The pain didn't announce itself immediately.
It arrived quietly, like a bad thought you try to ignore.
Azul felt it during the warm-up three days after the match—just a slight pull behind the knee when he stretched for the ball. Nothing sharp. Nothing alarming. He finished the session without complaint, stayed after for shooting drills, and iced it like he always did.
By nightfall, it tightened.
By morning, it spoke.
### **LISTENING TOO LATE**
Azul woke before his alarm, shifting in bed until frustration forced him upright. When his foot touched the floor, the stiffness bloomed into discomfort.
Still, he told himself it was normal.
Everyone hurt.
At breakfast, Marcos noticed.
"You limping?"
Azul shook his head.
"Just tired."
Marcos raised an eyebrow but let it go.
At training, Miravet watched closely. Azul felt it every time he accelerated, every time he planted to turn. His vision was sharp, his decisions quick—but his body lagged half a beat behind.
Half a beat was dangerous.
In the final drill, he went to strike the ball from the edge of the box.
His leg didn't follow.
The shot skewed wide, awkward and wrong.
Miravet blew the whistle immediately.
"Enough."
### **THE DIAGNOSIS**
The physio room smelled like disinfectant and disappointment.
Azul lay on the table, staring at the ceiling while hands pressed, twisted, tested.
"It's not serious," the physio said carefully. "But it's real."
Azul swallowed.
"How long?"
"A week if you're smart."
Miravet crossed his arms.
"And if he's not?"
The physio didn't answer.
### **THE BENCH**
Saturday came anyway.
Azul sat on the bench for the first time in weeks, tracksuit zipped up, leg wrapped. The stadium felt different from here—farther away, louder, crueler.
Every mistake on the field felt personal.
Every missed pass tightened his chest.
When Barcelona conceded early, Azul leaned forward, hands clasped, mind racing.
He saw the gaps instantly.
The solutions too.
But solutions meant nothing if you couldn't move.
### **WATCHING INSTEAD OF DOING**
At halftime, the locker room buzzed with tension.
Miravet spoke quickly, efficiently. He didn't look at Azul.
That hurt more than the leg.
In the 61st minute, Barcelona equalized. Relief washed through Azul, but it was incomplete. He didn't celebrate fully.
He felt useless.
When the final whistle blew at 1–1, Azul stayed seated longer than everyone else.
Marcos sat beside him.
"You hate this."
Azul didn't deny it.
Marcos sighed.
"Good. Means you care."
### **THE SILENT DAYS**
The following week passed slowly.
Rehab sessions.
Stretching.
Watching training instead of leading it.
Azul learned something new during those days.
Football didn't stop without him.
That realization bruised his pride—but it sharpened his understanding.
He began to study more.
Opponents.
Teammates.
Patterns he'd never noticed before because he was too busy being inside them.
### **THE RETURN**
Miravet called him into his office again.
"You're cleared," he said. "But you won't start."
Azul nodded.
"I know."
"You'll come on if needed."
That was fair.
That was earned.
### **MATCH DAY — AGAIN**
The match unfolded slowly, cautiously.
Barcelona struggled to break the opponent down.
In the 70th minute, Miravet turned.
"Azul."
The bench faded away.
As Azul stood, the stadium noise sharpened. He peeled off the tracksuit, legs light, heart pounding.
Marcos clapped him on.
"Welcome back."
### **IMPACT**
From his first touch, Azul felt the difference.
Not weakness.
Awareness.
He moved smarter, not harder.
In the 78th minute, he received the ball at the top of the box, defender closing fast.
He didn't shoot.
He waited.
Then struck.
The ball bent just enough.
Goal.
The stadium erupted.
Azul clenched his fists, not in celebration—but in release.
### **FINAL MOMENTS**
Barcelona held on.
After the whistle, Miravet met him at the sideline.
"You didn't force it," he said.
Azul nodded.
"I learned."
Miravet smiled.
"So did your body."
### **NIGHT**
Later, alone again, Azul stretched carefully, thoughtfully.
Pain was still there.
But now, it had meaning.
He wasn't just rising.
He was paying the price.
And learning how to survive it.
---
End