Bang!
In a luxurious villa ten kiloters from the Vicente Calderón, Alejandro Garrido, the Mayor of Madrid, slamd his hand onto the coffee table and angrily turned off the television.
"Tonight's Atlético was a disgrace! They played like a pile of scrap tal!" Garrido fud, his face flushed with local pride. "They don't deserve the title of the 'Iron Legion' after that. Sione needs to answer for this. How do you let a seventeen-year-old child tear apart the most expensive defense in the league?"
It was no secret in the capital that while Real Madrid was the city's global icon, Atlético was the Mayor's personal heartbeat. He was a loyal Colchonero through and through.
His wife, Blanca, looked up from her magazine with an amused, slightly mocking smile. "Watch your blood pressure, my hot-headed husband. You're outnumbered in this house. Our daughter and I are firmly in the Blaugrana camp."
Garrido looked around his own living room and sighed. The walls were a testant to his dostic status: Barca posters dominated the decor, while his own Atlético morabilia was relegated to a small, dusty corner of his study.
He looked at his daughter, Cecilia, who was staring at the blank TV screen as if she could still see Lorenzo's bicycle kick. "Why that face, Cecilia? Don't tell you're joining the cult of the 'Beast' as well."
Cecilia rolled her eyes, pointing to the new poster she had pinned up next to the TV. It showed Lorenzo at the Bernabéu, arms wide, eyes cold, silencing eighty thousand people. "He's handso, Dad. And he just got a hat-trick at the Calderón. No girl in Madrid is going to ignore that, regardless of what colors you wear."
Blanca put an arm around her daughter. "Careful, dear. You aren't old enough for dating stars yet, especially with a boy who spends his weekends breaking your father's heart."
Cecilia ignored the teasing, her eyes bright with a fan's obsession. She had been searching for information about Argentina for days, fascinated by Lorenzo. "I don't care about politics. I want to see him play. When the Champions League starts, I'm going to the stadium. And I'm wearing a Number 9 jersey."
Garrido groaned, rubbing his temples. "I just hope Barca draws so obscure team in the middle of nowhere so I don't have to hear about it."
Ten kiloters away, Lorenzo returned to his villa. Lucia was waiting with a basin of warm water and a mischievous grin.
"Our hat-trick gentleman has returned," she teased, pointing to the dining table. "Do you want the celebratory feast first, or does the hero require a foot spa service?"
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow, his "Cantona Temperant" still lingering in his posture. "Can I have both at the sa ti? I've had Godín stepping on my toes for ninety minutes."
He reached into his gear bag and pulled out the match ball. It was covered in signatures, ssi, Neymar, Xavi and even a begrudging one from Godín. He placed it on a bookshelf next to his first professional match ball from the B-team Clásico. These two balls represented the twin pillars of his arrival: the conquest of the youth and the conquest of the elite.
"Two hat-tricks, two match balls," Lucia noted, her eyes wide with pride. "You're going to need a bigger bookshelf by Christmas."
Lorenzo looked at the calendar. The schedule was relentless. In two days, they would return to Madrid, not for a final, but for a league match against Getafe. And after that, the drawing of the Champions League groups.
As he relaxed into the sofa, the system's hum vibrated in his mind.
[Ding! Congratulations to the Host for lighting up 'Vicente Calderón' in the Stadium Codex!]
[Current Status - La Liga: (2/3) Lit. Bernabéu & Calderón Complete.]
[Ding! Opening the 'Iron-Blood' Star Chest... Congratulations!]
[You have received the "El Pistolero" Luis Suárez Divine Goal Template (10% Initial Load).]
Lorenzo's eyes snapped open. Suárez? The Uruguayan wasn't at Barca yet, in this tiline, he was still the "King of Anfield" at Liverpool.
[Note: This is a growth-oriented template. It does not provide a physical buff, but it increases the 'Chaos Factor' of your finishes. The 'Divine Goal' chanic allows you to score unconventional, instinctive goals, volleys from impossible angles, chips with the outside of the boot, and finishes using any part of the body (shoulder, chest, thigh). At 100%, every touch in the box becos a lethal variable.]
Lorenzo smiled. He knew Suárez was the king of the "impossible." If the Batistuta template gave him the cannon and the Inzaghi template gave him the ghost-run, the Suárez template would give him the "Animal Instinct" to score when the defense thought they had him cornered.
August ended with a midweek trip to Getafe, a satellite club often referred to as "Real Madrid's Little Brother." The atmosphere at the Alfonso Pérez Stadium was lopsided; Getafe fans were outnumbered the traveling Cules who had co to see the new LMN trio.
Tata Martino used the match as a tactical rehearsal for the Champions League. Lorenzo played with an imperious detachnt, his "Cantona Aura" making the Getafe defenders hesitate to engage him physically.
By the 40th minute, Lorenzo had already secured a brace. He used his "Iron Body" to bulldoze through a defenders and slot a clinical finish past the keeper, then followed it with a powerful header from a Neymar cross.
Final Score: Getafe 0 - 4 Barcelona.
As the team headed back to the locker room, the news of the Champions League draw broke. The "Group of Death" had been realized.
Group F:
1. FC Barcelona (Spain)
2. Manchester City (England)
3. Paris Saint-Germain (France)
4. Ajax (Netherlands)
"Ibrahimović and Cavani," Neymar muttered, looking at the screen. "And the oil money of City. They really want to test us early."
ssi looked at the list and then at Lorenzo. "Last year, the world thought our era was over after the Bayern match. In two weeks, we face PSG. Zlatan scored forty goals last season. He thinks he's the only 'God' in football."
Lorenzo adjusted his collar, a predatory glint in his eyes. He thought about the "Suárez Divine Goal" template and the "Batistuta" cannon. He wasn't worried about the "God of Paris." He was worried about whether the Parc des Princes was ready for the Beast.
"He can be the God," Lorenzo said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of his new temperant. "But I'm the one who's hungry. And I haven't eaten in Paris yet."
[Status: Leading La Liga Scorer (4 Goals). Super Cup Champions (Pending 2nd Leg).]
[System Note: Champions League "Group of Death" confird.]
Plz Drop So Power Stones.
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