The fervor of the championship continued long after the trophy was lifted. As the award ceremony concluded and the Spain U-21 squad retreated to the locker room, Lorenzo sat in front of his locker and let the system settle.
The notifications had been queued since the previous match. He opened them now, quietly, while his teammates showered and the room noise faded around him.
[Ding! Stadium Codex Update:]
[La Liga - Cycle 2: 3/3 COMPLETE. Estadi Cornellà-El Prat, Mestalla, Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán]
[La Liga Legend Star Chest (Cycle 2) - UNLOCKED.]
[Bundesliga - Cycle 1: 1/3. Signal Iduna Park]
[Opening La Liga Legend Star Chest (Cycle 2)...]
[Congratulations! You have received: Jürgen Klinsmann - 'Golden Bomber' Header Template (100% Initial Load)!]
[Effect: Recalibrates aerial mechanics - neck muscle timing, core stability in mid-air, and the ability to find the ball at its apex. At 100%, headers become a repeatable weapon rather than an occasional threat. Combines naturally with existing physical templates.]
An enlightening, structural sensation filled Lorenzo's body. It felt as if his neck, his core, the timing of his jump had been redrawn by a master architect, each element sharpened and connected to the others.
Jürgen Klinsmann. The Golden Bomber. He had stood at 182 centimetres, relatively modest for a centre-forward and had literally bombed his way to greatness through the precision and timing of his aerial play. Alongside Matthäus and Brehme he had been part of Germany's last great international generation. What had made him exceptional wasn't height but the understanding of when to jump, where the ball would be, and how to apply force at the exact right moment.
Lorenzo sat with it. Combined with the Drogba frame and the Breakthrough Potion's lifted ceiling, his jumping was already pushing 88. Now the Klinsmann template completed the aerial profile, the one genuine weakness in his game, converted into a weapon in a single evening.
A complete centre-forward, he thought. Right foot, left foot, header. Every method accounted for.
He put his phone in his bag and walked out to find his teammates.
A few days later, back in Barcelona, a gentle Mediterranean breeze moved across the rooftop of Lorenzo's villa. He was half-lying after a session with Pintus that had left his legs heavy and his mind clear. The city spread out below in the late afternoon light, the sea visible at the edge, the Sagrada Família rising above the roofline in the middle distance.
His phone had been a constant noise since Jerusalem. The World Cup group draw was half a month away, and his eligibility decision had become - through some combination of his performances, his hat-trick in the final, and the AFA's published apology, the most discussed question in international football.
Messages from Casillas and Xabi Alonso arrived daily, the Real Madrid connection setting aside El Clásico rivalry to make the case for the red shirt. Inside the Barcelona dressing room, Messi and Mascherano maintained a quiet, persistent campaign on behalf of the Albiceleste, while Xavi and Busquets countered with their own brand of understated persuasion.
Mateo Benitez had flown in from Madrid with a folder of documents and the focused energy of a man who believed the next conversation he was about to have was the most important one of his career. He paced the rooftop while Pintus watched from the corner with professional curiosity.
"Let me give you the macro picture," Benitez said. "Argentina. The federation is in a period of structural instability, the power dynamics have been shifting for months, and whoever takes control next will be managing a transition period that could last years. On the pitch, the squad is exceptional but top-heavy. Messi, Agüero, Higuaín, Di María, Tevez — multiple world-class players competing for the same positions. The system serves the players rather than building around a plan. And the AFA's relationship with young talent, you are the evidence of how that tends to go."
Lorenzo took a sip of water. He knew the shape of what was coming, not because Benitez had told him before, but because his memory of how the post-Grondona era had played out gave him a picture Benitez couldn't have.
"Spain," Benitez continued, his tone sharpening. "The best midfield infrastructure in the world. Xavi, Iniesta, Busquets, Silva, Mata — a factory of opportunities for whoever plays at the tip of it. The frontline is the question mark. Torres and Villa are past their best years. Costa is functional but limited, a blunt instrument where the system requires precision. They need a striker who understands the Spanish rhythm from the inside. Someone who has been playing in this system long enough to anticipate where the ball will arrive before it leaves the boot. You spent three years at La Masia. You play for Barcelona. The language of how Spain move the ball is already in your muscle memory."
He placed the folder on the low table beside the lounger.
"Two World Cups, back to back. No team has done it since Brazil in 1958 and 1962. Spain in 2010, Spain in 2014, if you lead that charge, you would be in a conversation with the greatest winners the game has ever seen. And you would do it at eighteen years old."
Pintus added, from the corner: "If you defend the World Cup in Brazil, Lorenzo, you will be the youngest winner since Pelé. The only player in the twenty-first century to have won back-to-back with the same nation."
Lorenzo looked out over the city for a long time. The salt air. The sound of the tram somewhere below. Lucia's hand resting on his shoulder, not saying anything, which was the thing he valued most about the way she listened.
The decision had been moving toward its conclusion for weeks. The AFA's apology was on record. Aimar had come to Barcelona in person. Messi had made his case quietly, in the way Messi made all his cases, not by arguing, but by being present, by trusting that proximity to his own commitment would be enough. And it had meant something. It still meant something.
But Spain had the system. Spain had Xavi and Iniesta, the men who had built the most complete passing infrastructure in the history of international football, and who still had one more tournament left in them. Spain had a machine that was designed to feed a striker exactly the kind of chances Lorenzo was built to take.
And Spain had asked, through every channel available, including a letter from Queen Sofía to the federation, with a directness that the AFA had never managed even before June.
"Argentina is home," he said finally. His voice was quiet, almost to himself. "But Spain is the better machine for what I want to do. Let's see who shows the most sincerity when the draw is made."
Benitez stopped pacing. He looked at his client for a long moment, the look of a lawyer who has just heard something that is not quite a decision but is close enough to start preparing paperwork, then wrote something in his folder and said nothing further.
Lucia said nothing either.
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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