February 2nd, 2025. The first day of Ethan's promised domination. Barcelona vs Espanyol at Camp Nou—a derby match that Barcelona was expected to win comfortably.
The pre-match atmosphere was tense. The Camp Nou crowd of ninety-three thousand had read the same articles Ethan had. They'd seen the comparisons. They'd watched Mbappé's January explosion. And they needed reassurance that their three-time Ballon d'Or winner was still the best.
Ethan stood in the tunnel, the familiar pre-match butterflies in his stomach. But this felt different. This felt personal. He had something to prove—to the media, to the doubters, to himself.
Espanyol emerged from the opposite tunnel. They were fighting relegation, desperate for points, knowing that a derby victory could save their season. Dangerous opponents.
The referee blew the whistle. Barcelona kicked off.
And Ethan went to work.
February 2nd - Barcelona 5-0 Espanyol
Espanyol's game plan was clear from the first minute: defend deep, frustrate Barcelona, try to hit on the counter. They'd watched Villarreal's tactics work and decided to copy them.
But today, Barcelona was different. Today, they were urgent, aggressive, hungry.
In the fourteenth minute, Ethan scored his first.
Pedri received the ball in midfield and immediately looked for Ethan's run. The pass was weighted perfectly into the channel between Espanyol's center-back and left-back. Ethan timed it to perfection, staying onside by inches.
One touch to control with his right foot. The goalkeeper rushing out. Two defenders converging.
Three moves ahead.
He dinked it over the goalkeeper with his weaker left foot, the ball floating into the empty net with agonizing slowness before finally crossing the line.
1-0 Barcelona.
The celebration was muted—just a point to the crowd, a quick hug from Pedri. No time to celebrate. He wanted more.
In the thirty-second minute, he got it.
Kimmich's corner came in with pace. Bodies everywhere in the six-yard box. The ball bounced once, twice, then fell to Ethan at the penalty spot.
Volley. Left foot. Top corner. Unstoppable.
2-0 Barcelona.
Now the celebration was more animated. Ethan ran to the corner flag, arms spread wide, screaming. This was what he needed. This was the statement.
Camp Nou was bouncing now. The doubts were fading. Their talisman was back.
Halftime arrived with Barcelona leading 2-0. Comfortable. In control. But Ethan wasn't satisfied.
"I want three more," he told Flick in the locker room.
"You want three more goals?"
"I want to send a message. I want everyone watching to remember why I won the Ballon d'Or."
Flick smiled. "Then go get them."
The second half was a masterclass. Barcelona dominated possession, created chance after chance, and Ethan was at the center of everything.
In the fifty-eighth minute, he completed his hat-trick.
Gavi won the ball in midfield and played it immediately to Ethan, who'd dropped deep. One touch to control, then he turned and saw space opening ahead of him. He drove forward, beating one defender with pace, then another with a step-over.
Edge of the box now. The goalkeeper coming out. Three Espanyol defenders desperately tracking back.
He struck it with his right foot, keeping it low, aiming for the far corner.
The goalkeeper dove. Got a hand to it. Not enough.
The ball nestled into the bottom corner.
3-0 Barcelona.
Hat-trick. His first since the Champions League match against Napoli in December. The Camp Nou was going absolutely insane.
But Ethan wasn't done.
In the seventy-fourth minute, Lewandowski scored to make it 4-0. In the eighty-ninth minute, as Espanyol's exhausted defense completely collapsed, Ethan scored his fourth.
A simple tap-in from three yards after Raphinha's shot was saved. But goals were goals, and Ethan was collecting them like rare coins.
5-0. Final score.
Four goals. His best performance of the season. A statement to everyone who'd questioned whether he was still elite.
Post-Match
The mixed zone was packed. Every journalist in Spain wanted Ethan's reaction to his four-goal performance.
"Ethan, four goals today. A response to the critics who suggested Mbappé had surpassed you?"
Perfect setup. Ethan could have been diplomatic. Could have praised Mbappé and moved on.
But he was tired of being diplomatic.
"I have three Ballon d'Ors," Ethan said, his voice calm but firm. "I've scored over four hundred career goals. I've won five Champions Leagues. The people questioning whether I'm the best player in the world have very short memories."
The journalists were frantically typing, getting that quote out immediately.
"Are you saying Mbappé isn't your equal?"
"I'm saying Mbappé is an incredible player and my friend. But I'm the three-time Ballon d'Or winner. The numbers speak for themselves."
