September 28th, 2028. Twenty-five days before the Champions League Clásico at the Bernabéu. The match that everyone in Spain—and much of the football world—was already calling "The Match of the Decade."
Barcelona vs Real Madrid. In the Champions League. Ethan vs Mbappé. For European supremacy.
The build-up had already begun. Every Spanish newspaper dedicated entire sections to analyzing the match. Every pundit had an opinion. Every fan had picked a side.
Ethan tried to ignore the noise. But it was impossible. His phone buzzed constantly with interview requests, sponsor obligations, media appearances. Everyone wanted a piece of him before the biggest match of the season.
At home, Lucas was oblivious to it all. At seventeen months old, his biggest concern was learning to climb onto the couch by himself—a skill he'd mastered that morning, to Sofia's dismay.
"He's going to hurt himself," Sofia said, watching Lucas attempt to climb down headfirst.
"He's fine. He's learning coordination."
"He's learning how to give his mother a heart attack."
Ethan gently repositioned Lucas feet-first and helped him down safely. "There you go, mijo. Always feet first."
Lucas immediately tried to climb back up. This time headfirst again.
"He gets his stubborn streak from you," Sofia observed.
"That's a survival trait in our family."
"It's also exhausting."
They spent the next hour preventing Lucas from various dangerous activities: climbing bookshelves, pulling electrical cords, trying to eat plants. The joys of toddlerhood.
This was reality. Not the Champions League Clásico. Not the media circus. Just a father trying to keep his toddler alive until dinnertime.
And Ethan wouldn't trade it for anything.
October 5th - La Liga: Barcelona 3-1 Real Sociedad
The first week of October brought routine La Liga matches. Barcelona won comfortably against Real Sociedad. Ethan scored once, rested after sixty-five minutes.
Real Madrid played the same day and won 4-0, with Mbappé scoring twice. The Pichichi race was tight:
La Liga Top Scorers (After 8 matches):
Kylian Mbappé (Real Madrid) - 9 goals Ethan Loki (Barcelona) - 7 goals Vinícius Júnior (Real Madrid) - 6 goals
Mbappé was having an incredible season. Ethan was having a good one. The difference showed.
But Ethan didn't feel the old competitive panic. The obsession to catch up. The need to prove he was better.
Seven goals in eight matches was fine. Good, even. And he was rested, healthy, present for Lucas.
That was what mattered.
October 12th - The International Break
France had two Nations League matches during the October international break. Deschamps called up both Ethan and Mbappé.
This time, Ethan accepted. The matches were competitive, not friendlies. And it was a chance to play alongside Mbappé before facing him in the Clásico.
The France camp at Clairefontaine felt different. More mature. Most of the players were in their late twenties now—Griezmann had retired, Kanté was thirty-seven and playing his final season.
This was Ethan and Mbappé's team now. The leaders. The captains of the next generation.
"Feels weird, doesn't it?" Mbappé said the first night, sitting in the hotel restaurant. "Being the old guys."
"We're twenty-eight. We're not old."
"In football years? We're ancient. Half this squad wasn't even born when we made our Monaco debuts."
"That's depressing."
"That's reality."
They talked about everything—the upcoming Clásico, their families, the future. Mbappé revealed that he was dating someone seriously for the first time in years.
"She's a doctor," Mbappé said. "Works at a hospital in Madrid. Has no interest in football. Doesn't even know who I am—well, she didn't when we met."
"That sounds healthy."
"It is. She keeps me grounded. Reminds me there's life beyond football."
"Welcome to the club. That's what Lucas does for me."
"How is he?"
"Seventeen months old. Climbing everything. Trying to kill himself daily. It's exhausting and perfect."
Mbappé smiled. "You seem happy. Like, genuinely happy. Not just 'I'm winning trophies' happy. Actually content."
"I am. For the first time in my career, I'm not chasing something. I'm just... being."
"That's profound."
"Or maybe I'm just getting old and losing my edge."
"No. You've just figured out what most of us never will: football isn't everything."
The conversation stayed with Ethan. Mbappé was right. He'd figured out the balance. And it had made him happier than any trophy ever could.
