"So fucking corny! Hahaha ha ha ha ha!"
Inside a private room at Camp Nou, a small group of boys had huddled together, the air thick with laughter and the faint scent of energy drinks and sweat from an earlier training session. The space felt casual, almost like a hideout—posters of iconic Barça moments lined the walls, worn beanbags were scattered around, and a phone sat in the center, held tightly in Gavi's hands. On the screen, a video played, the source of their collective hysteria.
The video had been going viral everywhere—streamers, football fans, casual viewers alike—but in this intimate room, with people who knew Mateo King better than anyone, it was something else entirely. This wasn't just a viral or aura clip; it was a window into the boy they had grown up with. They had seen him trip over his own shoelaces, flail embarrassingly in training drills, and act overly dramatic for no reason. Here, though, it was amplified—every flinch, every awkward gesture was comedic gold. To them, it wasn't Mateo the rising football star—they were watching their friend, their brother-in-arms, in peak ridiculousness.
Gavi, still clutching the phone, finally let the video finish, leaning back as tears threatened to fall from his eyes. "Oh my God," he gasped between laughs, clutching his stomach, "I can't get enough of this! My stomach is paining me!" He doubled over, his shoulders shaking violently as another tear slid precariously down his cheek.
"You already know my name!"
Balde strode forward, playfully scrunching Mateo's face into a mock frown, his words dripping with exaggerated mockery. Immediately, the room erupted. Eight young boys had been gathered, but only six joined in the laughter. Mateo himself remained outside the storm of hilarity, unmoving, standing slightly apart from the group. His hazel eyes, usually so expressive on the field, now bore a deadpan calm as he regarded them all.
"Ha ha, you are so funny," he said in a monotone voice, arms crossed lightly, "you didn't even get the words right." His lips twitched minimally, but there was no real smile.
Gavi, still laughing uncontrollably, shook his head and stood, wading through the sea of boys toward Mateo. He draped an arm over his friend's shoulder, still chuckling, and said, "Dude… you gotta admit, the video is funny as fuck." His laughter was loud, infectious, filling every corner of the room.
Mateo didn't laugh. He simply shook his head, eyes narrowed slightly, and muttered, "No… I don't." Then, softer, almost to himself: "I'm at fault for even thinking you guys would understand."
His gaze swept the room, landing on Casado, who had stayed with the rest of the boys during the video. Mateo raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. "I mean… come on, Casado. I'm sure you understand. The video is fire… how is it funny?"
Casado, holding back his grin as best as he could, let out a quiet chuckle. "Yeah, mahn, I get it… isn't funny… it's… what did he say again… fire, right?"
The second the words left his mouth, the floodgates opened. Casado doubled over, laughing heartily, and almost instantly the rest of the boys joined in again, the room echoing with a chaotic symphony of laughter.
"You guys are lame! You just don't understand."
With that, Mateo dropped onto a seat in the middle of the room, stretching his legs slightly before pulling out his phone. The ambient laughter of his friends echoed around him, but he barely flinched. He swiped through Instagram, eyes scanning rapidly, his lips twitching with a mix of amusement and mild exasperation.
"You guys are really the ones without taste," he said, his tone casual but sharp, almost teasing. "The video is already at, like… two million likes." He scrolled a bit more, flicking his thumb across the screen. "This is just on my personal account. On the club's official page, it's over fifteen million likes already!" He laughed softly to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "Thousands of comments praising it… and plenty of people—Rosalía, even—commented!"
One of the boys perked up, eyes wide. "Wait… Rosalia did?"
No one paid him any real attention. Balde, mid-laugh, waved him off. "Dude, it's funny! No amount of likes can change our minds," he said, collapsing back onto a seat also, and the laughter erupted again, filling the room with chaotic energy.
Mateo smirked faintly, shaking his head at their antics. "Screw you all," he muttered, a playful edge in his voice as he continued scrolling. He responded to some comments, his eyes briefly lighting up as he saw reactions from big names—legends of the sport, teammates, even the wives of some players. Notably, Antonella and Shakira had left comments, sending a faint smile across Mateo's face.
Still, his friends weren't about to let it rest. Yesterday's video had given them endless material, and they had not stopped teasing him since. Mateo's gaze drifted for a moment, taking in the scene around him: three other boys—Lamine, Yamal, and Pau Cubarsi—were huddled together, chatting quietly, while Marc Bernal, towering unusually high for his age, leaned casually against the wall, clearly more mature than his peers in not just size.