Confident without being arrogant. Competitive without being disrespectful. Perfect answer.
Later that night, Real Madrid played against Las Palmas. Ethan watched from home, Sofia beside him with her laptop open, already writing her article about his four-goal performance.
Madrid won 3-1. Mbappé scored twice. Good, but not four. Ethan's statement had landed.
Updated Statistics:
Ethan: 35 goals in 22 matches Mbappé: 32 goals in 22 matches
The gap was widening again.
February 6th - Athletic Bilbao 1-3 Barcelona
The trip to San Mamés was always difficult. Athletic Bilbao's stadium was hostile, their fans passionate, their team physical and aggressive. But Barcelona handled it professionally.
Ethan scored in the twenty-third minute—a brilliant solo goal where he beat three defenders before finishing. His thirty-sixth of the season.
Raphinha added a second in the fifty-fifth. Athletic pulled one back in the seventieth, making it nervy for fifteen minutes.
Then, in the eighty-seventh minute, Ethan put the match to bed.
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 took a wicked deflection off an Athletic defender, looping over the goalkeeper and into the net.
3-1 Barcelona.
Lucky, but who cared? A goal was a goal.
Real Madrid, playing simultaneously, drew 2-2 with Real Sociedad. Mbappé scored both Madrid goals, but they dropped two points.
La Liga Table (February 6th):
Barcelona - 59 points (18-2-1) Real Madrid - 58 points (19-1-1)
Back on top. One point ahead. The momentum had shifted.
February 12th - The Big One: PSG vs Barcelona (Champions League R16, First Leg)
The Parc des Princes at 9:00 PM was a cauldron of noise and passion. Fifty thousand PSG fans creating an atmosphere that made even the most experienced players nervous.
This match had extra significance for multiple reasons:
Mbappé's former club. The place where he'd spent seven years before moving to Real Madrid. Champions League knockout football—where reputations were made and broken. A chance for Barcelona to prove they were still Europe's best team.
The Barcelona locker room before the match was tense. Players were stretching, some listening to music, others staring at nothing, lost in their own pre-match rituals.
Ethan sat in his stall, number 10 jersey hanging above him, thinking about what was at stake. PSG were excellent—they'd topped their Champions League group and were flying in Ligue 1. This wouldn't be easy.
Flick stood in the center of the room.
"Gentlemen, we've won this competition four times in the last six years. We are the standard. We are what every other team measures themselves against. Tonight, we prove we're still the best team in Europe."
He clicked his remote. PSG's formation appeared on the tactical screen.
"They'll press high. Their midfield—Vitinha, Zaïre-Emery, Fabián Ruiz—will try to disrupt our build-up. Their forwards—Gonçalo Ramos and Dembélé—will look to exploit space in behind our defense."
More diagrams showing PSG's attacking patterns.
"But they're vulnerable in transition. When we win the ball, we go immediately. No extra touches. Ethan, Lewandowski, Raphinha—you three need to be ready to sprint every single time we recover possession."
Ethan nodded. He understood the game plan.
"This is the Champions League," Flick concluded. "This is where legends are made. Let's go make history."
First Half - Tactical Battle
PSG came out aggressively, pressing Barcelona high up the pitch, not allowing them to settle. The Parc des Princes was deafening, creating a wall of sound that made communication nearly impossible.
For the first twenty minutes, it was all PSG. They dominated possession, created half-chances, made Barcelona look uncomfortable.
Then, in the twenty-third minute, Barcelona struck.
Ter Stegen collected a PSG corner and immediately threw it to Koundé. The French defender drove forward and played it to Kimmich in midfield.
Kimmich took one touch and looked up. He saw what others didn't—Ethan had timed a run perfectly, exploiting the space left by PSG's high defensive line.
The pass was a laser. Fifty meters, perfectly weighted, landing exactly where Ethan would be in 2.3 seconds.
Ethan collected it at full sprint. One touch to control. The PSG goalkeeper, Donnarumma, was rushing out.
One-on-one. The moment every striker lives for.
Ethan didn't hesitate. He dinked it over Donnarumma with outrageous confidence, the ball floating into the empty net.
0-1 Barcelona.
The Parc des Princes fell silent. Fifty thousand PSG fans stunned into silence by a moment of pure class.
Ethan ran toward the away section—maybe three thousand Barcelona fans tucked into the corner—sliding on his knees in front of them, arms spread wide, screaming.
His teammates mobbed him. This was a statement goal. In Paris. In the Champions League. Against one of Europe's elite clubs.
