Camp Nou had a relaxed, sunlit feel to it on Sunday afternoon.
Málaga arrived sitting tenth in the table, guided by a manager already packing his bags for the summer and a squad that looked fully resigned to its fate. Their coach's pre-match press conference on Saturday had lasted all of four minutes, anchored by a tired admission that they were simply hoping to contain Barcelona for as long as possible.
During warm-ups, Lorenzo spotted Cecilia in her regular front-row seat. Lucia stood right beside her in an oversized hoodie and a Blaugrana scarf, fidgeting slightly with the fringe. As Lorenzo jogged along the touchline, he gave them a quick wave. Cecilia waved back instantly with both hands. Lucia started to lift her arm, hesitated for a second, and gave an awkward little half-wave before tucking her hands back into her pockets.
Lorenzo couldn't help but smile as he turned back to finish his hamstring stretches.
The starting lineups took the pitch under warm Catalan sunshine.
Barcelona (4-3-3): Valdés; Alves, Piqué, Mascherano, Alba; Xavi, Busquets, Iniesta; Neymar, Lorenzo, Messi.
Málaga (4-4-2): Caballero; Angeleri, Weligton, Sánchez, Torres; Duda, Camacho, Fernández, Iturra; Santa Cruz, Amrabat.
The referee blew his whistle, and the contest was effectively settled inside the opening twenty minutes.
In the 6th minute, Iniesta floated a delicate diagonal over the defensive line. Lorenzo brought it down softly on his chest, rolled between Weligton and Sergio Sánchez in one fluid turn, and slipped a low finish past Willy Caballero into the bottom corner. 1-0.
Six minutes later, Neymar cut inside off the left flank, exchanged a crisp one-two with Messi, and tucked the return pass neatly inside the near post. 2-0.
In the 19th minute, Messi gathered possession out on the right wing, glided past two lunging defenders with effortless balance, and lifted a casual finish into the roof of the net. 3-0.
By the half-hour mark, Camp Nou had settled into a full celebration. Málaga worked hard to stay compact, yet Barcelona's front three moved with far too much speed and sharpness. Nordin Amrabat picked up a yellow card for dragging down Iniesta, followed shortly by Fernández grabbing a handful of Xavi's shirt to stop another counter.
Just before the break, in the 41st minute, Alba whipped an inviting cross into the penalty area. Lorenzo timed his leap between the center-backs, meeting the delivery with a thumping header that flew into the top corner. 4-0.
Málaga walked off at halftime with slumped shoulders and blank expressions, their goalkeeper angrily shouting at his backline for leaving him totally exposed.
With the points secured, Martino used the second half to protect his key starters.
In the 56th minute, Iniesta collected a loose ball twenty-five yards out and curled a dipping effort over Caballero's fingertips into the top corner for 5-0. Four minutes later, the playmaker came off to a standing ovation for Sergi Roberto. Pedro replaced Neymar in the 68th, and Alexis Sánchez came on for Messi in the 76th.
Lorenzo remained on the pitch. His left leg had felt completely solid through the first half, and Sofía had cleared him for eighty minutes of match action.
When the fourth official finally raised the electronic board in the 81st minute with the number 9 in red for Cristian Tello, the stadium rose to give him a roaring send-off.
"So, how's that leg feeling now?" Sofía asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the live charts on her tablet.
"Honestly, pretty good," Lorenzo replied, grabbing a towel to wipe his brow. "No tightness or anything weird."
"The telemetry matches up," she said with a subtle nod. "Your hamstring tension stayed right in the safe zone throughout the eighty minutes."
"So, does that mean no scolding from the medical staff today?"
She glanced up from the screen, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Sure, no lectures today. Enjoy the peace while you can."
The final whistle confirmed a comprehensive 5-0 victory. Málaga finished without a single shot on target, Barcelona stretched their historic unbeaten run to thirty-three matches, and they held firm control of the title race at the summit of La Liga.
After finishing his warm-down routines on the pitch, Lorenzo headed toward the players' tunnel. Cecilia and Lucia were waiting near the railing at the tunnel mouth.
"Two goals and an early rest," Cecilia said with a wide smile. "Did Sofía actually let you off easy?"
"She was quietly satisfied, I think," Lorenzo said with a soft laugh. "Which is basically the highest compliment she gives."
"That sounds about right for her," Lucia said, speaking up for the first time.
Lorenzo turned his attention to her. It was the first time they had spoken in person since the Copa del Rey final at Mestalla. She seemed calm and composed, carrying herself with quiet reserve.
"I'm glad you came out today," Lorenzo said gently.
"Yeah, well, it was definitely a fun match to watch," she replied.
Cecilia looked between them, then glanced down at her vibrating phone. "I should probably head up to the VIP boxes. My dad's waiting for me with some clients." She gave Lorenzo's arm a warm squeeze. "Text me when you get back to the villa, okay?"
"Sure, I will."
Once Cecilia disappeared down the tunnel corridor, Lorenzo and Lucia stood alone in the quiet space near the railing.
"You played really well today," Lucia said, breaking the silence. "You looked totally locked in."
"Thanks. The legs felt a lot lighter today after taking that midweek rest."
"That's good. You know, I saw the league table this morning," she added softly. "Real Madrid are dropping points, Atlético are right behind you, and Lisbon is only a few weeks away."
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow slightly. "You've been following the news pretty closely lately, haven't you?"
"I always follow the news a little bit, but yeah, I guess I've been checking the sports pages more lately."
She paused for a brief moment, her expression softening into a small, sincere smile. "Anyway, I should probably get going. I have an early class tomorrow."
"Alright. Have a safe trip back."
"I'll see you at the last home match of the season," she said. "Probably not before then."
Lorenzo looked at her, slightly surprised. "What, not until the final fixture?"
"You have a lot of massive games coming up," Lucia replied in a calm, steady voice. "I know how much focus you need right now, and I really don't want to get in the way of that, so just do your best out there."
She gave him a polite nod, turned on her heel, and walked out toward the main stadium exit.
Lorenzo watched her figure blend into the tunnel lights until she turned the corner. He opened his mouth to say something, hesitated for a second, and let the quiet moment pass.
Above him, the stadium floodlights began to shut down one by one, while the faint, lingering chants of the departing supporters echoed through the concrete concourse.
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