Dominating Football with Perfect Ball Control

Chapter 376: 376. The Most Terrifying De Bruyne

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”Pick it up!! Atlético Madrid just won, we cannot drop points now!”

Camp Nou Stadium.

Barcelona’s manager Luis Enrique addressed the squad with a hard edge to his voice.

He scanned the room. This group of Barcelona players were the most elite collection of talent on the planet. Ter Stegen, Alves, Piqué, Mascherano, Alba, Busquets, Rakiti?, Iniesta, Suárez, Neymar, Messi.

Despite this extraordinary lineup, and despite playing some of the best football of their lives the previous season, the Champions League had still slipped away from them. That stung Luis Enrique deeply, and it stung every player in this room.

So in the new season, Barcelona had come back with the mentality of a side with something to prove. The whole squad had locked in with a focus that bordered on obsessive. They had been steamrolling through La Liga like a machine set on maximum speed.

Since the turn of the year, twelve consecutive wins. If they kept it up, the 100-point barrier and the all-time points record were both within reach.

”Look, everyone can feel the pressure Atlético Madrid are applying. They are genuinely strong, I won’t pretend otherwise...”

Luis Enrique paused and drew a slow breath.

”But we are stronger. We are Barcelona. We have the best squad in the world, and every single one of you is one of the best players in the world. Let that pressure drive you. Whatever opponent is in front of you, keep going at them. Keep grinding them down.”

Barcelona were chasing the treble this season, with serious possibilities in all three competitions. The league, the Copa del Rey, the Champions League. A chance, if everything fell right, to match the legendary Sextuple of the club’s peak years.

Luis Enrique wanted to show the world that it wasn’t only under Guardiola that Barcelona could reach those heights, that he himself was capable of achieving it.

And Messi had his own fire burning.

He wanted to prove once and for all that he was the number one player on earth. He wanted to become the only man in history to achieve the Sextuple twice. If he could do it, then even without international silverware, no debate about the greatest of all time could ever touch him again.

Barcelona walked out onto the Camp Nou turf, every player radiating a kind of fierce, coiled intensity. The Real Sociedad players lining up opposite them could feel it.

Meanwhile, in the visiting locker room at Espanyol’s ground, Lance had finished his shower and instead of heading straight to physical therapy, found himself parked in front of the television. The other match had already started: Barcelona vs. Real Sociedad at the Camp Nou.

”Antoine, honestly, do you think your former club can beat Barcelona?”

”It’s tough.”

Griezmann smiled ruefully.

He knew Real Sociedad’s ceiling well. A solid mid-table side, hovering somewhere between 7th and 10th in La Liga most seasons. Fighting for a Europa League place was already a stretch. Taking points from Barcelona at the Camp Nou was a different proposition entirely.

”Don’t count on Real Sociedad to do us any favors. Assume a four-point gap after tonight.”

He shook his head. If Atlético wanted to claw back the title, they would have to do it themselves in the head-to-head in Matchday 35. If they could cut the gap to one point going into that game, the title was still genuinely up for grabs. But if Barcelona kept winning every game, no matter what Atlético did, it wouldn’t be enough.

Failing to win those first two rounds after New Year had put them in this position. Passive. Reliant on others.

”Barcelona have been ridiculous this season.”

Griezmann said it again, almost to himself.

In previous years, no matter how good Barcelona were, they dropped games. Five losses a season, sometimes more. The odd slip against a side they were expected to brush aside.

This season they had been almost mechanical in their consistency. One defeat, the one against Atlético Madrid. That was all. Messi, Suárez, Neymar, three players operating at a level that didn’t seem quite real.

And yet... Griezmann caught himself and looked back at Lance.

44 goals in 32 rounds.

Lance was the real monster in this league.

Griezmann half-seriously considered whether someone should study this man properly. Examine him. Find out what was going on inside.

The rest of the Atlético squad had already decided Real Sociedad were no threat and were packing their bags. Then Lance made a quiet sound of surprise.

”What is it?”

”Barcelona don’t look right today.”

”What do you mean?”

”They’re playing stiffly.”

Suárez had just missed a shot that looked like it should have been on target. On the surface, nothing unusual. But something in Lance’s gut was telling him otherwise.

The other players stopped what they were doing and drifted over to the screen.

Within minutes, the mood had shifted completely. Every Atlético Madrid player in the room was suddenly a Real Sociedad fan.

