him down instantly.
"Twenty years in this business," the fitness coach said flatly. "You think you are the first stubborn kid trying to hide fatigue? You aren't even the first one this week."
Lorenzo let it drop.
By Wednesday morning, the tightness in his left hamstring lingered, though his calves had finally stopped spasming. Most of his baseline energy had returned, even if that quiet, dull throb in his lower back still flared up whenever he bent down to tie his laces.
The squad departed for the stadium at ten. Lorenzo stood in the gravel car park outside Ciutat Esportiva, watching the team bus rumble past the gates until the tail-lights vanished around the bend. He waited a few quiet minutes in the morning breeze before heading back to his own car.
He drove straight home to an empty villa.
At six that evening, Cecilia showed up at the front door holding a warm paper bag from a nearby bakery and a stubborn agenda about where he would be spending his night.
"You are sitting in the stands with me," she said, setting a stack of fresh empanadas onto the kitchen counter. "Staying home will make you spiral. I know how your head works. By kickoff you will be pacing holes in the rug, and by halftime you will be blowing up Xavi or Neymar's phone with tactical breakdowns they never asked for."
"I could message Martino instead of calling them."
"Please don't."
"Sofía explicitly ordered zero stress."
"So, what do you mean? Watching the game beside me is peaceful, you know," Cecilia replied, sliding a plate across the island. "Sitting alone on this couch, stewing over things you cannot control, is pure stress. Eat your food, then go put on some good clothes. I already secured our tickets for the front row."
Lorenzo paused with a fork in his hand. "You already bought the seats?"
"Yep, and if your new doctor has an issue, tell her to come find me."
Lorenzo studied her determined expression, gave up, and finished his meal before heading upstairs to swap his training sweatpants for jeans and a dark jacket.
Camp Nou felt noticeably calmer on a cool Wednesday night. About seventy-five thousand supporters filled the stands for the midweek clash against Real Sociedad, creating a relaxed, steady buzz across the bowl.
Sitting in the front row offered an entirely foreign perspective. From the pitch, the match was an intense blur of closing space, heavy breath, and split-second decisions. From the stands, everything slowed down. The gaps between the lines appeared massive. The passing corridors opened up clearly, and every minor misplaced touch stood out like a sore thumb.
Cecilia kept her jacket zipped against the evening chill, her hand resting casually over his forearm through most of the first half. It felt like her subtle way of keeping him pinned to his seat, just in case his instincts tempted him to start pacing the touchline.
He stayed seated, though he leaned forward whenever Barcelona pushed into the final third. By the half-hour mark, Cecilia was providing her own breezy running commentary to keep his mind from over-analyzing every phase of play.
"Neymar's about to cut inside. Messi's dropping deep. Nice ball from Iniesta, and — oh, Alba's crossing it."
Lorenzo looked at her sideways. "You have picked up a lot of football."
"Eight months of watching you play every week," she smiled. "It sinks in."
On the pitch, Barcelona handled business efficiently. In the 24th minute, Neymar drove down the left flank, danced past Markel Bergara, and slotted a low finish into the far corner. Just before the break, Pedro rose to double the advantage with a header off Xavi's corner delivery. Midway through the second half, Messi put the contest out of reach with a delicate chip over the rushing keeper. Carlos Vela snatched a late consolation goal for Sociedad in the 79th minute, but the outcome had long been decided.
Final score: Barcelona 3, Real Sociedad 1.
The full-time whistle blew, and the crowd rose for a warm round of applause. Cecilia nudged his shoulder.
"Look at that. They can manage without you."
"They got the three points," Lorenzo countered smoothly. "It just took them longer to break the lines."
"That's just you being arrogant."
"Come on, check the stats sheet."
That earned a laugh from her, and Lorenzo felt a genuine smile break across his face.
Later that night, back on the living room sofa, Lorenzo's phone buzzed with an incoming text from Sofía:
Your muscle elasticity readings from this afternoon improved by roughly two percent. Told you, sitting out was definitely the right call. Be on the training pitch Friday morning.
Lorenzo typed back: You actually monitor player metrics during live matches?
Yes.
From home?
From my office at the facility. Did you honestly think I just ignore the data on match days, Lorenzo?
He paused over the screen before tapping a short reply: Fair enough, I guess.
Get some proper sleep. See you Friday.
He locked the phone, let out a soft sigh, and set it down on the coffee table. Cecilia looked up from her tablet on the opposite cushion, raising an eyebrow.
"Was that your doctor? Sofía, right?"
"Yeah."
"She seems kind of intense."
"You could say that, but honestly she's really thorough and quite good at what she does," Lorenzo said, leaning his head back against the cushion.
"Fair point," Cecilia agreed, turning back to her screen.
Outside, the quiet Catalan night settled over the villa. Barcelona had secured another victory, their historic streak remained intact, and for the first time in six months, Lorenzo had watched ninety minutes of football without feeling his pulse race.
You know what time it is! Drop those Power Stones to keep us climbing the ranks!
Read Advance Chapters Here:
patreon.com/Shadownarch_