The Barcelona training ground shimmered under the morning sun, a thin mist curling off the grass as the squad trickled in.
Elian laced his boots, the bruise on his heel a dull ache he'd learned to ignore. Three days to Madrid now, and the air felt tighter, heavier—like the whole city was holding its breath.
Times like this was the most difficult, the El clasico, everyone waited, the fans were anxious.
He glanced across the pitch where Santos was already at work, firing shots past a backup keeper.
The striker's focus was razor-sharp, each strike a thunderclap. No smirk today, just sweat and grit. Lars's injury last year against City had cracked the door open for both of them. The main striker's absence left a void, and Santos had been first to step up, bagging goals in the early weeks. But Elian's appearance and debut had shifted the spotlight, and now the whispers were everywhere: Slade or Santos? Who's the heir
