The final league fixture of the season against Getafe felt like an extended warm-down session for Barcelona.
MD38, away at the Coliseum against Getafe, with the title already lifted and Lisbon looming, was never going to be a battle. Martino rotated heavily. He kept Piqué on the bench for the whole match and gave minutes to the squad players who had spent the season waiting for them.
Even with a heavily rotated side, Barcelona handled the tempo effortlessly. Messi broke the deadlock midway through the first half with a trademark left-footed strike from the edge of the area, curling the ball neatly past the goalkeeper's dive.
Lorenzo came off at the halftime whistle with Barcelona sitting on a 1-0 lead, his legs deliberately saved for the European final. During the second half, Andrés Iniesta doubled the advantage with a tidy finish into the bottom corner after a patient twenty-pass sequence. Barcelona calmly saw out the 2-0 victory without ever needing to move out of second gear.
When the referee blew the final whistle, the milestone officially entered Spanish football history.
Thirty-eight league matches. Zero losses.
Barcelona had accomplished what no modern squad in the country had managed to pull off across a grueling thirty-eight-game format. An entire La Liga campaign, from August afternoons through late May, completed without a single defeat.
On the bench, Lorenzo watched the final minutes with a towel around his neck. When the whistle blew, he stood up and joined the rest of the substitutes in giving a warm round of applause to the traveling fans tucked into the upper tier. No wild celebration.
The massive celebrations had already played out in Madrid and Barcelona. This was simply the quiet, deeply satisfying feeling of finishing an exhausting domestic journey.
Late that night, back inside the quiet villa, the system's voice chimed clearly in his thoughts.
[Ding! Season Achievement Unlocked: King of La Liga.]
[Criteria met: League title won. League top scorer. Unbeaten league season.]
[Opening La Liga Champion Chest...]
Lorenzo sat on the couch and let it happen.
[Reward: Companion Template: 'El Fenomeno: Reborn Legs.']
[This companion template reinforces your El Fenomeno foundation. Primary Effect: Significantly accelerated muscular repair, enhanced tolerance for high-impact physical strain, and minimal fatigue accumulation during congested fixture schedules. Your lower body will recover from heavy athletic loads noticeably faster than standard baseline rates.]
[Bonus: Two Bonus Attribute points obtained and applied directly to Stamina.]
The physical integration felt completely different from the sharp, sudden jolt of learning a new dribbling skill. It arrived as a slow, soothing warmth that seeped deep into his hamstrings, quads, and calves, settling right into the muscle fibers like hot water easing tight knots.
Lorenzo stretched his legs out over the coffee table, flexing his ankles and rotating his knees. His legs felt remarkably light and refreshed.
"You gave me Ronaldo's pendulum dribble just months ago," Lorenzo thought back with a faint smile. "Now you're handing over his recovery capacity too."
[Ronaldo endured multiple catastrophic knee injuries that would have permanently ended an ordinary player's career,] the system responded. [Yet he fought his way back to win a World Cup as the tournament's top scorer. His lower body endured some of the most intense physical punishment in football history. That resilience is what you are receiving.]
Lorenzo looked toward the ceiling. "Why this specific template right now?"
[Because in less than three weeks, you play one of the biggest matches of your life, and roughly six weeks after that, you will be competing in a World Cup. You are seventeen years old, and your body has already taken on more competitive minutes than most veterans handle. Consider this essential insurance against the physical toll ahead.]
On Monday morning at the Ciutat Esportiva training ground, Sofía was already studying her diagnostic tablet with a slight, puzzled frown.
"Your recovery numbers from the weekend match look unusually high," she said, leaning against the examination table as Lorenzo laced up his training boots. "It is not a massive jump, but it is definitely measurable. Your muscular elasticity readings are up nearly four percent compared to the tests we ran right before the Calderón."
Lorenzo looked up, offering an innocent shrug. "Maybe all that extra sleep over the weekend is finally doing its job."
"Maybe," she replied, swiping through the colorful telemetry charts. "You only played forty-five minutes on Saturday and sat out the entire second half. Reduced match volume leads to quicker recovery, which might be the obvious explanation."
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow with a slight grin. "I sense a 'but' coming."
"Well, yes, because your recovery rates after ninety-minute full-contact matches are already high," she noted, setting the device down flat on the counter. "Squad rotation alone does not really explain that kind of rapid adaptation. Honestly, I have mostly stopped trying to find explanations for your numbers, Lorenzo. I would rather just use the advantage. Whatever is happening with your muscle tissue is clearly working in your favor, and my main priority is keeping you in peak physical shape for Lisbon."
"That sounds pretty practical to me," Lorenzo said with a chuckle.
"I am a very practical person, which is why I am effective at this job," Sofía countered smoothly, picking her tablet back up. "You are cleared for full-intensity squad training today. We have two weeks until the final, so we will manage your workload carefully from here on out. That means absolutely no unnecessary physical heroics until we touch down in Portugal."
Lorenzo raised a hand in mock surrender. "Understood. No extra heroics."
"I am being completely serious," she added, giving him a firm look. "The Calderón was the very last time you talk anyone into giving you extra minutes on the pitch. Are we totally on the same page?"
"Yes, totally on the same page, Sofía."
She gave him a tiny, satisfied nod that was practically a beaming smile for her, before turning her attention back to her charts.
Later that evening, Benitez stopped by the villa carrying a thick leather document folder.
He set it down on the wooden kitchen counter without opening the clasp. "Here is the full acquisition dossier. The financial advisory group in London finished narrowing down the options. We have three viable football clubs on the table. All three are fully open for purchase, and each one has the foundational infrastructure to grow into something serious over the next five years. I'm not going to bore you with the financial breakdown tonight. I just wanted to leave the paperwork here so you can see the progress for yourself."
Lorenzo leaned against the counter, looking down at the folder. "We're still holding off on any actual decisions until after the World Cup, right?"
"Absolutely. Nothing moves forward until after the summer tournament wraps up," Benitez confirmed, tapping his knuckles against the leather. "The capital is secured, the legal structure is built, and whenever you decide you want to move forward, the whole team is ready to execute. You're seventeen years old and sitting on the verge of owning an entire football club. I've spent twenty-five years working as an agent in this business, and I honestly never thought I would say those words to a teenager."
Lorenzo laughed softly, shaking his head. "To be fair, I never expected to hear them either."
Benitez shared a warm laugh, reminded him to take a casual look through the financial summaries whenever he had some spare time, and headed out into the evening.
Lorenzo didn't bother opening the dossier right away. He carried it into the study and placed it neatly on the wooden bookshelf, right beside the signed match ball from his hundredth goal, before heading back into the living room to relax.
The following morning at the training ground, Tata Martino caught up with him in the quiet corridor right outside the main dressing room.
The Argentine manager didn't break his stride. He simply fell into step beside Lorenzo for a few paces, keeping his eyes looking straight down the hallway, speaking in a low, measured voice.
"Four trophies in the cabinet already this season," Martino said quietly, pausing with his hand resting on his office doorknob. "The Copa del Rey, the Supercopa, the youth championship, and an undefeated league title." He looked over at Lorenzo, his expression steady and focused. "Just one more left to chase."
He gave Lorenzo's shoulder a firm squeeze, stepped inside, and pulled the door shut.
Lorenzo stood alone in the quiet hallway for a couple of seconds, letting the manager's words linger in his thoughts.
One match left.
Bayern Munich. The Estádio da Luz in Lisbon.
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