1 day later…
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Sam jogged through the streets of FC Barcelona alongside his crew, eliciting reactions from the fans who were already used to their daily morning schedule.
FC Barcelona fans gathered in the streets, allowing the 5 players to continue their jogging even as they waved banners at them.
The banners showed different drawings, so depicting Sam in a crown and holding a sword like so ancient conqueror King.
In others he was still the ancient conqueror King, and his Generals were behind him; Alejandro Balde, Pedri, Gavi, Raphinha, Lamine Yamal, and others.
"We must win in Italy!" They chanted in Spanish.
"We must kill the snake!"
"We shall kill the snake!"
Despite the commotion, none of the 5 youngsters jogging showed too much reaction as they focused on doing what they did best, working out.
50 ters to the Spotify Camp Nou, they erupted into a sprint.
This ti, Lamine Yamal showed crazy speed, almost winning but Sam gave him an edge like usual.
"I almost won!" He lanted.
Sam laughed. "I almost let you win".
"Showoff". Yamal pouted.
The others laughed.
They entered the gym, carried a few weights, and worked their whole body before finally leaving the gym after Sam's system notified him of having completed another daily system quest.
Later in the day, after going ho to freshen up, they returned to the stadium where they engaged in team training under Hansi Flick's guidance.
It was just the next day after the Real Valladolid ga, but Hansi Flick was already training his players. He didn't give them a day off this ti.
This was because FC Barcelona's next ga was more than a normal ga.
Matchday? Nah, more like war day.
And this was why Hansi Flick pushed his players.
After the team training that morning, the German coach finally revealed his starting XI to his players that he intended to start at the San Siro in Italy.
Compared to the starting XI that played against Real Valladolid, this was a starting XI that was more familiar to the players and the fans.
They'll start in their regular 4-2-3-1 formation, with Sam leading the line as the striker, flanked from both sides by Raphinha and Lamine Yamal. In attacking midfield is Gavi, and the center midfield duo is Pedri and Frankie De Jong.
In defense, the stalwart back four was back!
Inigo Martinez led the backline, leading a quadruple that comprised him, Alejandro Balde in left back, Pau Cubarsi as his partner in center defense, and Jules Kounde back in right back.
As for the goalkeeper spot? Marc Andre Ter Stegen was back.
…
The next day, 5th May; more jogging, more work at the gym, and more team training under Hansi Flick's rigorous tutelage.
In team training today, the German coach could not help himself nodding with a satisfied smile on his face.
His team… was ready.
Physically, psychologically, his team was ready. His defenders were healthy and in sync, his midfield were their usual selves again after having ti to rest.
As for the attack? Lamine Yamal was electric as usual, Raphinha was a bundle of energy again. And Sam? Sam was Sam.
Overall, the coach was satisfied already.
He did his best in the preparations already, now was to leave the rest to fate.
That afternoon, the FC Barcelona players got an epic sendoff like civilians of a city sending off their warriors to war in a distant and hostile land.
Cheers and chants filled the stadium till the plane took off in Barcelona.
Hours later, they arrived in Italy.
They received a smaller but equally iconic welco in Italy as FC Barcelona fans in the country ca out to welco their players.
They were in enemy ground now.
…
The next day, 6th May…
Milan, Italy.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
5 players in FC Barcelona track suits jogged through the streets of Milan, not caring that they were deep in enemy territory as they continued their daily ritual right there in Italy, under the sun where countless enemy fans watched.
They were not attacked by the fans, but they invited loud boos from Italian fans that saw them, eager to offset them psychologically before the ga co evening, today.
In response, Sam and his friends simply increased the volu of music blasting in their ears from their air pods.
They jogged back to their hotel, and completed their daily ritual in the hotel gym. Only after that did their day start.
It felt like a movie but the D-day was already here.
The mont of truth.
They didn't let the occasion get to them though. Returning to their hotel rooms, they took their bath, freshened up before joining their teammates in the hall where Hansi Flick had the final team talk with them in preparation for evening.
After that team talk, it ended.
Preparation ti was over.
…
7:20pm.
San Siro Stadium, Milan, Italy.
The night sky over Milan was an ominous shroud as the FC Barcelona team bus rolled into enemy territory.
Outside the San Siro, a mob of Inter Milan ultras had gathered hours before kickoff, flares blazing like infernal beacons, casting long shadows on the ancient walls of the stadium. They were eager to give their enemies a taste of their own dicine that they gave their players in Spain.
Smoke choked the air, drums thundered in the distance, and chants laced with venom and pride erupted like battle cries.
"Barca, tornate a casa!"
They scread, faces contorted with passion, blue and black flags whipping violently in the wind.
As the bus pulled in, it was pelted with debris; plastic bottles, coins, the occasional stone, each bounce off the tal echoing like a warning shot.
The glass shook. Inside, tension thickened.
Even the veterans wore it like armor. Pedri clenched his jaw, eyes narrowed. Sam simply stared forward, unmoved, a warhorse in the calm before the charge.
Gavi? Ever the firebrand, he cracked his knuckles, adrenaline leaking through his silence. Hansi Flick sat at the front, arms folded, absorbing the hatred like fuel.
The mont they stepped into the San Siro turf, the hostility grew teeth.
A deafening chorus of whistles and jeers surged down from 75,000 strong. Inter's Curva Nord was a spectacle of coordinated chaos, banners sprawled across the stand, a massive tifo unfurled.
{Your Dream Dies Here!}
Fireworks exploded just outside the stadium walls, shaking the concrete with every burst. The air felt electric, volatile, as if the entire city had conspired to drown Barcelona in pressure and fury.
The players ward up to a wall of noise, the kind that burrowed into your skin and rattled your nerves. But Barcelona didn't flinch.
They knew what this was; a sacred war.
Ter Stegen calmly adjusted his gloves. Raphinha smirked at the crowd, admiring the energy and then tossing a wink at a particularly enraged fan. Frankie De Jong motioned for silence, only to be t with a tidal wave of insults.
It was crazy.
Hostile? Absolutely. Intimidating? To so.
But to Barca, Hansi Flick's Barcelona, it was beautiful. It ant they were feared. It ant the stakes were real.
And then…
FWEEEEEE!
It started.
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