On the pitch, the final seconds ticked away.
In those closing moments, the Real Madrid fans at home felt as though they were sitting on pins and needles.
But the scoreline remained unchanged. Real Madrid Castilla, fighting with only ten men at the end, failed to produce a miracle.
"Beep! Beep! Beep—"
The final whistle sounded!
The referee let out a long sigh of relief. Issuing a red card to a Real Madrid player at the Di Stéfano Stadium was always a challenge to one's nerves.
The final score was fixed at 3-2!
The Barcelona B team had shot down the mighty Real Madrid Castilla on their own turf!
Courtside, Sacristán and the assistant coach rushed onto the field, roaring with joy, followed by a group of equally ecstatic substitutes.
Of course, Kubo was not among them. The "genius" of the Japanese squad remained huddled in the corner of the bench, his expression dark and gloomy.
"Viktor! You are the most unusual talent I've seen in La Masia!" the assistant coach shouted, jumping up to hug him. "I am honored to have been your coach for a day!"
Sacristán looked equally thrilled. "You made the Di Stéfano Stadium fall into a dead silence today!"
Viktor smiled, accepting the praise with ease. A hat-trick to beat the kings of the Segunda División—his career was starting like a dream.
In the stands, the traveling Barcelona fans let out a hoarse roar.
"Viktor! Child of La Masia! The first team needs you! Go and become Barcelona's new No. 9!"
"We don't need Sánchez! Let him hand over the shirt!"
Viktor was surprised but quickly understood. Alexis Sánchez was Barcelona's current No. 9. While he would eventually become a star at Arsenal, his performance at Barça hadn't quite lived up to the fans' high expectations yet.
...
"Are you sure no media is secretly filming us? I want to talk business with that kid immediately!"
In the stadium boxes, Lopetegui poked his head out of the window and looked around.
Ancelotti huffed in annoyance. "Are you that eager to get him into the Spanish National Youth setup?"
"Give Morata back to us then! Without the pressure of the national team, he can focus on first-team training!"
Lopetegui shook his head resolutely. "No way! What if Del Bosque and I decide to play a double-center formation in the future? Besides, no matter how talented Viktor is, he still needs a backup for the sake of the team!"
With that, Lopetegui pushed open the box door and headed down toward the pitch.
Ancelotti's beard trembled with frustration. "Paul Pogba is playing for France this year! Spain won't find it easy to defend the European Youth Championship!"
As an Italian, Ancelotti didn't care much for Spain's national results. He pulled out his phone and called Zidane.
"Zizou, stop thinking about that kid. He's not suitable for Real Madrid."
Although his words were largely forced, after losing the derby, Ancelotti didn't have the face to try and poach a player from Barcelona right now. There was a stunned silence on the other end, followed by a helpless sigh from Zidane.
...
On the pitch, amidst the noise, Viktor glanced at the big screen. The Man of the Match (MVP) had been selected: his name hung high above the Di Stéfano Stadium.
Breaking free from his teammates, Viktor headed for the sidelines. As the hero of the day, he took the match ball without hesitation.
"Viktor! Can I sign your ball?" Traoré asked, leaning in.
Viktor tossed it to him with a grin. "Pass it around to the whole team. Anyone who wants to sign it, sign it! This one is going on my bookshelf."
Not far away, Castilla's most dazzling star, Jesé Rodríguez, looked conflicted.
"Don't worry about it, Jesé!" Morata comforted him. "You're still one of Spain's top talents. We have the European Youth Championship in two days; you can get your revenge then."
Jesé sighed. "But we lost to Barcelona at home. That's a fact. Prepare for the media backlash, big man."
The despondent Castilla players walked off, and the Real Madrid fans exited with angry faces. For them, the only hope now was for the real La Liga season to start so their first team—boasting Ronaldo, Ramos, Benzema, and the rumored arrival of Gareth Bale—could reclaim their honor.
As the crowds thinned, Viktor saw a woman in a professional suit approaching with a cameraman.
Anna smiled warmly. "Viktor! Would you like to do an exclusive interview for the fans back home?"
...
Six hundred kilometers away in Barcelona, Messi and Mascherano were still discussing the game.
"The latest news—Aimar has sent an assistant to Spain," Messi said, putting down his phone. "That kid... I'm afraid he's going to be lobbied by two national youth coaches at the same time!"
Mascherano wasn't surprised. "The pressure is on Lopetegui now. It depends on what Viktor chooses."
"Even if he's only seventeen, the strength he showed today... there's no doubt he has the power to choose his own path."
Messi shrugged. "It depends on whether he wants the European Youth Championship (U21) or the World Youth Championship (U20). Since 2007, the quality of the Euro U21s has been much higher."
Because the two tournaments often conflict, European teams typically send their best players to the U21 Euros and their second-tier squad to the U20 World Cup. This has made the Euro U21s an absolute shark tank of talent.
"Don't worry too much," Mascherano leaned back. "He's more likely to choose Spain for the youth levels since Lopetegui is right there. But that won't stop him from choosing a different national team for the World Cup later."
In 2013, FIFA rules allowed players to switch nationalities as long as they hadn't appeared in a senior "A-level" international match. Youth tournaments didn't lock a player in.
As the TV broadcast ended, Messi turned off the screen.
"Viktor is a very good boy. I wonder if I could even defend against him!"
Mascherano laughed. "I hope to see him in the first team next season."
"To be honest, Javier..." Messi looked toward the window with a hint of yearning. "I'd rather see him in the Argentine national team next year than just in our first team!"