October 15th - France 3-1 Belgium
The first Nations League match was against Belgium. France dominated. Ethan scored once. Mbappé scored twice. They were deadly together—still the best partnership in international football.
After the match, a Belgian journalist asked: "You two are about to face each other in the Champions League Clásico. Does playing together now make that weird?"
"Not at all," Ethan replied. "When we wear the France shirt, we're teammates. When we wear club colors, we're competitors. We can separate the two."
"Do you trash-talk during France training about the upcoming match?"
Mbappé laughed. "Constantly. He thinks Barcelona will win. I know Madrid will win. We've already bet on it."
"What's the bet?"
"Loser has to babysit Lucas for a weekend," Ethan said.
Everyone laughed. It was perfect—competitive but friendly. Exactly the right tone.
October 18th - France 2-0 Israel
The second Nations League match was easier. France won comfortably. Ethan rested for sixty minutes (Deschamps managing his workload). Mbappé scored both goals.
France topped their Nations League group. Both players returned to their clubs healthy and ready for the Clásico.
October 21st - The Final Preparations
Two days before the Clásico, Barcelona trained at the Bernabéu—a rare privilege, but one granted because this was a Champions League match, not La Liga.
The stadium was empty except for the Barcelona squad and staff. But Ethan could already feel the atmosphere. In forty-eight hours, this place would be packed with 85,000 Real Madrid fans, all wanting Barcelona to lose.
Flick gathered the team at midfield for a tactical talk.
"This is the biggest match of the season so far," he began. "El Clásico in the Champions League. Barcelona vs Madrid for European supremacy. The entire world will be watching."
He paused, letting the weight settle.
"But here's what I want you to remember: we've won three consecutive trebles. We've made history. This match doesn't define us—we've already defined ourselves. So play free. Play with joy. Play because you love football, not because you're afraid of losing."
It was the perfect message. Liberating. Honest.
After training, Ethan stayed on the pitch alone for a few minutes. Looking at the stands. Visualizing the match. But not with anxiety. With anticipation.
He'd played at the Bernabéu dozens of times. Scored countless goals here. This was familiar territory.
And this time, win or lose, he'd go home to Lucas and Sofia. That perspective was freeing.
October 22nd - The Day Before
Ethan spent the day before the match at home with Lucas and Sofia. Completely off the grid. Phone on airplane mode. No social media. No news. Just family.
They went to the park. Lucas played on the swings, laughing every time Ethan pushed him. They had lunch at a quiet café. They came home and Lucas napped while Ethan and Sofia talked about everything except football.
"Are you nervous?" Sofia finally asked.
"Not really. Excited, maybe. But not nervous."
"That's different from previous years."
"I know. I think I've finally internalized that football is just a game. An important game. A game I love. But still just a game. What happens tomorrow won't change who I am as a person."
"When did you become so wise?"
"Probably around the time Lucas started climbing furniture and giving me daily heart attacks."
They both laughed.
That evening, after Lucas was asleep, Ethan wrote in his journal:
October 22nd, 2028
Tomorrow is the Champions League Clásico. Barcelona vs Real Madrid. Me vs Mbappé. The match everyone has been talking about for weeks.
And I feel... calm. Ready. But not obsessed.
Two years ago, I would have been unable to sleep. Unable to eat. Consumed by pressure and expectations.
But tonight, I'm just excited to play football. To compete at the highest level. To test myself against one of the best teams in the world.
If we win, great. If we lose, I come home to Lucas and Sofia and we try again next time.
The perspective is liberating.
Three moves ahead:1. Play well tomorrow, give everything2. Regardless of result, enjoy the rest of the season3. Keep building toward eventual retirement in 4-5 years
279 chapters left in my career. But only 5 more years of Lucas being this young. The math is simple.
He closed the laptop and went to bed. Actually slept well. Woke up refreshed and ready.
October 23rd, 2028 - Champions League: Real Madrid 2-2 Barcelona
The Santiago Bernabéu at 9:00 PM was a wall of white. 85,000 Real Madrid fans creating an atmosphere that made the stadium shake. The noise was physical, pressing down on the Barcelona players as they walked out.
But Ethan felt calm. Centered. Ready.
