The difference between the UEFA Champions league knockout stage and normal league games is mostly on the amount of attention that it attracts.

Unlike in league games where most global fans only focus and watch the games of the biggest and most exciting clubs in the league, in the UEFA Champions league, the best clubs compete there so every game is more or less a thriller.

Fans focus on every single game at that stage.

The first leg of the fixture was over, and luckily for Barcelona fans, there was nothing in between for them.

They had the full week to rest for the return leg.

That period of peace was the eye of the storm, and Hansi Flick used it to drill his players for the upcoming challenge in Turin, Italy.

The sun dipped behind the Montjuïc hills, painting Barcelona in hues of gold and dusk. At the Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper, the air hummed with quiet tension. Training had ended, yet no one left the pitch.

Balls rolled around lazily, sweat glistened, and every player looked like he was balancing joy with anxiety.

Yes, they were leading, but the 3–1 advantage from the Spotify Camp Nou meant little now for they were going to Turin for the second leg.

Last season, Barcelona finally managed to break the champions league curse that lasted over a decade, but still, they've had nightmares in the tournament.

From the horror of Rome to Anfield's nightmare, then Bayern's humiliation, FC Barcelona had suffered humiliating defeats in the knockout stages of the Champions League. They've thrown away leads.

And in the eye of the storm, these memories haunted them.

Yes, they had Sam, but then, Barcelona had Lionel Messi. They had Luis Suarez, they had Neymar Jnr at some point too.

They knew they could not afford to take it trivially.

Outside, the world's football press was already circling as headlines buzzed in Madrid, London, and Rome.

*["Barça's Rising Empire Returns to Italy."]

*["Can Sam Moses Do It Again?"]

*["Juventus's Last Stand."]

At every turn, from training sessions to even his personal life at home, camera lens found him as Sam's personal life became disrupted by all the attention, but the media didn't care.

As the reigning Ballon d'Or holder, fans had expectations of him, and they piled on these expectations without mercy.

Sam didn't let the attention get to his head though. He trained longer than everyone else as he knew exactly what was at stake.

Legacy was at stake, and he could not afford to fail.

Even the system piled on the pressure, giving him a mission.

DING!

~----~

[System Mission: Prove Yourself Worthy]

>Details: Lead FC Barcelona to the Quarterfinals.

[Mission Penalty: -5 to 2 random attributes]

[Mission Reward: ???]

~----~

Sam took a deep breath. 'Even you too?'

Now, he just couldn't afford to not progress.

Balde and Yamal had gone inside at some point. Raphinha sat on the grass lacing his boots off, yet there Sam was, still on the pitch under the fading sky, standing at the edge of the box, running invisible plays, ghosting through shadows of imaginary defenders.

His mind replayed Turin over and over, the roaring black and white crowd, Gatti's aggression, Kalulu's physicality, he simulated it all in his head.

He exhaled. "This time… we kill them off".

Later, inside the locker room, Hansi Flick paced before the whiteboard. He looked as if he'd slept only on tactics.

The lineup magnets were already arranged neatly; Gavi slightly advanced, Pedri deep, with De Jong slightly behind them like an anchor.

Raphinha and Yamal were pinned wide, arrows drawn toward the box.

In red ink, Flick wrote three words under the Juventus crest.

"DISCIPLINE, CONTROL, MERCY".

His voice was calm but cutting.

"They will press early," he said calmly. "They definitely will, they're at home. But if we control the tempo, their lungs will give out first".

"Be patient," he looked round at his players. "Our pressing triggers must be perfect; Sam, you lead the first press."

Sam nodded quietly, sweat still dripping from his temple.

Hansi Flick looked around the room.

"I don't want showboats, not in enemy turf," his eyes gleamed sharply. "I want killers, men who'll kill the game for me".

"You've all seen what they can do when we drop concentration. Turin isn't Camp Nou. There, they'll fight dirty, they'll dive, they'll provoke. When they do, smile, stand up, and punish them on the scoreboard."

His tone finally softened.

"Remember what we play for. It's not just pride or applause, its legacy. Barça is not a club that survives nights like this, Barça defines them."

He smiled. "Don't worry, we've got this".

When he finished, silence hung like thunder waiting to break.

Then, quietly, Gavi whispered, "Vamos".

And the room erupted in a surge of claps, shouts, and laughter breaking through the heavy air.

They were ready.

Later that night, after media duties, Sam and Raphinha sat outside near the training complex, legs stretched, listening to the cicadas hum.

Raphinha chuckled. "You know, bro, they keep saying you didn't score in the first leg".

Sam smirked. "They noticed?"

"They always notice". Raphinha rolled his eyes, then he grinned. "But you broke them without touching the ball much, I've never seen defenders so terrified."

Sam shrugged. "Fear doesn't win games, goals do. I'll fix that in Turin."

Raphinha smiled on hearing how confident he was as he nudged him with his boot. "I'll hold you to that, I'll get the assist though."

Sam laughed. "We'll see who scores first".

Behind them, Balde and Yamal were taking penalties, making jokes about who had better aim. The mood was light again, brief flashes of youth lighting sparks amid the looming weight of Europe.

…

The next day, Barcelona's traveling party finally assembled at the El Prat Airport. Fans had gathered despite the early hour, hundreds of them waving scarves and singing while holding banners with Sam's name.

"Visca El Barca!" They sang.

Just as Sam boarded the plane, his phone pinged with a new message, a message from Kayla. He quickly opened it to look through it.

{NEW! Unread Message – Mi Corazon}

He smiled and read.

["No matter what happens, remember, you always come home a winner".]

As the jet engines roared, he looked through the window. Below, Barcelona's skyline shrank and ahead, Italy waited, sharpening its blades.

That evening after arrival in Turin, the team trained under floodlights at the Allianz Stadium. The Juventus players had already warmed down earlier, but whispers lingered in the Italian press as the psychological battle already started.

Despite being hounded by reporters, Sam said nothing.

Later, he snuck into the stadium, watching from the stands. It was empty now, but he could feel them; the ghosts of past wars.

The banners, the whistles, and the tension that made giants stumble.

He walked toward the center circle, stopped, and closed his eyes, enjoying the breeze and taking in the ambience of the stadium.

In his mind, he saw flashes… the roar of the crowd, the whistle of the ball, even the heartbeat before the goal.

"Tomorrow," he smiled and whispered to himself. "Tomorrow we finish this".

Back at the hotel, lights dimmed as one by one, the players disappeared into their rooms, preparing for D-day in their own different ways.

Pedri scrolled through match clips of Juventus's old games; Gavi watched anime on his phone, while Frankie De Jong meditated.

Sam? He stood by the window of his suite, staring at the beauty of Turin as it glowed outside in shades of gold and marble.

He could see the faint glow of the Allianz dome from afar.

It was beautiful, but it was also hostile.

Tomorrow, it was theirs to conquer.

He sat on the couch, tying and untying his boots absentmindedly, muscle memory soothing his tense nerves.

His phone buzzed again and this time, it was a message from Ian.

{NEW! Unread Message – Best Buddy}

["You know what's funny? We used to play FIFA in your living room talking about nights like this. You motherf*cker, go make it real!"]

Sam grinned, and muttered. "Already on it."

He set the phone aside, lay down, and whispered. "For Barcelona… and for me". He stared at the ceiling. "For legacy".

Then he closed his eyes, the distant hum of the city fading into silence, replaced by the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat, steady, certain, and ready as sleep finally overtook him.

Tomorrow, the storm resumes.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.