Barcelona, Spain – Early 2003
It was a cold morning at La Masia, one of those days when the dew clung to the grass like mist and the mountains beyond the city were wrapped in white silence.
The sun hadn't fully risen, but Messi was already on the pitch.
He always came early. Not just to train, but to feel the ball in his hands, at his feet, and against the wall where he practiced passing in rhythmic, controlled strikes.
Left. Right. Left. Pause. Right again.
He didn't need an audience. The ball was his mirror—his ritual.
But this morning, someone was watching.
From the sidelines, two men in dark jackets stood silently, their hands in their pockets. One of them was Frank Rijkaard—head coach of FC Barcelona's first team.
Beside him stood Josep Colomer, youth technical coordinator.
"He's calm for a boy so small," Rijkaard said, watching Messi juggle the ball mid-air, flicking it over his own shoulder and catching it on his instep.
Colomer nodded. "He's not just small. He's different."
Later that day, Messi was pulled from training and called into the director's office.
He walked in quietly, expecting to be told about a change in schedule—or maybe even a mistake he didn't know he had made.
Instead, the director smiled.
"Leo," he said. "How would you feel about training… with the reserves?"
Messi blinked. "…With the B team?"
The director nodded. "Coach wants to see how you move with men. Not just boys."
Messi looked down for a second. Then he nodded, slowly.
"Okay."
The Next Day – First Training with Barcelona B
The reserve squad trained at a different facility, just a short bus ride from Camp Nou. The moment Messi stepped onto the pitch, he knew this wasn't La Masia anymore.
The players were older—some of them 20, 22—many of them on the edge of senior team promotion. The tackles were crunching. The voices were louder. There were no hand-holding instructions. It was survive or disappear.
In the opening scrimmage, Messi received the ball near the touchline. The midfielder marking him immediately pressed hard, shoving him back.
Another came flying in.
Messi went down.
No foul. No sympathy.
A few players chuckled.
"Bienvenido, niño."
But when the ball came again—just minutes later—Messi didn't hesitate.
This time, he let the defender come.
Then he flicked the ball behind his own leg, stepped around him, and exploded down the wing. One… two… three defenders later, he floated a lofted cross onto the head of the striker in the box.
Goal.
Silence.
Then slow clapping from the coach.
And after that, from the players too.
They weren't laughing anymore.
After training, Messi sat on a bench by himself. His legs were tired. His back was sore. His right sock had blood from a torn blister.
But his heart was calm.
This was a new level.
And he was still standing.
That Night at La Masia
As the lights dimmed in the dormitory, Messi opened his notebook.
Anto,Today I trained with the Barcelona B team. The men were stronger, faster, tougher. They pushed me around. I went down a lot.But I got up every time.And then… I made them watch. Made them believe.I think something big is coming.I don't know what. But it's close. I can feel it in my chest.—Leo
One Week Later – The Call
Messi was in class when the note arrived.
His coach pulled him aside and whispered:"Camp Nou wants to see you."
His heart skipped.
"You're going to train… with the first team."
Inside Camp Nou
The tunnels were colder than Messi expected. Quiet. Heavy with history.
He passed framed photos of legends. Stoichkov. Cruyff. Rivaldo. Guardiola.
And now, he was here. Not as a tourist. Not as a ball boy.
But as a player.
The first team had already begun warmups. Ronaldinho was stretching near midfield. Xavi and Iniesta were doing rondos, laughing and yelling instructions.
"Messi?" someone called.
He turned.
Rijkaard stood with a clipboard. "Welcome."
He nodded and jogged to join the squad.
The Rondo – Messi's First Moment
They placed him in the middle immediately. A test.
The ball pinged between Xavi, Iniesta, Ronaldinho, and Deco.
Messi chased. Turned. Slid. Pressed.
And finally—
Stole it.
He poked the ball from Deco and passed it cleanly to Ronaldinho, stepping out of the circle.
The squad laughed. Cheers went up.
"Look at the kid!" Deco shouted, smiling. "He bit back!"
Ronaldinho jogged over and placed a hand on Messi's head.
"Good. You're one of us now."
The Scrimmage – 7v7
During the short match session, Rijkaard placed Messi on the wing. At first, he stayed wide, quiet, cautious.
But after five minutes, the ball came to him in space.
A defender rushed in.
Messi cut left. Then right. Then again.
The defender slipped.
Another charged—Messi flicked the ball between his legs and burst past him.
Xavi whistled. "What was that?"
Ronaldinho clapped from the other side of the pitch.
Messi passed into the box—an assist.
Ten minutes later, he got his own goal.
A chipped ball came in from Iniesta. Messi let it drop, then volleyed it low between the keeper's legs.
2–0.
Rijkaard scribbled something down.
Messi jogged back, expressionless.
Inside, his heart was thundering.
Post-Training
Rijkaard approached him quietly.
"You didn't look nervous," he said.
"I was," Messi replied honestly.
"Well, you fooled us all. Good job today."
Messi nodded. "Thank you."
As he walked off the field, Ronaldinho caught up beside him.
"You're special, Leo," he said. "Stay humble. Keep training."
He paused.
"And when the world sees you… show them joy. Like you did today."
Messi smiled.
That night, Messi sat at his desk under a soft yellow lamp, notebook open.
Anto,I trained at Camp Nou today. I shared the pitch with Ronaldinho, Xavi, Iniesta.They welcomed me. Treated me like I belonged.I scored. I passed. I didn't fall behind.And when I touched the ball… it still felt the same as when I was a boy.No stadium. No pressure. Just me and the ball.I think… I think I'm almost there.—Leo
Outside, the Camp Nou lights still glowed.
Messi stared out the window.
He wasn't dreaming anymore.
He was living it.