First Half - Tactical Chess
Madrid started aggressively—pressing high, attacking down the wings, trying to intimidate Barcelona early.
Twenty-third minute: It worked.
Bellingham's brilliant through ball found Mbappé in space. The French forward drove into the box, beat Koundé with pure pace, and finished clinically past Ter Stegen.
1-0 Real Madrid.
Mbappé's celebration was intense—running to the corner, sliding on his knees, screaming at the Madrid fans. This was personal. This was his statement.
The Bernabéu erupted. Barcelona looked shaken.
But Ethan stayed calm. Walked to Pedri and Gavi. "We're fine. Just stay composed. The goal will come."
Thirty-fourth minute: It did.
A brilliant Barcelona team move. Pedri to Gavi to Kimmich to Ethan. Quick one-twos that sliced through Madrid's defense.
Ethan received the ball at the edge of the box. Three Madrid defenders closing down. No time. No space.
But he'd already calculated three moves ahead. He saw Lewandowski making a run to the near post, dragging Rüdiger with him. That movement created a tiny gap—just for a second—at the far post.
Raphinha was arriving there. Unmarked.
Ethan could have shot. Should have shot, maybe. But the pass was the better option.
He dinked it over the defenders with the outside of his right foot. The ball floated perfectly to Raphinha at the far post.
Simple tap-in. 1-1.
Barcelona had equalized. Ethan's assist. Team-first mentality over personal glory.
The match was balanced again. Both teams probing. Neither willing to make mistakes.
Halftime arrived with the score 1-1. Everything still to play for.
Second Half - The Drama
Madrid came out attacking in the second half. Wave after wave of white shirts pressing Barcelona deep.
Sixty-seventh minute: They got their reward.
Vinícius beat Koundé on the wing—pure pace and skill—and crossed low into the box. Bellingham arrived at the penalty spot.
Powerful shot. 2-1 Real Madrid.
The Bernabéu was bouncing. Madrid were leading again. Barcelona were in danger.
Flick made attacking substitutions. Ferran Torres on for Raphinha. More attacking intent.
Seventy-eighth minute: Barcelona equalized again.
A Barcelona corner. Chaos in the box. The ball bounced around, fell to Ethan at the edge of the area.
He struck it first time with his left foot. Low. Hard. Aimed for the corner.
Courtois dove. Got a hand to it. Couldn't keep it out.
2-2.
The away section—maybe 3,000 Barcelona fans—went absolutely insane. The Bernabéu fell silent.
Ethan ran to the corner, arms spread wide. Not celebrating aggressively. Just acknowledging the moment.
The final twelve minutes were chaos. Both teams attacking. Both sensing the winner was possible.
Madrid had two clear chances—both saved by Ter Stegen. Barcelona had one—saved by Courtois.
The referee blew the final whistle. 2-2.
A draw. Both teams took a point. Neither happy. Neither devastated.
Justice, perhaps.
Post-Match
The mixed zone was packed with journalists from around the world.
"Ethan, 2-2. Are you satisfied with the result?"
"Satisfied? No. We wanted to win. But a draw at the Bernabéu in the Champions League is respectable. We'll take the point."
"You assisted one and scored one. Another big performance in a Clásico. Do you have a special motivation for these matches?"
"Not special motivation. Just focus. These are the biggest matches. The ones where legends are made. I try to perform when it matters most."
"Mbappé scored first, you equalized. He's ahead in the Pichichi race. Does that bother you?"
"Not at all. Kylian is having an exceptional season. I'm having a good season. Both are fine. What matters is team success, not individual statistics."
Perfect answers. Professional. Mature. Team-first.
Later, in the tunnel, Ethan found Mbappé.
"Good match, hermano," Mbappé said.
"You too. That first goal was brilliant."
"Your equalizer was better. Top corner, no chance for Courtois."
They exchanged jerseys—a ritual they'd done after every Clásico. Brotherhood before rivalry.
"See you in March for the return match at Camp Nou," Mbappé said.
"Looking forward to it."
They hugged, cameras capturing the moment. Two legends. Two friends. Two players who pushed each other to be better.
End of Chapter 81