May 1st, 2028. Seven days before the Champions League semifinal first leg against Manchester City. Ethan woke at 6:47 AM to Lucas crying in his room—teething again, his second tooth emerging.
Sofia was already up, exhausted from a night of interrupted sleep. "Your turn," she mumbled, pulling the pillow over her head.
Ethan got up, went to Lucas's room, and picked up his son. The crying stopped immediately.
"Dada," Lucas said, reaching for Ethan's face.
"I know, mijo. Your mouth hurts. Let's get you some medicine."
They went downstairs. Ethan gave Lucas the teething medicine the pediatrician had recommended, then sat with him on the couch, gently rocking him.
This was fatherhood. Not just the happy moments—the first steps, the first words, the birthdays. But also the 6:47 AM wake-ups. The teething pain. The exhaustion.
And Ethan wouldn't trade it for anything.
An hour later, Lucas had fallen back asleep on Ethan's chest. Sofia came downstairs, looking guilty.
"I'm sorry. I should have gotten up."
"Don't apologize. You've been up with him every night this week. My turn."
"But you have training at ten. You need rest."
"I'm fine. This matters more."
Sofia sat beside them, resting her head on Ethan's shoulder. "When did you become this person?"
"What person?"
"This... present person. The guy who chooses his son over extra sleep before a big match."
"I don't know. Sometime in the last year. I realized the trophies don't hug you back."
"That's disgustingly wholesome."
"I know. I'm getting soft in my old age."
They sat together in the early morning quiet, Lucas sleeping peacefully, both parents exhausted but content.
This was what balance looked like.
May 8th - Champions League SF, First Leg: Manchester City 1-1 Barcelona
The Etihad Stadium. 55,000 fans. Manchester City vs Barcelona. Pep Guardiola facing his former club again.
City came out attacking aggressively. Their possession-based style mirrored Barcelona's—this was a match between two tactical masterclasses.
Thirty-fourth minute: City scored. Erling Haaland with a powerful header. 1-0 City.
Barcelona struggled to respond. City's pressing was suffocating. But Ethan stayed patient, waiting for space.
Sixty-seventh minute: It came.
Pedri won the ball in midfield and immediately looked for Ethan. The pass was weighted perfectly into the channel between City's center-backs.
Ethan collected it at full sprint. Ederson rushed out. One-on-one.
Ethan dinked it over the Brazilian goalkeeper with outrageous confidence—the same finish he'd used dozens of times throughout his career.
1-1.
Barcelona escaped Manchester with a crucial away draw. Everything to play for in the second leg at Camp Nou.
After the match, Pep Guardiola found Ethan in the tunnel.
"You're different this season," Pep observed.
"How so?"
"Calmer. Less intense. Like you're playing for enjoyment rather than proving something."
"Maybe I am."
"It suits you. You look happy. That's rare in football at this level."
"I have a fourteen-month-old son who keeps me grounded."
"Fatherhood changes everything. Congratulations on finding balance. Most players never do."
Coming from Pep—a man who'd sacrificed much for his career—the compliment meant something.
May 15th - Champions League SF, Second Leg: Barcelona 2-0 Manchester City (3-1 aggregate)
Camp Nou was electric. Ninety-five thousand people creating a wall of noise. This was for a place in the Champions League final. This was for history.
City needed to score at least twice. They came out attacking desperately, pressing high, taking enormous risks.
But Barcelona's defense was impenetrable. Araujo and Koundé were imperious. Every City attack broke down before becoming dangerous.
Fifty-sixth minute: Barcelona struck.
A brilliant team move. Pedri to Gavi to Kimmich to Ethan. Quick one-twos that sliced through City's defense.
Ethan was one-on-one with Ederson. Again. He could have dinked it again—his signature finish.
But this time he went low. Hard shot to the near post. Ederson got a hand to it but couldn't keep it out.
1-0 Barcelona, 2-1 aggregate.
City threw everyone forward. Desperate. Furious. So close to another final.
Eighty-ninth minute: Barcelona sealed it.
City had committed ten players into Barcelona's half. Left huge space in behind. Barcelona counter-attacked.
