"Don't slack! Move it!!!"
Pimienta's shout echoed through the training pitch.
Romeo Teixeira snapped to attention and quickly joined the warm-up session.
Gerard and Pimienta watched the players closely, tension etched on their faces.
Barcelona B was in serious trouble. According to league rules, they couldn't be promoted to La Liga, but a five-match losing streak now had them facing relegation. This final game against Real Madrid Castilla wasn't just a derby—it was a battle for survival. If they lost, they were going down. And if they went down, Gerard and Pimienta were out.
"Are we sticking with the regular starters for this match?" Pimienta asked as the warm-up neared its end.
Gerard shook his head. "Mix it up. The lineup will be based entirely on today's intrasquad performance."
With that, Pimienta quickly split the players into two groups.
"Traore, Rolon, Pujic, Romeo, Araujo—you're the red team. Everyone else, yellow team!"
Gerard stepped forward. "This isn't a joke. Show everything you've got. You perform, you start. If you underperform, you're not just benched—you're out of the matchday squad."
The mood shifted instantly. Even the usual starters looked rattled. Now, everyone had something to lose.
Beep!
The whistle blew. The match began.
The yellow team kicked off and immediately initiated Barca's signature pass-control play.
Since the days of Cruyff and Guardiola, Barcelona's DNA had been built around tiki-taka—short passes, tight control, positional discipline. This was no different.
Despite being a scrimmage, the intensity felt like a full-on league match. With starting spots on the line, nobody held back.
The ball zipped across the pitch.
Romeo hadn't touched it once in ten minutes.
Why?
Simple. No one trusted him.
Pujic was the only one who occasionally played with Romeo, but he was tightly marked and had no chances to pass.
Still, Romeo wasn't discouraged.
His newly awakened God's Perspective was active.
He could see everything—player positions, movements, defensive gaps.
Even without the ball, he adjusted his positioning, closing gaps and cutting off yellow team attacks.
On the sidelines, Pimienta took notice.
"Why is Romeo's positioning so sharp?" he whispered. "He's always in the perfect spot…"
Gerard smirked. "Maybe he's having an awakening."
Pimienta scoffed. "But didn't he train in the States? I thought American footballers didn't play like this."
Gerard shrugged. "Guess he's the exception."
Back on the pitch, things escalated.
Araujo, already showing signs of the beast he'd become, tackled cleanly and won the ball. Pressed hard by the yellow team, he had no clear options.
Suddenly—
"Here!"
Romeo called out, wide open.
Araujo grimaced. Romeo? Really?
But with yellow jerseys swarming, there was no choice. He passed.
The ball rocketed toward Romeo.
One touch to control. One turn.
And then—everything changed.
A translucent overlay appeared in his vision.
Colored lines. Success rates. Movement paths.
Red line: 98% success.
Without hesitation, Romeo launched a curling through ball, skimming under the ball with pinpoint precision.
The pass flew like an arcing rainbow.
Split the midfield. Cut behind the defense. Landed perfectly in the pocket of space just before the goal.
Traore was there.
One touch. Shot.
Goal.
1–0. Red Team leads.
"ROMEOOOOO!!!"
Traore charged at him, lifting him off the ground.
"That was the best pass I've ever received! I didn't even need to adjust—just shoot! Unreal!"
Even Araujo looked stunned.
"Romeo… how did you know he'd make that run?"
Romeo just smiled shyly.
On the sidelines, Pimienta was speechless.
"That pass… that pass was incredible."
Gerard narrowed his eyes.
"You think that was luck?"
He knew better. That was vision—true vision.
"From now on…" Gerard muttered, "pass it to Romeo more."
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