January 5th, 2029. Ethan's twenty-ninth birthday. He woke to Lucas jumping on the bed at 6:47 AM—his new favorite activity since mastering the skill three days ago.
"Dada! Dada! Wake up!"
Sofia groaned, pulling the pillow over her head. "Your son. Your turn."
"He's only my son when he wakes up early?"
"Exactly. House rules."
Ethan picked up Lucas, who immediately grabbed his nose—still his favorite game after all these months.
"Happy birthday to me," Ethan said. "Nineteen months old and you're already torturing me."
"Happy birthday!" Lucas repeated, though it came out more like "Hap-py bir-day!"
The pronunciation was terrible, but the effort was adorable. Sofia had been teaching him the phrase all week.
They went downstairs for breakfast. Lucas insisted on "helping" make pancakes, which meant throwing flour everywhere and licking the batter off his hands.
"This is what twenty-nine looks like," Ethan said, cleaning flour off the counter for the third time.
"Wait until you're thirty," Sofia replied. "Then you're officially old."
"One more year of being young. Better make it count."
But looking at Lucas covered in pancake batter, laughing at his own mess, Ethan realized he was already making it count. Maybe not in the way he'd imagined at eighteen. But in ways that mattered more.
January 10th - The Reality Check
Barcelona's first match after the winter break was against Villarreal. A routine La Liga match that Barcelona was expected to win.
They lost 2-1.
Villarreal defended brilliantly, scored twice on the counter, and Barcelona's attacks bounced off their defense all match. Ethan had three clear chances—missed all three. Uncharacteristically wasteful.
It was Barcelona's first league defeat of the season. And it came at the worst time—Real Madrid won their match 4-0, with Mbappé scoring twice.
La Liga Table (January 10th, 2029):
Real Madrid - 50 points (16-2-1) Barcelona - 47 points (15-2-2)
Three points behind. For the first time all season, Barcelona weren't top of the table.
The media pounced:
Marca: "Is The Dynasty Over? Madrid Takes La Liga Lead"
AS: "Seven Ballon d'Ors But Can't Beat Villarreal - Is Loki Declining?"
Sport: "Barcelona's Dominance Under Threat - Time to Rebuild?"
The criticism stung. Ethan had grown used to praise, to adulation. Negative headlines felt foreign now.
In the locker room after the match, Flick addressed the team.
"One loss. That's all this is. We're still in every competition. Still fighting for trophies. But we need to remember—teams are hunting us now. We're the standard. Everyone gives us their best match. We need to be better."
January 15th - Champions League: PSG 1-2 Barcelona
The Champions League group stage final match was in Paris. PSG needing a win to advance. Barcelona already qualified but wanting to top the group.
The atmosphere at the Parc des Princes was electric. PSG fans desperate for revenge after being eliminated by Barcelona so many times.
Twenty-third minute: PSG scored. Gonçalo Ramos with a powerful header. 1-0 PSG.
Barcelona struggled. PSG's intensity was overwhelming. But Ethan stayed patient.
Fifty-sixth minute: He equalized. A moment of individual brilliance. Beat two defenders, finished clinically. 1-1.
Seventy-eighth minute: He scored the winner. A simple tap-in from Raphinha's cross. 2-1 Barcelona.
Barcelona topped their Champions League group with 5 wins and 2 draws. Perfect record maintained.
After the match, French journalists asked about his form.
"Ethan, you struggled against Villarreal but scored twice today. Is your form inconsistent?"
"Every player has good and bad matches. What matters is responding. We lost to Villarreal. We beat PSG. That's football."
"You're twenty-nine in a few months. Are you worried about decline?"
"I'm twenty-eight. I've scored fourteen goals this season. Decline will come eventually. But not yet."
Confident answer. But inside, Ethan felt the first whispers of doubt. Not about his ability. About his desire.
Did he still want this as much as he used to? The travel. The pressure. The constant scrutiny.
Or was he ready to move toward the next phase of his life?
February 1st - La Liga: Barcelona 3-1 Real Sociedad
Barcelona responded to the Villarreal loss with three consecutive wins. Slowly climbing back into the title race.
February 1st: 3-1 vs Real Sociedad (Ethan scored twice)
February 8th: 4-0 vs Getafe (Ethan rested entirely)
February 14th: 2-1 vs Athletic Bilbao (Ethan scored the winner)
That last match was special for multiple reasons. February 14th was Lucas's second birthday. And Ethan made sure he was home by 8:00 PM for the birthday celebration.
Sofia had organized a small party—just family and a few of Lucas's toddler friends from the park. The house was decorated with balloons and streamers. A cake shaped like a football (Ethan's idea, Sofia's execution).
Lucas loved it. Especially the part where he got to smash the cake with both hands, getting frosting everywhere.
"Two years old," Ethan said, watching his son destroy the cake. "How is that possible?"
"Time moves fast," Sofia replied. "Wait until he's five. Then ten. Then eighteen."
"Don't. I'm already emotional enough."
They sang happy birthday. Lucas blew out the candles (with significant help from Ethan). Presents were opened—mostly ignored in favor of the boxes they came in.