Ferran Torres drove forward with the ball. Ethan on his left. Raphinha on his right.
Two City defenders couldn't cover three Barcelona attackers. Ferran played it to Ethan.
Simple finish into the empty net. 2-0, 3-1 aggregate.
BARCELONA WERE THROUGH TO THE CHAMPIONS LEAGUE FINAL.
For the sixth consecutive year. An unprecedented run. And potentially their ninth Champions League title overall.
The celebration was euphoric. Players piling on Ethan. Flick jumping on the sideline. The Camp Nou crowd singing until their voices gave out.
But Ethan's first thought was: Lucas is home sleeping. He has no idea what just happened. And that's okay.
The perspective was jarring. Two years ago, this moment would have consumed him completely. Now it was important, yes. But it wasn't everything.
May 18th - Copa del Rey Final: Barcelona 3-1 Real Sociedad
La Cartuja Stadium in Sevilla. Barcelona vs Real Sociedad in the Copa del Rey final.
Real Sociedad were excellent—well-organized, technical, dangerous. But Barcelona had too much quality.
Twenty-third minute: Ethan scored. A brilliant header from Raphinha's cross. 1-0.
Forty-fifth minute: Real Sociedad equalized just before halftime. 1-1.
Sixty-seventh minute: Ethan scored again. A moment of individual brilliance. 2-1.
Eighty-ninth minute: Lewandowski sealed it. 3-1.
Barcelona won the Copa del Rey.
Second trophy of the season secured. One more to go.
The celebration was joyful but contained. They'd won this trophy three years in a row now. It was becoming routine.
But what wasn't routine was what came next: the Champions League final. A chance at the third consecutive treble. History waiting.
May 25th - The Week Before
The Champions League final was June 1st in Istanbul. Barcelona had one week to prepare.
But Flick made an unusual decision: he gave the team three days off.
"You're exhausted," he told them. "Go home. See your families. Recharge. We'll reconvene on May 28th to prepare for the final."
Ethan spent those three days entirely with Lucas and Sofia. They went to the beach. Had picnics in the park. Did normal family things.
On May 27th, the night before returning to training, Sofia asked the question that had been hanging in the air:
"Are you nervous about the final?"
"Honestly? Not as much as I should be."
"Why not?"
"Because I know what happens either way. If we win, great. Third consecutive treble. Ninth Champions League. History made. But if we lose, I go home to you and Lucas. And that's okay too."
"That's very zen of you."
"I've played in ten Champions League finals. Won eight. Lost two. The pressure doesn't affect me like it used to. I know I'll perform when it matters. And I know that regardless of the result, I have a life beyond football."
"When did you become so wise?"
"Probably around the time Lucas started calling me 'dada.'"
They laughed, but it was true. Fatherhood had changed Ethan's perspective on everything.
May 31st - The Final Approaches
Barcelona flew to Istanbul on May 30th. The Atatürk Olympic Stadium—the same venue where they'd won in 2027. A good omen, perhaps.
Their opponents: Juventus. The Italian giants seeking their first Champions League since 1996. They'd had an incredible run—beating Liverpool in the quarterfinals, Bayern Munich in the semifinals.
This would be a war.
The night before the match, Ethan sat in his Istanbul hotel room, unable to sleep. He opened his laptop and wrote in his journal:
May 31st, 2028
Tomorrow is the Champions League final. Potentially my ninth Champions League title. Potentially the third consecutive treble.
Two years ago, this would have consumed me. I would have been unable to eat, unable to sleep, obsessing over every detail.
But tonight, I'm calm. Centered. Ready.
Because I know the truth: I'm already successful. Six Ballon d'Ors. Eight Champions Leagues. Eight consecutive La Liga titles. Two World Cups. What more do I need to prove?
If we win tomorrow, incredible. If we lose, I go home to my family and we try again next year.
The perspective is liberating.
Lucas is 15 months old now. Walking everywhere. Saying new words every day. Growing so fast. And I'm there to see it. That's the real victory.
Three moves ahead:1. Win tomorrow (hopefully)2. Summer with family - first real vacation in years3. Next season - continue this balanced approach
I have 281 more chapters in my career. But I'm not rushing to fill them anymore. I'm savoring each one.
