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"Mr. Martino, who is your starting striker today? Is it Sanchez? Or are you playing the 'False Nine' again?"
Four buses, emblazoned with the iconic blue and red crest of FC Barcelona, crawled through the dense crowds of Madrid's Chamartín district. They finally ca to a halt in the shadow of the Santiago Bernabéu, the steel fortress of the "White Legion."
As the players disembarked, the atmosphere was suffocating. Thousands of Madridistas jeered, while a small, vocal pocket of traveling Blaugrana fans scread in support. Reporters sward the entrance, their caras flashing like strobe lights.
Tata Martino stepped off first, a faint, cryptic smile on his face. "The starting lineup? You'll see it on the big screen in twenty minutes. I've kept it a secret from everyone, including so of my own staff."
On the bus behind him, the mood was electric. Lorenzo adjusted his kit, feeling the heavy fabric of the jersey. Beside him, Lionel ssi looked out at the hostile sea of white.
"Lorenzo, today is the birth of the LMN," ssi said, his voice calm but his eyes shining with competitive fire. "The world has been talking about the BBC all this ti. It's ti they learned a new set of initials."
Neymar leaned over, a playful smirk on his face. "Years from now, they won't rember the world record fee for Bale. They'll rember the night three South Aricans silenced this stadium."
Lorenzo gripped his gear bag. From this mont, his journey in the professional elite truly began. His target wasn't just a win; it was the Pichichi. And in this era, to win the Golden Boot ant outscoring the two greatest players to ever grace the ga.
Inside the Real Madrid dressing room, Carlo Ancelotti was finalizing his instructions.
"Carlo, are we sure about the single pivot?" Zidane asked, looking at the tactical board. "If we put Khedira in to help Alonso, we could choke their midfield."
Ancelotti shook his head, vigorously chewing his gum. "No. We play our ga. At the Bernabéu, we don't defend, we conquer. ssi is the only true threat in their frontline. We keep Ramos and Pepe tight on him, and the rest will crumble."
Zidane looked at the list of Barcelona players who had arrived. "I have a bad feeling, Carlo. Martino was too quiet this week. He's hiding sothing."
"He's hiding his fear," Ancelotti dismissed. "They have no center-forward. They have wingers trying to be strikers. Our frontline will tear their defense apart."
High in the broadcast booth, Inés Valdes and her Argentinian co-comntator, Santiago, adjusted their headsets. Across the Atlantic, millions of fans in Buenos Aires and Rosario had tuned in to ESPN Sur. The ti difference ant it was pri ti in South Arica, and the hype was reaching a breaking point.
"Welco to the most watched sporting event on the planet!" Inés shouted over the roar of the crowd. "The century-old grievance resus tonight. Both teams have spent hundreds of millions to reach this mont. Bale versus Neymar. Ronaldo versus ssi. And a mystery that has gripped Argentina for weeks."
"The lineups are appearing on the screen now," Santiago said, leaning forward. "Let's look at the ho side first."
Real Madrid (4-3-3):
GK: Casillas (Captain)
DF: Marcelo, Ramos, Pepe, Coentrão
MF: Di María, Modric, Alonso
FW: Ronaldo, Benzema, Bale
"A team value of over 400 million euros," Inés noted. "The most expensive assembly in football history. But look at the visitors..."
The screen flickered, showing the Barcelona XI.
FC Barcelona (4-3-3):
GK: Valdés
DF: Alba, Piqué, Puyol (Captain), Alves
MF: Xavi, Iniesta, Busquets
FW: Neymar, Lorenzo, ssi
The stadium fell into a montary, confused silence before a wave of murmurs rippled through the stands. In the broadcast booth, Santiago nearly dropped his notes.
"Lorenzo! Tata Martino has done it!" Santiago roared. "The seventeen-year-old Argentinian isn't just on the bench, he's starting!
And look at the number... he's wearing the Number 9! The jersey left vacant by David Villa!"
Inés was equally stunned. "The 'Smoke Bomb' was real. Martino hid him against Granada just for this mont. A seventeen-year-old leading the line in his Clásico debut at the Bernabéu. This is either the greatest tactical masterstroke in history or the ultimate gamble."
In the Argentinian forums, the reaction was instantaneous.
[HE'S STARTING!?]
[Number 9? Martino just gave him the keys to the kingdom!]
[Ramos and Pepe are going to try to kill him. I hope the kid is ready.]
[Aimar was right. The AFA is going to regret that blacklist for years.]
At the locker room entrance, Zidane's face went pale. "I knew it," he hissed to Ancelotti. "That kid, Lorenzo, He's the starter."
Ancelotti's jaw tightened. His entire defensive plan was built around ssi as a False Nine. He hadn't prepared for a physical target man who could hold off his own. "Don't panic," Ancelotti said, though his voice lacked its previous certainty. "He's a child. This is the Bernabéu. One tackle from Ramos and he'll be looking for the exit."
Inside the tunnel, the atmosphere was claustrophobic. The two lines of players stood side by side. Lorenzo stood at the back of the line, feeling the intense, predatory stares from Ramos and Pepe.
Ramos leaned over, a cold smirk on his face. "Welco to Madrid, kid. I hope you brought a spare set of legs. You're going to need them."
Lorenzo didn't blink. He adjusted his jersey, pulling it tight against his chest, and reached down to pull up his socks, ensuring his shin guards were firmly in place and looked straight ahead at the light of the pitch.
[Ding! Detected Host participating in the highly anticipated El Clásico!]
[Side Mission Activated: Who is the King of the Bernabéu?]
[Objective 1: Score 2 goals in your Clásico debut!]
[Reward: Gold Treasure Chest * 1, Silver Treasure Chest * 1.]
[Objective 2: Secure a victory at the Santiago Bernabéu!]
[Reward: Main Mission Difficulty -20%! Real Madrid "Star" Treasure Chest * 1!]
Lorenzo felt the "Iron Body" and the "Spirit of the Arrow" humming in his blood. He wasn't afraid of the 80,000 screaming fans. He was hungry for them.
"On the field!" the referee commanded.
The two giants began their march into the light. The Beast had arrived at the fortress of the Kings.
[Status: Kickoff Imminent.]
[Mission: Silence the Bernabéu.]
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