The first rays of sunlight spilled through the cracked window of the small apartment, casting golden streaks across the floor. The air was still, quiet except for the rhythmic creak of the old mattress as Luca sat up. No alarm needed—his internal clock had adjusted. This week wasn't about comfort or rest. It was about preparation.
Luca Herrera had been given the opportunity of a lifetime: a tryout with Barcelona B.
It wasn't just a step. It was a leap. And he wasn't about to take it lightly.
Day One: The Grind Begins
He tied his shoelaces tight and headed out to the local park before breakfast. No fancy gym, no private trainer—just raw effort. His father, as always, offered a quick thumbs-up from the couch, sipping coffee.
Luca dropped to the ground and started with push-ups. 30… 40… 50. His arms burned, but he welcomed it. Every repetition felt like one inch closer to the dream.
Then pull-ups. He found the old metal bar in the neighborhood park, slightly rusted but still strong. 10… 12… 15. His muscles screamed, but he kept going.
Burpees, jump squats, planks. He repeated the cycle twice more. Sweat poured down his face like a waterfall.
"Let them try to push me around again," he muttered to himself, remembering the bruises from Valencia. "Next time, I'll be stronger. I'll stand my ground."
Day Two: Father's Support
Luca returned from the park drenched in sweat. His father had breakfast ready—simple eggs, bread, and orange juice.
"You're pushing hard, huh?" his father said with a smile, sliding the plate over. "You remind me of your mother when she trained for marathons. That same fire."
Luca smiled back. "I feel like… she's with me, you know?"
His father nodded, his expression softening. "She'd be proud. Keep going, hijo. The world's going to know your name soon."
Day Three: Routine Locked
By now, his body had started adjusting. Soreness was still there, but his movements felt more fluid. The push-ups were cleaner. The planks were tighter. He was doing sprints around the block, timing himself, shaving off seconds with every lap.
He added core workouts—leg raises, bicycle crunches, mountain climbers. Then he did explosive training, working on his vertical leap and first step.
No rest days. No excuses.
The system occasionally pinged subtle improvements in his agility and strength. Nothing major, but noticeable. The Ronaldinho Template had given him finesse. This? This was his own grind—his own stats.
Day Four: Technical Brilliance
He didn't just train his body—he trained his touch.
Luca took a ball to a quiet alley, using the wall as his opponent. He practiced flicks, outside-foot traps, ball rolls, la croquetas, and shimmies.
The wall returned the ball harshly, randomly. It made him think, react. With each move, he visualized game situations. A press. A tight marker. A sudden opening.
Then he practiced freestyle juggling, chaining moves—around the world, crossover, sole catch—combining rhythm and creativity.
It felt like music. The kind only he could hear.
Day Five: Night Conversations
That evening, lying in bed with his phone dimly lighting the room, he opened the system menu:
Current Stat Boosts:Dribbling: +15Vision: +10Shooting: +8Technique: +14Agility: +5Strength: +2
The numbers didn't lie. The grind was working. Slowly, surely.
He clicked on a new tab—"Milestone Goals":
Play a full match for Barcelona B – Locked
Score in a Barcelona B match – Locked
Get first-team training invite – Locked
Debut at Camp Nou – Locked
So many locks. But he wasn't intimidated.
He looked at the ceiling and whispered, "I'll break every one of you."
Day Six: Rain Doesn't Stop Fire
Rain poured over Barcelona like the sky itself was weeping. The roads glistened, and puddles pooled in corners of the streets. But Luca, wearing an old hoodie, still ran.
He sprinted in the rain, soaked to the bone. Push-ups on wet pavement. Shadow-dribbling through cones he set under a bus stop roof.
He laughed through the discomfort. "They don't stop when it rains… why should I?"
His father watched from the window and shook his head, proud but worried. "He's got that spark… just like her."
Day Seven: Countdown
The week was almost up.
Luca stood in front of the mirror shirtless, inspecting the subtle definition in his chest and arms. He wasn't bulky—he didn't need to be. But he was toned. Fast. Stronger than before.
He ended the day with yoga and stretches, breathing deeply. Recovery mattered too. He drank water. Ate clean. Slept early.
Tomorrow, he'd step into Barcelona B training.
And they'd see someone new.