Señor Tito looked up from his station as Jordi walked up to him. Just a moment ago, that little girl had run out of the room. It was scary to think, he was one of the few to know that the two prodigies of La Masia were a cute little couple.
Señor Tito noticed Jordi's eyes were red and tired. He sighed, "Jordi, you are a lucky boy. That great man personally wrote to you before he—before he went away."
A polite nod was all Señor Tito could elicit.
"Señor Tito, could you call me a taxi, please? I want to go home."
"Of course. That is a great idea. Take a few days off, I suggest."
Señor Tito picked up the landline and called the company affiliated to La Masia.
"The taxi will be here in 5, Jordi."
"Thank you, Señor."
Jordi turned to walk towards the lounge to wait, but Señor Tito addressed him again.
"Jordi?"
"Yes, Señor Tito."
"Your team won the game, but, uhm… Sergi got injured. He's at the hospital now. It might be his ACL."
Jordi stared at Señor Tito, whose expression was graver than the news he had delivered.
"Oh. I'll call him when I get home. He tore his ACL earlier this season as well, but he came back perfectly fine, Señor. This will just take him some time, and he'll be back to scoring goals."
Señor Tito hesitated, then came to a decision. He smiled at Jordi, "Let us hope so, Jordi."
He followed Jordi's silhouette towards the exit. Those small shoulders were meant to carry burdens too heavy for a child.
'What is the price of greatness?' Señor Tito asked himself.
…
Layla and Ferran Lloret went out every Sunday morning to stock up on produce. So, Aunt Ona was the only one looking after the bakery when Jordi entered.
"Jordi, what a surprise! Didn't you have a match today?"
Ona rounded the counter to hug her nephew. She felt a pang in her heart when she could not make out the usual light in Jordi's eyes.
"I was rested today, Aunty. I'll be in my room. Have homework to do."
Jordi hurried upstairs. Once in his room, he hung his bag behind the closed door and sat at the foot of his bed. His gaze rested on the frame hung in front of him. Inside it was the back of a decades-old Barcelona shirt with a 14 in white.
In a gold marker, the area below the 14 was signed,
' To Jordi, The Future of Barca.
Always remember, true football comes from the heart.
Johan Cruyff '
The message was ingrained in Jordi's memory, so many times had he read it. Now, along with Cruyff's letter, this was a memory for him to cherish. Señor Tito was right. He was very lucky to have been cared for by a man of that stature. A man whose legend was much larger than the footballer he was or the manager he became.
…
Jordi woke up to his phone ringing. He grabbed around under the pillow and saw it was Eric calling.
"Hello?" Jordi's croak sounded in the phone.
"Jordi? Have you talked to Sergi?"
Jord noticed the deep worry permeating through Eric's voice and sat up in his bed.
"No. I tried calling him, but he didn't pick up. What's wrong?"
"…"
"Eric? Eric, what's wrong?"
"Jordi, Coach just told me that… that Sergi is leaving. He is leaving the academy."
"Eric, what are you talking about? This isn't a joke—"
"Jordi, shut up and listen!"
"… Sorry"
"Jordi. He tore his ACL in the match today. It's already his second time within 6 months. Apparently, the doctors said that his joints are unstable or something. I didn't fully understand… God's sake, why are you so quiet? You can speak now."
"So, so what now?"
"It— it means that he cannot play anymore."
"Oh"
"Señor Tito told me that his parents came to take his stuff from the room. We have all tried to call him, message him, but he isn't responding. Maybe he'll talk to you."
"Hmm, I'll—I'll try, Eric."
"Jordi"
"Yes?"
"Just, just take care, ok"
"… ok."
…
13 missed calls. 4 unread messages.
Jordi squeezed the phone. He had never felt so helpless before. In an abrupt movement, Jordi threw the phone at the wall and screamed. Not satisfied, he screamed again and dropped to the floor. Heavy steps sounded, and Aunt Ona barged in to see little Jordi on the floor.
Amidst his scream, Jordi felt himself enveloped in a tight hug. His scream became a croak, which then became a sob. Jordi leaned into Aunt Ona's warm embrace and broke down crying.