”Come on! Vamos!”

”That’s it, get into Messi!”

”Go on!”

Real Sociedad were playing without fear, pressing, running, refusing to be swatted aside. The understanding between Messi, Suárez, and Neymar was simply not clicking the way it usually did. Barcelona’s patient build-up play, usually their greatest strength, had become edgy and impatient.

Several times they tried the risky ball over the top when the slower, safer option would have found a way through. Real Sociedad’s midfield kept intercepting them.

”With Xavi gone, Barcelona’s midfield has a ceiling,” Lance said.

Busquets, Rakiti?, and Iniesta were all quality players, but the trio lacked the control Xavi had brought at his peak. The game was getting away from Barcelona, and they didn’t quite have the mechanism to slow it back down.

Griezmann had noticed it too now.

”Do Real Sociedad actually have a chance here?”

The score remained 0-0. The clock ticked past 85 minutes.

Real Sociedad had absorbed everything Barcelona had thrown at them.

”Barcelona are panicking.”

Lance’s eyes sharpened.

And then it happened.

86th minute. Real Sociedad broke forward at speed.

The entire Atlético Madrid locker room went completely still. Nobody breathed. The only sound was the commentator’s voice bouncing off the walls.

”Illarramendi!! What a pass!!”

”Through ball forward! Oyarzabal!!”

”Oyarzabal!!”

Every single Atlético Madrid player rose to their feet.

The ball hit the net.

The room detonated.

”GOOOOOOAL!!!”

”Yes!!!”

”Absolutely brilliant! Real Sociedad, brilliant!!”

The camera lingered on Oyarzabal for a moment, then cut to a close-up of Messi’s face.

Solemn. Eyes slightly distant.

Barcelona had been running at full tilt for half a season. The machine, the one that never made mistakes, the one that crushed everything in its path.

The taut string.

Snapped.

”Upset!! Barcelona 0-1 Real Sociedad! Only One Point Separates Them from Atlético Madrid!”

”Before the Battle of Olympus, the La Liga Title Race Has Reached Its Peak!”

”La Liga Matchday 32 Roundup: Atlético Madrid Win With a Comeback, Barcelona Suffer an Upset, Real Madrid Win Narrowly.”

”Luis Enrique: The Team Focused Too Much on the Result and Forgot About the Performance.”

”Messi: We Will Win the Title.”

”The happiest people tonight are undoubtedly the fans in Madrid. Real Madrid beat Eibar 2-0, Atlético Madrid came from behind to win 3-1 at Espanyol, and Barcelona lost at home 0-1.

La Liga leaders Barcelona now lead second-placed Atlético Madrid by just one point.

With the head-to-head clash coming in Matchday 35, both sides are essentially back on the same starting line. The title race is entering its most intense phase.”

Marca had not held back. They praised Lance’s substitute appearance, two goals and an assist to turn the game around, then used it to take a direct shot at the MSN Trio. Barcelona had put up 19 attempts with only four on target and none in the net. Lance alone, in thirty minutes off the bench, had outperformed their entire frontline.

Marca was never going to miss a chance to twist the knife into Catalonia. Regardless of which Madrid club Lance represented, he was playing in Madrid, and that was close enough.

As the Atlético Madrid squad rode the bus back to the capital, Manchester City’s travelling party was touching down at Madrid Airport.

Through the window, De Bruyne could see the outdoor advertisements plastered across the terminal building. Atlético Madrid celebrating. The title race between Atlético Madrid and Barcelona promoted like a heavyweight fight. Lance’s face, somewhere on all of it.

His expression stayed calm.

He pulled out his phone and sent a message.

De Bruyne: ”Lance, focus on your La Liga stuff. Give me a couple of days and I’ll come and knock you out of the Champions League myself.”

Lance: ”No no no, Kevin. Kids make choices. Adults want everything. You might be making this trip for nothing.”

De Bruyne stared at the screen for a moment, then shook his head and smiled.

This guy.

But then, as the smile faded, something else replaced it.

Lance’s opponents were Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo. The kid who used to follow De Bruyne around had grown into a genuine world-class player, competing at the very top.

I, Kevin De Bruyne, am not going to be left behind.

Just wait, Lance.

I have nothing to lose going into this match. You are about to see a version of De Bruyne you have never seen before.