Later that night, after everyone had left and Lucas was asleep, Ethan wrote in his journal:
February 14th, 2029
Lucas is two years old today. Two years since he was born. Two years since my life changed completely.
I've won seven Ballon d'Ors. Nine Champions Leagues. Eight consecutive La Liga titles. I'm one of the greatest players in history.
But my proudest achievement is being Lucas's father.
He said "I love you dada" today for the first time. Three words. Five syllables. The most important thing anyone has ever said to me.
All the trophies in the world don't compare to that.
277 chapters left in my career. But Lucas only has one childhood. And I'm going to be there for it.
He closed the laptop, feeling emotional but content.
February 20th - Champions League Round of 16, First Leg: Barcelona 3-0 Liverpool
The Champions League knockout rounds began. Liverpool visiting Camp Nou. A tough draw, but one Barcelona could handle.
The match was professional. Dominant. Exactly what champions do.
Twenty-third minute: Ethan scored. A brilliant header from Kimmich's corner. 1-0.
Fifty-sixth minute: Lewandowski made it 2-0.
Seventy-eighth minute: Ethan completed his brace. 3-0.
Barcelona were cruising. The three-goal advantage meant the second leg at Anfield would be a formality.
But the post-match interview revealed something interesting:
"Ethan, you've now scored in twelve consecutive Champions League matches. That's a record. Are you chasing records now?"
"Not consciously. Records are byproducts of consistent performance. I just focus on helping the team win."
"At twenty-eight, with seven Ballon d'Ors, what's left to achieve?"
Ethan paused, thinking carefully. "Honestly? Not much. I've won everything. Multiple times. At this point, I'm playing because I love football. Not because I need to prove anything."
"Does that mean you're considering retirement soon?"
"Not immediately. But sooner than people expect. I've said it before—I'm not playing until I'm forty. Probably until thirty-two or thirty-three. Maybe four more years. Then I want to focus on family."
The honesty was jarring. Most players avoided retirement talk. But Ethan was different—transparent about his timeline, his priorities, his future.
February 25th - La Liga: Real Madrid 3-2 Barcelona
The second Clásico of the season at the Santiago Bernabéu. A chance for Barcelona to make up ground in the title race.
La Liga Table (Before Match):
Real Madrid - 59 points (19-2-2) Barcelona - 56 points (18-2-3)
Three points behind. A Barcelona win would level the table. A Madrid win would make it six points—probably insurmountable with only twelve matches remaining.
The match was war from the first whistle. Both teams attacking relentlessly. The quality was extraordinary.
Fourteenth minute: Mbappé scored for Madrid. A moment of individual brilliance. 1-0.
Twenty-third minute: Ethan equalized. A header from Raphinha's cross. 1-1.
Forty-fifth minute: Vinícius put Madrid ahead just before halftime. 2-1.
The second half was chaos. Both teams creating chances. Both sensing the opportunity.
Sixty-seventh minute: Ethan equalized again. A brilliant solo goal. 2-2.
Both sets of fans on their feet. This match was living up to the hype.
Eighty-ninth minute: Disaster for Barcelona.
Bellingham scored for Madrid in the final minute. A devastating blow. 3-2 Real Madrid.
Barcelona lost. Six points behind now with eleven matches remaining. The La Liga title race was effectively over.
In the locker room afterward, the atmosphere was funeral. Eight consecutive La Liga titles. The dynasty about to end.
Ethan sat in his locker, processing. Not devastated. Not angry. Just... accepting.
They'd won eight consecutive titles. No team could win forever. Eventually, someone else would be better. This was Madrid's year.
And strangely, Ethan was okay with that.
February 28th - The Conversation
Late at night, Ethan and Sofia sat on their bedroom balcony, looking out at Barcelona's skyline.
"You're not upset about the title race?" Sofia asked.
"Not really. We've won eight consecutive La Liga titles. That's insane. If we don't win nine, the world will keep spinning."
"That's very zen of you."
"I'm learning to let go. Not of competing—I still want to win everything. But of the obsession. The need to be perfect. The fear of losing."
"What changed?"
"Lucas. You. Perspective. I realized that my worth as a person isn't determined by whether I win La Liga. I'm still a good father. Still a good husband. Still someone who contributed to Barcelona's success. That's enough."
Sofia reached over and took his hand. "You've grown so much in the last two years. The old Ethan would have been devastated by today's loss."
"The old Ethan was miserable. Successful, yes. But miserable. This version is happier."
"Good. Because I like this version better."
They sat in comfortable silence, looking at the city lights.
Three moves ahead was becoming clearer:
Move one: Finish this season. They'd already lost La Liga. But Champions League and Copa del Rey were still possible.
Move two: Next season (2029-30). Give it one more full season. Try to win everything. Chase the eighth Ballon d'Or.
Move three: World Cup 2030 in June-July. One last international tournament. Then seriously consider retirement timeline.
Four more years. Maybe five. But not more. The clock was ticking.
And for the first time, Ethan was okay with that.
End of Chapter 83