Barcelona, Spain – 2001
The trial day had arrived.
Lionel stood on the edge of the pitch at La Masia's training grounds, dressed in the oversized kit they had handed him. The jersey hung a little too loose, and the socks bunched around his thin calves. His heart beat loudly in his chest, but his face remained unreadable—calm, almost emotionless, just like always.
Jorge Messi gave his son a quick nod from the sidelines. "Play your game, Leo. That's all you need to do."
Lionel nodded back.
As the other boys began their warmups, many taller and louder than him, Lionel kept to himself. He didn't know Spanish fluently. He didn't know any of the players. But he knew the ball. And that was enough.
The coach watching the trial, Carles Rexach, had seen thousands of kids with dreams. But something about this quiet boy from Argentina caught his eye.
"Ese chico… he's small," one assistant whispered.
"But watch his feet," Rexach replied.
And then it began.
In the opening minutes of the scrimmage, Messi picked up the ball near midfield. A boy ran at him—taller, stronger—but Lionel didn't panic. He dropped his shoulder, shifted left, then burst to the right, slipping past with ease.
Another defender came. A quick tap with the outside of his boot, and the ball was through the opponent's legs. Gasps echoed from the sideline.
Within minutes, he had scored twice. Silent. Efficient. Magical.
After the trial, Jorge walked alongside Leo back to their small room at the boarding house. The coach hadn't said much, just a quiet nod and a handshake. Enough to keep their hopes alive. Enough to wonder.
That night, Lionel called home.
Celia picked up on the first ring. "Hola, mi amor. How did it go?"
"I think… I think it went well," Lionel said softly.
His mother exhaled. "I knew it would. You just be yourself."
"I miss you, Mamá."
"We miss you too, Leo. But remember why you're there."
"I know."
He hung up the phone and sat at the desk. He pulled out his notebook and turned to a fresh page.
Anto,The trial is done. I don't know if I impressed them… but I played like we used to back home. Free. Fast. Like I belonged.I can still see your face from that day at the river.If I make it here… I'll come back and take you with me someday. I promise.—Leo
Three days passed before the phone rang again. Rexach's voice was clear on the line.
"We want him."
Jorge looked at his son, eyes wide with joy. "They said yes!"
Leo blinked. "Really?"
"They're signing you. And they'll pay for your treatment too."
He didn't smile right away. He simply nodded and looked down at his feet. It didn't feel real yet.
A few days later, Lionel was shown to his dorm at La Masia. The halls smelled of polished wood and sweat. Boys laughed and yelled in Catalan and Spanish. Some stared curiously at the new kid who barely spoke, whose clothes didn't quite fit, and who always seemed to be alone.
At night, he lay in his narrow bed and stared at the ceiling. The lights from the city filtered through the window, casting patterns on the walls.
He missed his mother's cooking. His little brothers. Antonela.
He missed home.
On the training ground, however, everything made sense.
He trained harder than most, staying late to work on finishing, dribbling, sprints. He rarely spoke, but his football did. The coaches noticed. So did a few boys.
One evening, as Leo tied his boots on the bench, a tall boy approached.
"Messi, right?" he asked, accent faint but noticeable.
Leo nodded.
"I'm Cesc. Fàbregas. You play well."
Lionel gave a small smile. "Gracias."
Cesc grinned. "You don't talk much, huh?"
"No."
"Well… you can sit with us if you want. We eat together after training."
Leo hesitated, then nodded again. "Okay."
It was the beginning of his first real friendship in Spain.
Weeks passed. His growth treatment began. Painful injections. Fatigue. But he never complained. Every drop of pain only made him more determined.
One evening, as he sat under the trees outside the dorm, he pulled out his notebook again.
Anto,It's getting better here. I made a friend today. His name is Cesc.They're pushing me hard. But I like it. I feel like I'm changing…Even if I miss everything back home.I hope you're still thinking of me.—Leo
He tucked the notebook under his pillow, staring at the stars outside.
The dream was no longer far away.
It had begun.