Chapter 3: Legacy on the Line
June 6, 2017 – Camp Nou, Boardroom Level
The conference room smelled of polished wood and fresh espresso. High-backed leather chairs encircled a long oval table, at the center of which sat Barcelona's power—some brilliant, some bureaucratic, all wary.
Noah Marlowe stood at the far end, arms folded behind his back, calm as ever. The morning sun filtered through tall glass windows, casting light over the legendary crest embossed on the wall. The silence was long. Heavy.
President Bartomeu leaned forward, fingers steepled. "You've caused quite a stir in twenty-four hours."
"I wasn't trying to cause one," Noah replied. "Only progress."
One of the advisors adjusted his tie. "Multiple players gave mixed reactions. Some said your drills were genius. Others said you're too… clinical."
"I'm not here to be liked. I'm here to win."
Another advisor flipped through reports. "You ran a simulation drill on your first day. Messi participated, but made no comment."
Noah met the man's eyes. "Messi will speak when he sees results. Not before."
A low hum buzzed from his tablet. He tapped it once.
[AI TACTICAL SYSTEM – Tactical Proposal Loaded]
File: Barça Rebuild Phase 1 – Fluid Diamond with False Wings
Status: Complete
The air shimmered faintly above the table. A soft-blue holographic display unfolded like a flower. Player names. Training schedules. Customized drills. Future match simulations. Everything.
"I've already mapped our next six months. I know every player's ceiling. I know how to evolve the system without killing the club's DNA. And I know how to make Messi the final version of himself."
That last line made the room lean in.
Bartomeu eyed the data with hesitant fascination. "Your system. It's unlike anything I've seen."
Noah nodded. "Because it isn't built to control players. It's built to free them—if they're willing to evolve."
After a long silence, Bartomeu stood.
"Let's be honest, Marlowe. You don't have licensing. You don't have trophies. And what you're proposing is so radical, so experimental… if this fails, my position collapses with it."
"It won't fail."
"But if it does—"
Noah cut in. "Then I'll take full responsibility. Fire me. Burn the data. Call it madness. But if it works—" He tapped the table gently. "—you rebuild Barça without needing another Neymar."
One of the advisors looked up. "You really believe the club doesn't need a superstar replacement?"
"No." Noah's voice sharpened. "You don't need a star. You need a system that makes stars."
A long beat passed. Bartomeu took a deep breath, turned to his assistant, and gave a small nod.
"You'll be offered a probationary contract. Full tactical control. Transfer review authority. Academy access."
"And Messi?" Noah asked.
Bartomeu frowned. "What about him?"
"Let me handle that."
Two Hours Later – La Masia
Noah walked alone through the academy halls, his steps slow, reverent. On the walls were photos of generations: Xavi, Iniesta, Busquets, Piqué, Messi. It was a museum of philosophy.
The AI Tactical System whispered in his earpiece:
[Scanning Academy Roster…]
Notable Talents Identified:
– Aleñá
– Riqui Puig
– Anssumane Fati (flagged: 14 y/o)
– Eric Garcia (transfer risk)
– Ilaix Moriba
He paused at the training grounds. Young players moved like shadows in the afternoon heat.
"Forget Neymar," Noah murmured. "I'll build five."
Later That Night – Messi's Private Gym
The door opened without knocking. Noah stepped inside.
Messi didn't look surprised. He was juggling a medicine ball with his left foot, sweat dripping down his forehead. He didn't speak.
Noah waited. Finally, Messi asked, "They gave you the job?"
"They did."
Messi dropped the ball. "So now what?"
"Now I show you how to play the best football of your life—and win the Champions League doing it."
Messi looked at him. "Why should I believe you?"
Noah didn't answer. He placed the tablet on a bench and tapped the screen.
A projection lit the room: A simulated Champions League final. 3–1 scoreline. Messi scores two. The play unfolds in perfect precision. Every run, every press, every angle.
It was a future Messi hadn't seen yet—but it felt like destiny.
Noah looked him dead in the eye.
"Because I've already seen how this ends. And it ends with you holding the trophy again."
Messi's silence wasn't doubt this time.
It was hope.