"THAT'S THE BALLON D'OR WINNER!" Gavi screamed in his ear.
PSG tried to respond immediately, pushing more players forward, taking more risks. But Barcelona's defense held firm. Araujo and Koundé were imperious, winning every duel, reading every pass.
Halftime arrived with Barcelona leading 1-0. Narrow advantage, but away goals didn't exist anymore in the Champions League. They just needed to hold on.
Second Half - Holding On
PSG came out desperate in the second half. They threw everything forward—waves of attacks, shot after shot, constant pressure.
In the fifty-sixth minute, they equalized.
A PSG corner. Bodies everywhere. The ball came in, Ter Stegen punched it out, but only as far as Vitinha at the edge of the box. The Portuguese midfielder struck it first time.
The ball deflected off Araujo's leg, completely wrong-footing Ter Stegen, and rolled into the net.
1-1.
The Parc des Princes erupted. PSG were level. Game on.
The next twenty minutes were absolute chaos. PSG attacking. Barcelona defending desperately. Chances at both ends. The crowd at fever pitch.
In the seventy-eighth minute, Flick made a substitution. Raphinha off, Ferran Torres on. Fresh legs to help defend.
In the eighty-second minute, Barcelona nearly scored. A brilliant counter-attack—Pedri to Gavi to Ethan, who shot from twenty yards. Donnarumma saved brilliantly.
So close.
The match entered stoppage time. Four minutes added. Both teams exhausted. Both sets of fans on their feet.
In the ninety-third minute, in the final seconds of the match, Barcelona struck again.
PSG had committed everyone forward for a final attack. The ball was cleared. Suddenly Barcelona had numbers—three attackers versus two PSG defenders.
Pedri drove forward with the ball. Ethan was on his left. Ferran Torres on his right.
The PSG defenders had to make a choice: commit to Pedri or cover the runners?
They committed to Pedri. Mistake.
Pedri slipped the ball to Ethan, who'd made a perfectly timed run. One touch to control. Into the box now. Just Donnarumma left.
Ethan could have shot. But he saw Ferran arriving at the back post, completely unmarked.
The pass across the six-yard box was simple. So was Ferran's finish.
1-2 Barcelona.
The away section exploded. Three thousand Barcelona fans going absolutely mental. They'd stolen a victory in the final minute.
Ethan sprinted toward Ferran, jumping on his back, screaming with joy. This was Champions League football at its finest—drama, tension, last-minute heartbreak and ecstasy.
The referee blew the final whistle seconds later. Barcelona had won the first leg 2-1. One foot in the quarterfinals.
Post-Match
The Barcelona locker room in Paris was pure celebration. Music blasting. Players dancing. Everyone understanding they'd just taken a huge step toward another Champions League quarterfinal.
Ethan sat in his stall, exhausted but satisfied. One goal, one assist, one crucial away victory. Exactly what he needed.
His phone had dozens of messages. One from Mbappé stood out:
Mbappé:Watched the match. That goal in the 23rd minute was filthy. You always save your best performances for the biggest stages. See you March 16th. 😤
Ethan:Thanks hermano. And yes, see you March 16th. Bring your A-game because I'm bringing mine.
Mbappé:I always do.
Flick approached, pulling Ethan into a hug.
"That's the player who won three Ballon d'Ors," the manager said. "That's the player who makes the difference in the biggest moments. Well done."
"Thank you. But the job's not finished. We need to win the second leg at Camp Nou."
"We will. With you playing like this, we're unstoppable."
February 16th - Barcelona 4-0 Osasuna
Four days after the PSG victory, Barcelona returned to league action against Osasuna. The match was never in doubt.
Ethan scored twice—in the nineteenth and forty-fifth minutes. Both clinical finishes. Both showing why he was the best striker in world football.
Lewandowski added another. Gavi got the fourth.
Professional. Dominant. Exactly what champions do.
Real Madrid, playing simultaneously, won 3-0 against Getafe. Mbappé scored once. Good, but not enough to close the gap.
La Liga Table (February 16th):
Barcelona - 65 points (20-2-1) Real Madrid - 64 points (21-1-1)
One point ahead. The pressure was relentless.
February 19th - Barcelona 3-1 PSG (Champions League R16, Second Leg)
The Camp Nou was absolutely rocking. Ninety-four thousand people creating a wall of noise that made the stadium literally vibrate.
Barcelona vs PSG. Second leg. Barcelona leading 2-1 from the first leg but needing to finish the job.
