The sun was just starting to sink behind the towering stands of Camp Nou, casting a warm golden glow across the sky. Inside the stadium, however, the noise was already deafening. Ninety thousand voices merged into a constant hum that felt more like an atmosphere than mere sound.
In the away dressing room, Laurence Gonzales stood with his jacket half-zipped, a marker in hand, fixated on the tactical board. The 3-4-3 formation was second nature to him by now, but tonight it needed some tweaks. Luna was out—rested by choice, as Laurence had decided the defender's energy would be crucial for the midweek Europa fixtures. In his stead, the more seasoned and cautious Álex Bellvís slid into the left side of the back three alongside De Vrij and Koulibaly.
Victor approached from behind, holding a folded printout. "Pep's gone all out," he said. "Xavi, Iniesta, Busquets, Dani Alves, Piqué, Abidal… Messi on the right, Villa in the center, Pedro on the left."
Laurence nodded briefly. "Good. This is as close to perfection as they get. If we can spot where we falter, we'll know exactly what needs fixing before Europe."
Victor raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem nervous."
Laurence capped the marker. "I'm not here to make a statement today. I want to see how our structure holds up when the tempo is cranked up two notches."
The lineup had been revealed.
Aragoneses behind a back three of Koulibaly, De Vrij, and Bellvís.
Cancelo and Grimaldo wide.
Casemiro and Kikoto pairing in midfield.
Griezmann on the right of the front three, Neymar on the left, and Wilfried Bony in the center.
No surprises there. But it was still a bold choice.
As the players made their way down the tunnel, the sound enveloped them like a warm breeze—Barcelona's anthem swirling through the stadium, flags fluttering in every direction. Neymar, sandwiched between Bony and Kikoto, took a quiet breath and glanced toward the far end, where a small group of Tenerife fans bounced to their own defiant rhythm.
Victor leaned in closer to Laurence. "What's your prediction?"
Laurence kept his eyes fixed on the pitch. "We're going to have a tough start. If we can stay within a goal by halftime, we'll be in a good spot."
The referee glanced at both captains before blowing the whistle. The ball was in play.
Barcelona immediately pressed high, moving with an almost effortless precision. Busquets slipped into passing lanes as if he had them all mapped out in his mind. Iniesta received the ball with his back to the goal and somehow turned into open space without ever revealing his next move.
In the sixth minute, Casemiro made the first attempt at a controlled break. A quick pivot away from Villa gave him a moment to breathe, but as he looked up, Xavi and Iniesta were already closing in. Casemiro nudged the ball out wide to Cancelo, who was intercepted before he could even glance up. Pedro snatched it away, passed it to Iniesta, and suddenly Barcelona was on the move again with alarming ease.
The ball swung to the right. Dani Alves was already racing down the flank, and Pedro found him perfectly. Bellvís reacted, but it was barely in time.
The cross came in hard and low.
Messi arrived late, slipping between Koulibaly and De Vrij. His left foot connected with the ball in a clean snap, sending it toward the bottom corner.
Aragoneses dove to the side, his fingertips just grazing the ball and pushing it wide. A small cheer of appreciation rose from the away fans, but the Tenerife bench remained silent, simply exhaling in relief.
Laurence cupped his hands around his mouth. "Don't step too early! Keep your shape!"
The next few minutes saw Tenerife trying to find their footing. Griezmann dropped back to connect with Cancelo, while Neymar drifted between the lines, hunting for those little spaces where he could turn. Bony was busy grappling with Piqué, testing his balance and looking for any loose ball to pounce on.
In the twelfth minute, Koulibaly noticed Cancelo making a run into a gap and sent a diagonal pass over to him. Cancelo expertly controlled it with his chest and drove forward, feinting past Adriano. With no clear pass ahead, he shifted the ball to Neymar, who quickly turned and burst through the opening between Busquets and Piqué.
He took a long stride and unleashed a curling shot from outside the box. It curved toward the far corner, beating Valdés but just skimming inches wide.
Laurence shouted, "Good. They're not invincible! Keep pushing!"
But Barcelona's response was just around the corner. They slowed the pace just enough for Tenerife to step up, then suddenly ramped it back up.
Iniesta slipped into the half-space unnoticed. Kikoto tried to track him but couldn't get close. A quick exchange between Iniesta, Pedro, and Xavi left the Tenerife midfield spinning. Xavi then found Villa dropping off the line, and Villa instantly sent the ball into Messi's path.
Bellvís, half a second late to react, lunged to cover—but Messi had already cut inside, brushing past Koulibaly with a subtle shift of weight. With barely a backlift, he curled the ball low toward the far post.
Aragoneses stretched, but the shot was spot on. It kissed the inside of the post and bounced in.
A familiar roar erupted from the stadium.
Laurence shouted, "Eyes up! Stay in the game!"
Victor leaned in beside him. "They're pulling Bellvís around too easily."
"Bellvis will find a way around this," Laurence replied, not sounding irritated at all. "He has more experience in these situations than any other defenders. He will try to cover for his mistake. Keep him in."
From the twenty-fifth to the thirty-fifth minute, Tenerife really dug in, showing some serious determination. De Vrij made two perfectly timed interventions, snuffing out what seemed like sure chances for Villa. Kikoto was relentless in his pursuit of Iniesta, forcing him to make sideways passes instead of going for those vertical ones.
Casemiro quickly adjusted, dropping deeper to support Koulibaly, and for the first time, Barcelona found themselves stuck in harmless ball circulation.
Tenerife managed to find a few small openings to catch their breath.
A flick from Bony set Neymar loose down the left side, but Puyol—who had come on for Abidal earlier due to a minor injury—did well to recover and cut off the angle. This led to a corner. Grimaldo whipped it in hard toward Koulibaly, who muscled Busquets out of the way and powered a header just over the bar.
In the thirty-eighth minute, Tenerife had their best chance yet. It all started with Bellvís, surprisingly. Under pressure from Dani Alves, he clipped a long ball that found Grimaldo in stride. The young wingback from La Masia took a touch forward, inviting Alves to commit, then slid the ball inside to Griezmann.
Griezmann quickly returned it with a clever backheel, momentarily throwing the Barcelona defense off balance.
Bony stepped into the space, shielded the ball from Piqué, and laid it off to Neymar, who was arriving at the top of the box.
Neymar struck it cleanly toward the top-left corner.
Valdés jumped and palmed it away with perfect timing.
Laurence clapped once. "Good run, Wilfried. Keep pulling them."
Barcelona quickly regained control after that scare. For the rest of the half, they dictated the rhythm, but Tenerife remained compact.
Messi tried to drift centrally more often; Koulibaly tracked him closely. Xavi attempted several disguised diagonal passes; De Vrij positioned himself smartly to intercept two of them. Pedro pushed hard to beat Cancelo in a foot race; Cancelo matched him stride for stride.
As the clock struck forty-four, Victor leaned in closer to Laurence. "They're moving Messi inside. Should we drop Kikoto back deeper?"
Laurence shook his head. "Not just yet. If we drop too soon, we'll lose our outlet. Let them make their move. But make sure to tell Griezmann to stay tighter to Cancelo when we're building up. We need a clearer option."
Victor passed on the message, Griezmann nodded in understanding, and the formation shifted just a bit—small adjustments that might go unnoticed by most, but crucial for holding off the relentless pressure.
The referee checked his watch. One extra minute.
Barcelona surged forward again, Messi threading a pass to Villa. De Vrij intervened at the perfect moment, intercepting the ball and clearing it long. Neymar sprinted after it, forcing Piqué to fall back and tidy things up.
Then, the whistle blew.
Halftime.