Chapter 1: June 1, 2002
Lucas woke up to the sound of a television.
"…the first World Cup ever held in Asia! Tonight, the opening match will see hosts South Korea take on Poland…"
He opened his eyes.
Buenos Aires. His apartment. The same cracked ceiling, the same old fan spinning slowly above him.
On the nightstand: a Nokia 3310.
He picked it up. Pressed a button.
June 1, 2002 — 9:47 AM
Lucas stared at the screen.
He was from 2026.
A nobody. A youth coach at a small club in Argentina. Ten years grinding, sending exactly one kid to a second-division bench. In 2026, he watched the World Cup final on a cracked phone screen, fell asleep, and never woke up.
And now—
He was here.
Twenty-five years old again. The same shitty apartment. The same empty wallet.
And a head full of things that hadn't happened yet.
2002: Brazil wins. Ronaldo scores twice in the final.
2006: Italy, Zidane's headbutt.
2010: Iniesta, 116th minute.
2014: Germany 7–1 Brazil.
2018: France.
2022: Messi. Finally.
And the names—
2003: A 16-year-old Cristiano Ronaldo at Sporting Lisbon.
2004: A 17-year-old Messi debuts for Barcelona.
2017: Mbappé tears apart the world.
Lucas put the phone down. Walked to the mirror.
Same face. Same tired eyes. Same nothing in his pockets.
He checked his wallet: 50 pesos. A worn ID. A bank card with no money in it.
He looked at himself.
"I remember everything."
A pause.
"Everything."
Lucas walked to a corner store. Bought a newspaper. Flipped to the betting section.
He pointed at a match.
"Ireland vs Cameroon. Tomorrow."
The clerk raised an eyebrow. "No one bets on that."
Lucas put 50 pesos on the counter.
"1–1," he said.
The clerk wrote it down. Handed him the ticket.
Lucas folded it, put it in his pocket, and walked out.
That night, he sat in a cramped internet cafe, the air thick with smoke.
He opened MSN Messenger. Added a contact—a name he knew from 2026, a small-time scout in Rosario who hadn't met him yet.
He typed:
"Looking for a 15-year-old boy in Rosario. His name is Lionel Messi."
Sent.
The avatar was gray. Offline.
Lucas leaned back. Closed his eyes.
Outside, the 2002 sun was already rising over Buenos Aires.
He had 50 pesos, a lottery ticket, and a head full of the next twenty years.
It was enough.