He watched the group, the relaxed camaraderie settling around him like a familiar blanket. His friends laughed, joked, and gestured wildly at imagined punchlines only they seemed to understand. Mateo's eyes flicked back to his phone briefly, checking the time. It was just 3 p.m.—over an hour before the match.
The private booth had been their chosen refuge for watching the upcoming game: Barcelona versus Cádiz. Mateo had invited them here, wanting a quiet corner where he and his friends could focus, absorb the atmosphere, and get hyped for what was a crucial test of the league title.
Everyone seemed absorbed in their own little worlds, some scrolling, some joking, some just lounging comfortably. Time moved subtly in that way it does when a group of friends is fully at ease, passing almost imperceptibly. Fifteen minutes later, the anticipation crescendoed: the lineup for the match finally appeared on the screen, signaling the beginning of a moment they had all been waiting for.
FC Barcelona Starting XI:
Goalkeeper: Marc-André ter Stegen
Defenders: Sergiño Dest, Clément Lenglet, Óscar Mingueza, Jordi Alba
Midfielders: Sergio Busquets, Frenkie de Jong, Pedri
Forwards: Ousmane Dembélé, Lionel Messi, Antoine Griezmann
Cádiz CF Starting XI:
Goalkeeper: Jeremías Ledesma
Defenders: Iza Carcelén, Fali, Pedro Alcalá, Alfonso Espino
Midfielders: Jonsson, Álex Fernández, Perea, Jairo
Forward: Álvaro Negredo
From the lineup to the stadium itself, everything screamed Barcelona's advantage. Second on the table versus twelfth—it was clear which way the momentum leaned. The stadium buzzed with the hum of fans, the smell of freshly cut grass mixing with the faint aroma of concession stands, the echo of chants bouncing off the towering stands. The energy was palpable, even before the match had kicked off.
But just ten minutes before kickoff, while Mateo and his group of friends were lounging, joking, and teasing each other amidst bursts of laughter, a small hiccup threatened to disturb their perfect moment.
"Ehn… you want me to what?" Mateo's voice cut through the laughter as he looked up from a controller, confused and slightly hesitant. Standing before him was one of the team's managers, a clipboard clutched nervously in his hand. He had come to inform Mateo that he was expected to leave the comfort of his friends' company and take a seat near the other players who, like him, were not in the starting lineup but were present in the stadium to watch the match.
"The match will be starting soon. Your teammates are already outside. Your space is ready, so… can you please come?" The manager's voice was polite, but firm, though he failed to notice the slight hesitation in Mateo's expression. Realizing Mateo hadn't moved, he repeated the request, his patience slightly thinning.
Mateo's mind raced. He knew he couldn't ignore it—there was no way to pretend not to have heard. Truthfully, he understood the unwritten rule: always stay with your teammates. Team unity was paramount, and no one would fault him for following protocol.
But then his eyes flicked back to his friends, sprawled across the private booth, laughing, joking, and teasing one another. It was a rare sight since his advance to first-team duties—he and his friends hardly ever got the chance to relax together. Their schedules were constantly filled with training, drills, gym sessions, and tactical meetings. This was one of those rare days where all their commitments aligned, a small pocket of freedom where Mateo could simply be one of them. Despite their constant teasing and antics, despite their occasional annoyances, he treasured these moments.
A mischievous grin slowly spread across his face as an idea formed. He turned back toward the team manager, who now shifted nervously under Mateo's gaze, clearly unsure of what the striker was planning. Mateo's smile widened, a spark of playful defiance in his eyes, and the manager felt a slight twinge of unease as he waited for Mateo's response.
...
"Are you for real? You're sure this isn't a joke? We can actually go to the VIP spot?" a couple of the group shouted, their voices a mix of disbelief and excitement, bouncing off the walls of the luxurious room.
The team manager, clipboard still in hand, simply looked at them with a calm but firm expression. "Yes, you all have been upgraded for this match," he confirmed.
The group immediately erupted into chatter. "Wow! Come see this room! There's even food in it! Wait… do we have to pay for the food?" one of them asked, practically bouncing in excitement.
The manager shook his head slowly, smiling faintly. "Everything in the room is complimentary. Now, please, do enjoy the game. I'll send someone to check on you later, and if you need anything…"
By this point, the occupants were practically vibrating with happiness. "Mannnn, this is sick!" one said, digging into the gourmet spread. "And the food… oh my god, it tastes so good!" Another chimed in, mouth full, "I can't believe this!" Laughter, exclamations, and cheers filled the room as they explored every corner, their astonishment mixing with pure joy.
