September 5th, 2027. Lucas was five months old now. He could roll over on his own, grab objects with intention, and make sounds that Sofia swore were proto-words. "Ma-ma-ma" and "Da-da-da" emerging from the babbling.
Ethan sat on the living room floor, holding a small football in front of Lucas, trying to get him to reach for it.
"He's five months old," Sofia said from the kitchen. "He can't play football yet."
"Never too early to start training."
"You're ridiculous."
"I'm dedicated. There's a difference."
Lucas grabbed the football, immediately tried to put it in his mouth. Ethan gently removed it. "No, mijo. You kick it. Like this." He demonstrated with an exaggerated kicking motion.
Lucas stared at him, drooled, then started crying.
"Great coaching," Sofia called out. "Really inspiring the next generation."
Ethan picked up his son, bouncing him gently until the crying stopped. "Okay, maybe we start football training at six months."
His phone buzzed. A message from Flick: Team meeting tomorrow, 9 AM. Champions League draw results are in. You'll want to see this.
September 6th - The Champions League Draw
Barcelona's entire squad gathered in the team meeting room at Sant Joan Despí. The Champions League group stage draw had happened the previous night, and Flick wanted to review their opponents together.
"Gentlemen," Flick began, pulling up the draw results on the big screen. "The new Champions League format means we play eight different opponents in the group phase. Let me show you who we drew."
The screen showed Barcelona's fixtures:
Barcelona's Champions League Opponents:
Bayern Munich (Away) Manchester City (Home) Paris Saint-Germain (Away) Juventus (Home) Borussia Dortmund (Away) Atlético Madrid (Home) Inter Milan (Away) RB Leipzig (Home)
The room went silent.
"That's..." Pedri started.
"Brutal," Gavi finished.
"That's the hardest possible draw," Lewandowski observed. "Four teams that could win the whole tournament."
Flick nodded. "UEFA's new format grouped us with the strongest clubs. But here's what I want you to understand: this is an opportunity. If we can navigate these eight matches successfully, we'll have proven beyond any doubt that we're the best team in Europe."
He changed the slide to show the schedule:
September 19: vs Bayern Munich (Away) October 3: vs Manchester City (Home) October 24: vs PSG (Away) November 7: vs Juventus (Home) November 28: vs Dortmund (Away) December 12: vs Atlético Madrid (Home) January 23: vs Inter Milan (Away) February 6: vs RB Leipzig (Home)
"Eight matches over five months," Flick continued. "The first one is in thirteen days. Bayern away. One of the hardest away matches in European football. We need to be ready."
After the meeting, Ethan stayed behind to talk to Flick privately.
"That draw is insane," Ethan said.
"It's what champions face. Are you worried?"
"No. But I am thinking about minutes. You said you'd manage my workload. Does that apply to Champions League?"
"Not the big matches. Bayern, City, PSG—you're playing all of those. But if we've already qualified by the time we play Leipzig, maybe you rest that one. We'll see how the season progresses."
"Fair enough."
September 15th - El Clásico Build-Up
Before the Champions League could begin, Barcelona had their first El Clásico of the season. September 21st at the Santiago Bernabéu. A chance to make an early statement in La Liga.
Real Madrid had started the season well—four wins in four matches, with Mbappé scoring in all four. He looked sharp, focused, hungry to prove last season's runner-up finish was a fluke.
The media coverage was overwhelming:
Marca: "Mbappé vs Loki: The Greatest Rivalry in Modern Football"
AS: "€500M Man Faces Redemption-Seeking Mbappé at Bernabéu"
L'Équipe: "The Frenchmen Who Define Spanish Football Face Off Again"
On September 20th, the day before the match, Ethan did his mandatory press conference.
"Ethan, this is your first Clásico since signing the lifetime contract. Does that change how you approach the match?"
"Not at all. My job is the same—help Barcelona win. The contract just means I'll be doing this job for the next ten years."
"Mbappé has started the season with four goals in four matches. Do you feel pressure to match his production?"
"Kylian is an exceptional player. But I don't measure myself against him. I measure myself against my own standards. If I play well and we win, that's all that matters."
"You've dominated this fixture recently. Do you expect that to continue?"
"Real Madrid are always dangerous. Especially at the Bernabéu. We need to be at our absolute best to win there. But yes, I'm confident we can get a positive result."
Professional answers. Respectful but confident. Exactly what the media wanted.
That night, Ethan called Mbappé. They hadn't spoken much since the summer—both busy with pre-season and family obligations.
"Ready for tomorrow?" Ethan asked.
"More ready than you," Mbappé replied. His voice had an edge Ethan hadn't heard before. "I'm scoring at the Bernabéu. Multiple times."
"Bold prediction."
"Not a prediction. A promise. I'm tired of losing to you, hermano. Tomorrow, things change."
"We'll see."
"Yeah. We will."
The call ended. Ethan sat in the dark of his bedroom, processing. Mbappé sounded different. Harder. More desperate. That could make him either incredibly dangerous or prone to mistakes.
Ethan would find out tomorrow.
September 21st - El Clásico: Real Madrid 2-3 Barcelona
The Santiago Bernabéu was a cauldron of noise. 85,000 people, almost all of them Real Madrid fans, creating an atmosphere that made even veterans nervous.
Real Madrid's lineup had Mbappé, Vinícius, and Bellingham forming a devastating attacking trio. Barcelona countered with Ethan, Lewandowski, and Raphinha.
Two of the best teams in the world. Two captains desperate to win. Everything on the line.
First Half - Mbappé's Statement
Madrid came out aggressively, pressing high, taking the game to Barcelona. Within the first ten minutes, they'd created three dangerous chances.
Twenty-third minute: Mbappé delivered on his promise.