PSG knew they needed to score at least twice. They came out attacking immediately, pressing high, taking risks.
In the sixteenth minute, they got their reward. A brilliant PSG move—quick passing through Barcelona's midfield, a through ball to Gonçalo Ramos, clinical finish.
1-0 PSG. 2-2 on aggregate.
The Camp Nou went silent. This was suddenly precarious. One more PSG goal and Barcelona would be eliminated on away goals—no, wait, away goals were abolished. But still, PSG had momentum.
Flick was screaming instructions from the touchline. "STAY CALM! DON'T PANIC! TRUST THE SYSTEM!"
In the thirty-fourth minute, Barcelona responded.
Kimmich's corner came in with pace. Ethan attacked it at the near post, getting ahead of his marker. His header was powerful, directed downward.
Donnarumma got a hand to it but couldn't keep it out.
1-1. 3-2 on aggregate.
Relief swept through Camp Nou. Barcelona were ahead again. But barely.
Halftime arrived with the score still 1-1. Barcelona leading 3-2 on aggregate. One PSG goal would take it to extra time.
In the locker room, Flick was direct:
"They're going to throw everything forward in the second half. They have no choice. Which means space for us on the counter. When we get the ball, we go immediately. Ethan, Lewandowski, Raphinha—this is your half. Go win this tie."
The second half was nervy. PSG attacking, Barcelona defending, both teams exhausted, both sets of fans on edge.
In the sixty-seventh minute, Barcelona killed the tie.
PSG committed too many players forward for a corner. The ball was cleared. Pedri collected it in midfield and immediately looked up.
Ethan was already running. Mbappé-esque pace, eating up the ground between midfield and goal.
Pedri's pass was perfect. Ethan collected it, drove forward, and as Donnarumma came out, he squared it to Lewandowski for the simple tap-in.
2-1 Barcelona. 4-2 on aggregate.
Game over.
Camp Nou exploded. The relief was palpable. Barcelona were through to the Champions League quarterfinals. Again.
In the eighty-ninth minute, Ethan added a third—a simple finish after Raphinha's shot was saved. His fortieth goal of the season.
Final score: 3-1. 5-2 on aggregate.
Barcelona were through. Another Champions League quarterfinal. Their fifth consecutive season reaching at least the quarters.
February 23rd - Rayo Vallecano 0-2 Barcelona
The final match of February was away at Rayo Vallecano—always a tricky fixture. But Barcelona were flying now, confidence surging after the PSG victory.
Ethan scored both goals. The first in the twenty-seventh minute—a tap-in from Pedri's cross. The second in the seventy-second—a brilliant individual effort where he beat three defenders before finishing.
Two goals. Three points. Job done.
Real Madrid also won their match, but the gap remained one point.
La Liga Table (February 28th):
Barcelona - 71 points (22-2-1) Real Madrid - 70 points (23-1-1)
One point. Still on top. Still in control.
February 28th - Month Summary
Ethan sat in his apartment late at night, Sofia asleep beside him, reviewing his February statistics on his laptop:
February 2025:
8 matches played 11 goals scored (hitting his promised minimum of 10+) 3 assists Barcelona won 7, drew 0, lost 0 Eliminated PSG from Champions League Maintained first place in La Liga
Mbappé's February: 8 goals in 8 matches. Good, but not good enough.
Season totals:
Ethan: 42 goals, 14 assists in 30 matches Mbappé: 40 goals, 11 assists in 30 matches
The gap was widening. The doubters were silenced. The narrative had shifted back to "Ethan Loki is the best player in the world."
But none of that mattered. Because in sixteen days, on March 16th, 2025, Barcelona would host Real Madrid at Camp Nou.
The return Clásico. The match that would define everything.
Ethan closed his laptop and lay down beside Sofia. His mind was already there—March 16th, the Camp Nou packed with ninety-five thousand fans, Mbappé in white, himself in blaugrana.
The biggest match of the season was coming.
And Ethan Loki was ready to prove, once and for all, who was the best player in the world.
End of Chapter 63
February Summary:
11 goals for Ethan (vs 8 for Mbappé) Barcelona: 7 wins, 0 draws, 0 losses PSG eliminated from Champions League Back on top of La Liga by 1 point
Upcoming in March:
March 16th: EL CLÁSICO - Barcelona vs Real Madrid ⚠️🔥 Champions League quarterfinals Copa del Rey semifinals
Next: Chapter 64 - March Madness: The Clásico Approaches
⚽👑🔥