Barcelona's morning broke under a suffocating sky. In the Ajax U-23 hotel dining hall, breakfast was a subdued, tense ritual. No jokes. No music.
Femi Adeleye nursed a cup of tea, his wristband rough beneath his thumb. Lagos flashed behind his eyes — street matches with battered balls, the taunts of older boys. "Bleed easier," one had sneered when he was eleven. He'd won that day, bleeding anyway.
Josip Van der Berg slid into the seat beside him, smirking. "Promoted to captain yet, Jet?"
Femi half-grinned. "Not yet."
Across the room, Souleymane Traoré quietly gathered gravity. Teammates clapped him on the back. Kenji Okoro whispered something that made him laugh. Liam's empty chair left an ache in the room.
Kai Sterling's Fallout
Elsewhere, Arsenal's hotel dining room simmered in discomfort. Kai Sterling hunched over his phone. Teammates avoided his table. Ryan Barnes made a sharp comment to a reporter: "He lost us that match."
Kai scrolled through headlines.
'Sterling's Arrogance Costs Arsenal.'
'A leader no team deserves.'
His broken crown pendant lay heavy in his pocket. Arsenal staff were already arranging meetings.
Prematch Briefing: Madrid's Threat
At the Ajax media room, Bakker dimmed the lights.
"Real Madrid will press fast. But this man…"
The screen showed Elias Rikken's brace against Inter Milan. Smooth, clinical. A specter with boots.
"This isn't the boy from Heerenveen anymore."
Femi gripped his wristband, old Lagos taunts ghosting back. No one makes me bleed twice.
Josip's mutter: "Not twice."
Souleymane's Private Moment
Outside the training ground, Souleymane typed a message.
You good, little brother?
Not little anymore, he sent back. They know me now.
He tucked his phone away, staring at the Barcelona skyline. For years, his brother had cast a long shadow. No longer.
Femi spotted him and gave a quiet, knowing nod.
Squad Walk in Barcelona
Evening fell with the city's neon glow. The squad walked together, tension thick.
Dekker broke the silence. "Anyone else scared of Elias?"
Femi snorted. Josip grinned. "Visser's scoring a penalty winner. Calling it."
Laughter cut through the tension.
Elias's Interview Clip
On local sports news, Elias Rikken's soundbite replayed: "Brave teams bleed easier."
The room stiffened. Bakker switched the screen. "Empty noise."
Femi noted Dekker's pale face.
Josip and Femi's Honest Talk
On the hotel rooftop, Josip leaned on the rail. "I'm scared, Jet. If we fall… what's left?"
Femi's voice was steady. "Then we fall fighting. The team they couldn't bury easy."
Fists bumped.
Souleymane vs. Liam
In the hallway, Liam, bandaged and bitter, crossed paths with Souleymane. A bare nod. Heavy silence. One full of thorns.
Real Madrid's Arrival
As evening settled, Real Madrid's bus arrived. Cameras flashed. Elias Rikken exited last, headphones in. His gaze met Femi's across the tunnel.
Neither blinked.
Final Lineup Reveal
Lineups posted.
Visser, Okoro, Dekker, Adeleye, Willems, Josip, Bouali, Van Loon, Kowalski, Souleymane.
Josip grinned. "Perfect. Time to end this."
Closing Scene: Night Before War
Later, by the hotel pool, Femi, Josip, and Souleymane sat in heavy quiet.
Liam watched from his balcony window, face unreadable.
Femi whispered, "Tomorrow, no phantoms. Just us."
Miles away, Elias Rikken sat alone, replaying last year's final.
The storm finally broke.