Meanwhile, just outside that very room, the former eight occupants lingered. Not all of them were smiling. The subtle jealousy and disappointment were written plainly on their faces. Curbasi muttered first, his tone tinged with frustration, "Mann… and the room was really nice…"
"Yeah," Balde added, crossing his arms, "I hadn't even touched the food yet…" Fermin nodded along, still visibly miffed. Mateo, standing nearby, felt a pang of guilt and opened his mouth to speak. "Sorry, guys—"
Before he could get another word out, Gavi and Casado chimed in quickly, cutting through the tension. "What are you guys even talking about? This is way better. Why would you watch the match from up there?" Gavi's voice carried excitement as he waved a hand vaguely toward the VIP area. "The real match is here, with the fans screaming, the atmosphere—come on!"
Casado laughed, slinging an arm around Balde's shoulder, nudging him forward. "Yeah, man. Forget about the food for now. The stadium is where it's at!"
The group reluctantly started moving, the energy of the stadium pulling them in like a current. Only Balde lagged a few steps behind, muttering under his breath, "But… my food…" His disappointment was faint, almost comical compared to the enthusiasm of the others.
It didn't take long before they reached the section of the stadium that had been swapped with the former VIP occupants. The view was spectacular—just the right distance to see the pitch in its entirety, hear the roar of the crowd, and feel the pulse of the game. It was also the section where the injured first-team players were seated, quietly observing the match from the sidelines.
"Hey, hey! Isn't that Mateo?" someone called out, pointing toward the young striker as he settled into his seat, the stadium noise washing over them.
Fans around the stadium were buzzing, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony of excitement and chatter. "Did you see the announcement video?" one shouted. "I did! My younger brother loved it!" another responded, grinning. "Yeah, did you guys hear he's our new number 9?" someone else chimed in. "Hey, bring my notebook and the pen! I want his signature!"
Mateo, making his way down the stairs toward the assigned seating area, suddenly found himself engulfed in a wave of fans, a tide of eager hands, phones, and excited voices pressing in on him from all sides. He laughed and signed autographs, taking questions and comments with a natural ease.
"Mateo, I loved your video!" a young boy called out. Mateo chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Oh really? Well, at least you have taste!" he said, winking.
Other fans chimed in simultaneously, their voices overlapping in a blur of curiosity and admiration. "Hey Mateo, when are you coming to your family's restaurant? Me and my friends want to go!" another shouted. "Please do this dance when you score next match!" "Hope you're not injured!" "Why aren't you playing?" "Can we win the Champions League this season, Mateo?"
Through it all, Mateo moved gracefully, pausing, laughing, and chatting with individual fans, creating a small bubble of personal interaction amidst the frenzy. The energy was electric, the love tangible, almost like a physical force pressing in from every direction.
"Wow… he is so popular," Lamine whispered, almost to himself, watching Mateo at the center of the storm. He observed the way fans treated him—with reverence, admiration, and genuine affection—and felt a tightness in his chest, a mixture of awe, desire, and inspiration. This was exactly what he wanted.
"Well, if you play like him, it's bound to happen, ain't it?" Gavi said, casually passing by. He gave a small nod toward Mateo before moving down the aisle, weaving through the growing crowd of fans who had begun to swell in anticipation around the pitch.
Gavi had barely taken a few steps when a familiar voice called out.
"Hey guys, so you're here!"
Balde, Casado, Curbasi, and even Bernal immediately turned to look, eyes lighting up with recognition. Lamine, however, didn't move; he was still mesmerized by Mateo, who remained at the epicenter of the fan storm, signing, laughing, and soaking in the love.
"Fati, mahn! It's been so long!" Balde shouted, grinning. Casado and Gavi were equally animated, laughing and waving. Fermín's face broke into a wide smile as they all greeted their old friend.
Fati stood there confidently, no cast on his leg this time, a stark contrast to when Mateo had first seen him. The injury had healed, and the energy in his posture was a testament to his hard work and rehab. He laughed along with his friends, shaking his head at Balde.
"Dude, you just forgot all about us! Didn't even check in!" Balde teased.
Fati chuckled, brushing it off. "Mahn, it's not like that! You know how busy it's been… the injury, rehab… everything."
Casado and the others nodded in understanding. "Yeah, that's true. Don't worry, we know how it is. How's the leg now?"