Bellingham's brilliant through ball found Mbappé in space. He drove forward, beat Koundé with pure pace, and finished clinically past Ter Stegen.
1-0 Real Madrid.
Mbappé's celebration was intense. He ran toward the Madrid fans, shirt off, screaming. This was personal. This was his statement: I belong at this level.
Thirty-fourth minute: Madrid doubled their lead.
Vinícius scored with a moment of individual brilliance, beating two Barcelona defenders before finishing.
2-0 Real Madrid.
The Bernabéu was going absolutely insane. Barcelona looked shaky, disorganized, overwhelmed.
Flick made an adjustment—pushing the fullbacks higher, telling the midfield to press more. Barcelona needed to take risks.
Forty-fifth minute, stoppage time: Ethan pulled one back.
Pedri's brilliant through ball. Ethan's perfectly timed run. One-on-one with Courtois.
Clinical finish. 2-1.
Barcelona went into halftime trailing by one. Still in the match. Just.
Second Half - The Captain's Response
Flick's halftime talk was direct: "We're still in this. One goal and it's level. Stay calm. Execute the plan. Trust yourselves."
Fifty-sixth minute: Ethan equalized.
A Barcelona corner. Chaos in the box. The ball fell to Ethan at the edge of the area. He struck it first time with his left foot.
The ball flew through a crowd of players, deflected slightly off a Madrid defender, and nestled into the bottom corner.
2-2.
The away section—maybe 3,000 Barcelona fans—went absolutely mental. The rest of the Bernabéu fell silent.
The match opened up now. Both teams attacking. Both smelling blood.
Seventy-fourth minute: Ethan completed his hat-trick.
It was a moment of pure genius. He received the ball thirty yards from goal, three Madrid defenders surrounding him. He dropped his shoulder, beat the first with a step-over, nutmegged the second, and curled a shot past the third.
Courtois dove. Got a hand to it. Couldn't keep it out.
3-2 Barcelona.
The goal was outrageous. A hat-trick at the Bernabéu. In El Clásico. With everything on the line.
Ethan ran toward the Barcelona fans, arms spread wide, screaming. This was what he lived for. The biggest moments. The highest pressure. The chance to be great when greatness was required.
Madrid threw everything forward in the final fifteen minutes. Mbappé had two chances to equalize—both saved by Ter Stegen. The German goalkeeper was unbeatable.
The referee blew the final whistle. Barcelona 3-2 Real Madrid.
Ethan collapsed to his knees, exhausted but triumphant. Hat-trick. Away win. Statement made.
Mbappé walked past him without making eye contact. No handshake. No exchange of jerseys. Just disappointment and frustration.
September 22nd - The Aftermath
The next morning, Ethan woke to his phone exploding with notifications:
ESPN: "Ethan Loki Hat-Trick Sinks Real Madrid - €500M Man Worth Every Penny"
Marca: "Loki Destroys Madrid Dreams Again - When Does This Nightmare End?"
L'Équipe: "The King of El Clásico: Ethan Loki's Latest Masterpiece"
But one message troubled him. From Mbappé, sent at 4:37 AM:
Mbappé:I scored. I did everything right. And you still won. I'm starting to think this is never going to change. Maybe you're just better. Maybe I need to accept that.
Ethan immediately called him. It rang six times before going to voicemail.
He tried again. Same result.
He texted: Don't do this. Don't give up. You're one of the best players in the world. One bad result doesn't change that.
No response.
September 25th - Family Grounding
Sofia found Ethan in Lucas's nursery at 2 AM, unable to sleep, just watching his son breathe.
"What's wrong?" she asked softly.
"I think I broke Mbappé."
"What?"
"The text he sent after the Clásico. He sounded... defeated. Like he's giving up. And I don't know how to fix it."
Sofia sat beside him. "You can't fix it. This is his journey. His struggle with your success isn't your responsibility."
"But he's my best friend."
"And best friends sometimes have to watch each other succeed in ways they haven't. That's hard. But it's his growth to navigate, not yours to manage."
"I just don't want him to hate me."
"He doesn't hate you. He's frustrated. There's a difference. Give him time. He'll come around."
Lucas stirred in his crib, making small sounds. Ethan reached in, gently rubbing his son's back until he settled.
This was what mattered. Not El Clásico victories or hat-tricks. But moments like this. Being present for the people who needed him.
Three moves ahead, Ethan's priorities were crystallizing:
Move one: Win the Champions League group stage. Prove Barcelona could handle the hardest draw.
Move two: Keep performing at the highest level. Chase Ballon d'Or number six.
Move three: Be present for Lucas. Don't let football consume everything.
But balancing all three was becoming harder every day.
September 30th - Preparation for Bayern
The Champions League opener against Bayern Munich was in nineteen days. Barcelona spent the final week of September preparing—tactical sessions, video analysis, individual work.
Bayern away was one of the hardest fixtures in European football. The Allianz Arena. 75,000 hostile fans. A team that always performed in big matches.
Flick, who'd won the Champions League with Bayern, knew their weaknesses better than anyone.
"They'll press high in the first twenty minutes," he explained during a tactical session. "They want to intimidate teams early. Score quickly. Make you doubt yourselves. We need to survive that initial storm, then hit them on the counter."
More footage showing Bayern's aggressive style.
"Ethan, you'll be isolated up front at times. You need to hold the ball up, bring others into play, and be ready to run in behind when space opens. This will be one of the hardest matches you've played all season."
"I'm ready," Ethan said.
And he was. Despite the fatigue. Despite missing Lucas. Despite worrying about Mbappé.
He was ready.
Because being ready was what separated good players from great ones. And Ethan Loki wasn't just great.
He was the best in the world.
Time to prove it. Again.
End of Chapter 73