He closed the laptop and finally fell asleep.
June 1st, 2028 - Champions League Final: Barcelona 2-1 Juventus
The Atatürk Olympic Stadium. 70,000 people. Barcelona vs Juventus. History waiting.
The match was tactical, tense, brutal. Both teams defending excellently. Neither willing to make mistakes.
Forty-fifth minute, stoppage time: Juventus scored just before halftime. A devastating blow. 1-0 Juventus.
Barcelona went into the break trailing in a Champions League final. Dangerous position.
Flick's halftime talk was calm: "We've been here before. We know how to win these matches. Stay composed. Trust the process. The goal will come."
Sixty-seventh minute: It did.
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 Juventus defender, and nestled into the bottom corner.
1-1.
The Barcelona section erupted. Camp Nou-style celebrations in Istanbul.
The match opened up now. Both teams attacking. Both sensing the opportunity.
Eighty-ninth minute: Ethan delivered when it mattered most.
Pedri's brilliant through ball. Ethan's perfectly timed run. One-on-one with Juventus's goalkeeper.
He could have dinked it. Could have gone low. But this time he struck it with power—a shot that gave the goalkeeper no chance.
2-1 Barcelona.
Ninety seconds left plus stoppage time. Barcelona just needed to hold on.
Juventus threw everyone forward. Desperate. Furious. So close to their first Champions League in thirty-two years.
The referee added six minutes of stoppage time. Six agonizing minutes of defending.
Juventus had three clear chances. Each one saved by Ter Stegen or blocked by desperate defending.
Then the referee looked at his watch. Checked with VAR. Raised the whistle to his lips.
And blew three times.
FULL TIME. BARCELONA 2-1 JUVENTUS.
BARCELONA HAD WON THEIR NINTH CHAMPIONS LEAGUE.
THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE TREBLE WAS COMPLETE.
The Celebration
Ethan collapsed to his knees at the final whistle. Not from exhaustion. Not from emotion. Just from relief.
They'd done it. Something no team in football history had ever achieved. Three consecutive trebles. Nine Champions Leagues. History made.
His teammates mobbed him. Pedri was screaming. Gavi was crying. Lewandowski looked emotional.
But Ethan felt... calm. Satisfied. But not ecstatic. Not like previous Champions League victories.
Because he knew this wasn't the pinnacle anymore. The pinnacle was at home in Barcelona. Lucas and Sofia. Family.
The trophy presentation was beautiful. Ethan lifted the Champions League trophy for the ninth time—an absurd number. Only he and a handful of other players had done it this many times.
But as he held the trophy, posing for photos, accepting congratulations, his mind was already elsewhere.
Home. Family. Balance.
In the post-match interview, journalists asked the inevitable questions:
"Ethan, nine Champions Leagues. Third consecutive treble. How does it feel?"
"It feels like completion. We set out to do something impossible and we did it. That's satisfying."
"You scored both goals in the final. Does this confirm you're still the best player in the world?"
"I'm one of the best. Whether I'm THE best is for others to decide. What matters is we won as a team."
"What's next? Do you chase a fourth consecutive treble?"
Ethan paused, thinking carefully. "We'll see. Right now, I'm focused on going home to my family and enjoying this summer. Next season will take care of itself."
Perfect answer. Professional. But also honest.
Later, alone in the locker room after most players had left, Mbappé found him.
"Congratulations, hermano. Third consecutive treble. That's insane."
"Thanks. How's your season ending?"
"We won La Liga. Lost to you in the Copa del Rey final last year. Lost in Champions League semis. Not bad, but not good enough." Mbappé sat beside him. "Can I be honest?"
"Always."
"I'm jealous. Of your success, yes. But also of your peace. You seem... content. I'm still chasing. Still hungry. Still miserable when I don't win everything. How did you find that balance?"
"I had a son. And I realized he won't remember how many trophies I won. He'll remember whether I was there for him."
"That's profound."
"It's also true."
They sat in comfortable silence, two legends of the game, both on different journeys.
End of Chapter 79