Fati smiled confidently. "Much better. Should be back on the field before you know it."
He paused, shaking his head slightly. "True, I heard the coach retired."
Fermín responded, nodding. "Yeah, he got a new job in the Segunda División, coaching a team there."
Fati whistled softly, impressed. "Wow… that's insane." He then glanced toward the seating area. "Oh, true, the match is about to start. You guys should come sit here—some space just opened up around us. Come, come, sit. I'll also introduce you to a couple of the first-team players here."
He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd before turning back to his friends. "That's true… where is Mateo?"
Gavi and the rest followed Fati's lead, weaving through the crowd to take their seats. As they moved, Fati pointed subtly toward the back of the section, where a tightly packed group of Barcelona supporters had formed a loose circle, all eyes clearly focused on someone in the center. Balde, grinning, leaned closer to the group and muttered, "Take a guess where he is…"
Fati let out a low, impressed "wow," almost to himself, his eyes scanning the crowd as he noticed the scene unfolding. A small kid, no more than eight or nine, suddenly bumped into his legs. Fati looked down, raising an eyebrow, as the boy quickly blurted out, "Oo, my bad! Sorry!"
The child's father quickly appeared, slightly flustered, placing a protective hand on the boy's shoulder and bowing slightly toward Fati. "Sorry about him, sir, he just… he's a little excited," he said, his voice edged with nervousness. Fati smiled warmly, waving it off. "It's all fine, no worries," he reassured him.
The father, still awestruck, glanced back at his son, then back at Fati, shaking his head slightly. "Wow… Ansu Fati," he whispered in wonder. He looked at his child again, prompting, "Junior, Junior! See, it's Fati! Why don't you give him the pen? Let him sign for you in your signing book."
Fati extended his hand instinctively, smiling at the small boy's hesitant excitement. But before he could get close, the boy's voice shot out, fast and urgent: "No, dad! I don't have much space! The last space is for Mateo! Let's go—more people are coming! I won't get it again!"
Without waiting, the child tugged at his father's arm, dragging him quickly toward the throng of fans gathering in the center. Fati chuckled softly, shaking his head. It was clear he was used to these chaotic, affectionate moments more than he might ever want to admit.
Turning back, Fati moved toward the seats, motioning for Gavi and the others to follow. "Guess Mateo is still as popular as ever," he said with a laugh, glancing back at the ongoing swarm of fans.
Gavi chuckled, nudging his friend lightly. "You know him… always the center of attention."
Fati smirked, nodding knowingly. "Don't I know it," he replied, his eyes scanning the section again as he led the group toward a slightly elongated empty stretch of seats. Two people were already occupying the spot, their attention momentarily caught by something else.
Fati gestured toward them with a warm smile. "Guys, these are my teammates: Coutinho and Braithwaite. And you all, these are my juniors from my La Masia days—Gavi, Balde, Casado, and Fermín. There's one more, but he's busy right now. As for these three," he continued, shifting his gaze to the three younger boys standing a little apart from the group, "uh… they're…"
Fermín, leaning in slightly, finished the sentence with a grin. "That's true. You left La Masia before they moved them over to our dorm side. That's Lamine its basically the mini Mateo, that's Curbasi, and the tall one is Bernal."
Coutinho leaned forward, flashing a friendly smile as he extended his hand toward the group. "Wow, kid—you're really tall!" he said, nodding at Bernal, who looked slightly embarrassed but grinned anyway. His voice carried that warm, approachable tone that instantly made the younger boys feel at ease.
Braithwaite, on the other hand, was a bit more awkward—he didn't say much at all, just kept fiddling with his phone, occasionally glancing up but mostly absorbed, which made the dynamic a little awkward. Coutinho didn't seem to mind; he turned back to the boys, asking about their positions, genuinely curious. "So, who plays where? And how's training going? Hey, tell me, how does the famous la masia actually operate? Is it really as technical as they say i heard you guys also train with toy balls for control is it true?" he asked, leaning in, listening intently as they answered. His questions weren't just casual small talk—they were engaging, pulling the kids into a conversation as if they were peers, not just juniors from La Masia.
Meanwhile, Mateo was still in the middle of the fan swarm, signing autographs, taking photos, and laughing along with everyone. He had his friends close by, but his attention was on the fans, responding to requests with the same energy and enthusiasm he had for the game itself. Just as Countinho was chatting, a familiar voice boomed over the stadium speakers, catching everyone's attention:
"Welcome to Camp Nou, everyone!"
