It started with a headline Azul never searched for.
He found it by accident.
One of the younger boys at La Masia had left his phone on the table in the common room, the screen glowing with a football news site. Azul was walking past when a familiar surname caught his eye.
"Is Barcelona's New Playmaker the Natural Heir?"
Azul stopped.
He didn't click it.
Didn't need to.
He already knew which name followed.
### **THE UNWELCOME COMPARISON**
From that day on, the word *successor* began to float around him like a shadow.
Commentators used it cautiously, always wrapped in disclaimers. Coaches avoided it publicly. Teammates joked about it privately.
But opponents didn't joke.
They tested him.
In the next match, Azul was fouled early—an intentional message. The defender leaned down as he helped him up.
"Let's see if you're really him."
Azul said nothing.
He never did.
### **THE PRESS CREEPS CLOSER**
Barcelona's media team requested a short interview.
Nothing big.
Controlled.
Safe.
Azul sat under bright lights, hands folded, posture straight.
"Do you feel pressure being compared to Lionel Messi?" the reporter asked.
Azul paused.
He chose honesty.
"I feel pressure trying to be myself."
The clip spread faster than expected.
Some praised his maturity.
Others called it arrogance disguised as humility.
Azul stopped reading comments after that.
### **INSIDE THE CLUB**
Miravet pulled him aside after training.
"You don't owe anyone a narrative," he said quietly. "Remember that."
Azul nodded.
"But they'll write one anyway," he replied.
Miravet smiled thinly.
"Yes. They always do."
### **THE MATCH THAT CHANGES TONE**
The next fixture was away.
Hostile crowd.
Narrow pitch.
Referee known for letting play go.
From kickoff, Azul was targeted.
Shoves off the ball.
Late steps.
Hands in his ribs when the camera wasn't watching.
He absorbed it.
In the 34th minute, he lost the ball under pressure and the opponent countered.
Goal.
The crowd roared.
For the first time in weeks, Azul felt doubt creep in.
*Am I trying to do too much?*
### **HALFTIME SILENCE**
The locker room was tense.
Miravet spoke calmly, but his eyes lingered on Azul.
After the talk, Marcos sat beside him.
"They want you to disappear," he said.
Azul exhaled slowly.
"So what do I do?"
Marcos smirked.
"You remind them you're still here."
### **SECOND HALF — ANSWER WITHOUT WORDS**
Azul simplified his game.
Two touches.
Quick angles.
No forcing.
In the 57th minute, the pressure eased just enough.
He received the ball near the right half-space. Defender tight. Another closing.
Azul turned his body as if to pass backward.
Then he slipped between them.
The crowd gasped.
He carried the ball to the edge of the box.
Shot.
Saved.
Rebound.
Azul followed his own effort.
Goal.
He didn't celebrate.
He pointed once to the ground beneath his feet.
*Here.*
### **THE AFTERSHOCK**
Barcelona equalized again late through a header, but the match ended in a draw.
In the tunnel, an opposing player stopped Azul.
"You're not Messi," he said bluntly.
Azul met his eyes calmly.
"I know."
And walked away.
### **THE NIGHT THAT FOLLOWS**
Back at La Masia, Azul couldn't sleep.
He thought about the words.
*You're not Messi.*
They weren't wrong.
Messi had been smaller, quieter, freer.
Azul's path felt heavier.
Different.
He opened his notebook — the one he rarely showed anyone — and wrote:
*I don't need to replace anyone.*
*I need to arrive.*
### **THE CALL FROM ABOVE**
Two days later, Miravet called him in.
"There's interest," he said carefully. "Training with the first team. Limited. Controlled."
Azul's heart skipped.
"When?"
"Soon."
Azul nodded, calm on the outside.
Inside, everything trembled.
### **UNDERSTANDING THE MOMENT**
That night, he stood by the window again, city lights stretching endlessly.
He thought of Argentina.
Of Barcelona.
Of the boy who watched Messi not to imitate him, but to understand how the game could be seen differently.
The world was starting to talk.
Soon, it would expect answers.
Azul didn't know if he was ready for all of it.
But he knew this:
He wouldn't become great by running from the comparison.
And he wouldn't survive by living inside it either.
He would have to carve something new.
Something honest.
Something his own.
And for the first time, that idea didn't scare him.
It steadied him.
---
End