The announcement echoed throughout the stadium, crisp and commanding. Instantly, the murmur of anticipation rippled through the crowd—fans straightened in their seats, vendors paused in their stalls, and the energy in the stadium shifted. Everyone knew the match was about to kick off.
"Mateo, here! Mateo, please help me sign this!" shouted one fan, waving a jersey frantically.
"Mateo, my IG is @mariaimizcoz! If you can't follow me, at least reply to my DM, please!"
Requests came from every angle—jerseys, balls, notebooks, phones. Some were men, some women, a few even trying to sneak their numbers into the mix, shyly asking if he'd text them later. Mateo navigated it all with ease, snapping, signing, taking pictures, occasionally laughing at a particularly funny comment or a fan's dramatic plea. Despite the chaos, the pushing, and the constant attention, he thrived in it. A huge grin stretched across his face; it was impossible to hide. He was fully alive in the moment, soaking it in like a striker savoring the perfect goal.
Many celebrities, athletes, and famous people often complained about this kind of attention, calling it exhausting, intrusive, or overwhelming. But for Mateo, standing there in the middle of the crowd, it was a thrill unlike anything else. He thought to himself, This is insane… it's like scoring a hattrick in the Champions Leagues. He could feel the electricity buzzing around him, the voices, the cheering—it was a rush, pure and unfiltered. But even he knew it couldn't last forever, especially as the stadium announcement signaled the imminent start of the match.
Mateo raised a hand, trying to get everyone's attention. "Everyone, I'm sorry! The match is about to start—let's all head back, okay?"
A chorus of groans and playful complaints rose from the fans. "Awww, just one more! One more picture! Mateo, please!"
Mateo laughed, the sound warm and contagious, shaking his head at the relentless enthusiasm. "Ha ha, okay, okay! Just ten more… alright? Just ten more!"
The fans erupted in cheers, the volume swelling through the area, and Mateo stood in the middle of it all, his goofy, uncontainable smile lighting up his entire face, radiating joy that matched the roaring stadium around him.
....
Back on the field, the Barcelona players were lined up, poised and still, waiting for the formalities of the lineup ceremony to finish. But even as they stood there, disciplined and professional, their attention kept flicking toward the big screens above the stadium. Half the group couldn't help but chuckle, pointing and nudging each other as the object of their fascination appeared: Mateo.
There he was—smiling, laughing, interacting with fans, signing autographs, joking around like a star in his own right. Even as the players were fully present on the pitch, the spotlight on Mateo on the massive screens was unmissable. It was a reminder of the incredible influence the young prodigy already wielded—not just with the supporters, but across the club itself. The energy he radiated was infectious, and for the Barcelona squad on the field, it wasn't a distraction—it was a joy.
"Hey, hey, see Mateo?" one of the veterans nudged a teammate.
"Guess the gaffer gave him a break for nothing—look at that grin! The kid is glowing," another laughed.
"Look at those girls in the stands… hope his girlfriend doesn't get the wrong idea. I thought he'd bring her to this game. I wanted to meet her," another joked, shaking his head with a grin.
"Don't be silly—you just want her to be following us to the away games so he can focus play rigth?. Ha ha ha!" came another playful retort.
"Hey, it's not my fault he does it at every home game she has to be somewhere"
"Ah, see the gaffer? He's yelling at him from the stands! Ha ha!"
Even Messi, standing among the players, noticed everything—the laughter, the energy, the joy Mateo was spreading. His expression softened into a wide, proud smile. In that moment, he felt the life and vibrancy returning to Barcelona, the colors of the club he loved so deeply.
Just hold on, kid, Messi thought quietly, watching Mateo's energy ripple through the stadium. I promise… I'll help you become the best player around. You're almost there.
For Messi, seeing Mateo like this—so alive, so connected to the fans, so unafraid to embrace the moment—reminded him of why he fell in love with this club, no this game in the first place. Since Mateo arrived at the club, the heartbeat of Barcelona had returned, pulsating with energy and hope.
To the Cadiz players, who were bristling and fuming at the young Barcelona talent disrupting the atmosphere even before the match had begun, little did they know—the laughter, the smiles, the playful energy of Mateo had just ignited something far greater. That simple act of joy, that carefree connection with the fans, had awakened a fire in Messi. And when Messi's fire was ignited, well… for the opposition, it was already the beginning of their undoing.
A/N
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