The second half at the Teddy Stadium began under a sky that had turned a deep, bruised violet. Despite the lead, Spain U-21 coach Julen Lopetegui remained on the edge of the technical area, his eyes never leaving the pitch. He knew that a one-goal lead against this French generation was a fragile thing.
France emerged from the tunnel with a visible, frantic energy. Paul Pogba was no longer just playing; he was conducting the game. He roared at Varane and Umtiti to push the line higher, effectively pinning the Spanish midfield into their own half. For twenty minutes, Spain endured a siege. Morgan Sanson and Guilavogui smothered Koke and Isco, while Griezmann drifted like a ghost, twice forcing David De Gea into world-class saves.
"They're drowning them in physicality!" Santiago shouted into the ESPN Sur microphone. "Pogba is playing like a giant among men, and France is desperate to erase the embarrassment of the first half."
In the 83rd minute, however, the French aggression turned into their downfall. Pogba, frustrated by the lack of a breakthrough, attempted a low-percentage long shot from forty yards. The ball struck the back of Javi Manquillo and ricocheted toward Koke.
Spain didn't hesitate. The transition was a blur of Red.
Koke looked up and launched a sixty-yard "guided missile" toward the final third. Lorenzo was already in full flight, triggering the "Son of the Wind" template. Raphaël Varane, usually the king of recovery, sprinted to close the gap, but he found himself being physically leaned on by Lorenzo.
Using the "Drogba" integration, Lorenzo didn't try to outrun Varane in a straight line; he used his shoulder to wedge himself into the path of the ball, forcing the Real Madrid defender to lose his stride. Lorenzo chested the ball down at the edge of the area. He didn't wait for Umtiti to arrive. He remembered the "Batistuta" repetitions in the simulation.
THWACK!
From twenty-five yards out, Lorenzo unleashed a thunderous, low-flying cannonball. The ball didn't curve; it simply possessed too much kinetic energy for the air to resist. It whistled past Areola's ear before the keeper could even lift his arms.
Swish!
2-0.
The Teddy Stadium fell into a momentary silence before the Spanish sections erupted. Lorenzo performed a calm, slow walk toward the corner flag, his eyes fixed on the French bench. He didn't need to shout; the scoreboard said everything.
The final whistle blew shortly after, confirming a historic 2-0 victory for Spain U-21. The "Golden Generation" of France had been dismantled by a single teenager.
Lopetegui roared as he rushed onto the pitch, pulling Lorenzo into a fierce embrace. "You silenced them, Lorenzo! You silenced the whole continent!"
On the sidelines, Vicente del Bosque watched with a stoic nod, though his eyes were gleaming. "Julen was right," he muttered to his assistant. "This isn't just a striker. This is an anchor for a decade."
That night, in the quiet isolation of his player apartment at the Tel Aviv training base, Lorenzo felt the familiar weight of the system rewards settling in his mind.
[Ding! Side Mission Complete: The Throne of Geniuses.]
[Final Match Rating: 9.7 (Man of the Match).]
[Reward 1: France "World Cup Generation" Star Treasure Chest * 1.]
[Reward 2: Bronze Treasure Chest * 1.]
"Open the Star Chest," Lorenzo commanded silently.
[Ding! Opening France Star Chest...]
[Congratulations! You have received the "King" Eric Cantona Temperament Template!]
[Effect: This is a psychological and social 'Causality' reward. It does not boost your speed or strength, but it recalibrates your 'Aura.' You now possess the innate, unshakeable confidence and leadership presence of the man who ruled Old Trafford. On the pitch, teammates will instinctively look to you in times of crisis, and opponents will feel the weight of your 'Imperial' gaze. You no longer just play the game; you dictate its soul.]
Lorenzo felt a strange, cold clarity wash over him. It was as if his spine had been replaced with steel. He walked over to the mirror. His features hadn't changed, but the way he carried himself, the tilt of his chin, the stillness in his eyes was different. He no longer looked like a rising star; he looked like a Professional.
His phone buzzed incessantly with WhatsApp notifications as he prepared for the flight back to Barcelona.
Messi: "Clinical brace, Lorenzo. Rest your legs. The Super Cup at the Calderón is a street fight, not a match."
Xavi: "The space you created for Jese in the second half was tactical perfection. See you at Joan Gamper."
Lucia: "I watched the second goal! The commentator in Buenos Aires almost cried. I'm making empanadas for your return!"
Hashimoto Kanna: "Lorenzo-kun, I saw the news in Japan! Amazing! Our group is actually performing in Barcelona next week. Is it okay if I come to the stadium?"
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow at the last message. Kanna's rising fame was becoming a global phenomenon, but in the world of the professional elite, his own "Beast" narrative was currently the only thing that mattered.
The flight back to Barcelona was a whirlwind of tactical briefings. Martino had already sent him the footage for the Spanish Super Cup.
When he arrived at the Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper the following afternoon, the atmosphere was thick with professional tension. Pautasso met him at the gate. "No time for the trophy, kid. Simeone is already at the Vicente Calderón, and he's probably spent the last six hours watching your tape from Jerusalem."
The Spanish Super Cup was the first silverware of the season. In the original 2013-14 timeline, Barcelona had finished the season empty-handed. Lorenzo knew that to change history, he had to start here.
"Who are their center-backs?" Lorenzo asked as he pulled on his training bib.
"Godín and Miranda," Pautasso replied, his voice grave. "The most brutal defensive pairing in Europe. They don't just defend; they hunt. They use 'Cholismo', a system of organized violence and tactical discipline. They'll try to kick you out of the game in the first ten minutes."
Lorenzo walked onto the training pitch. Messi and Neymar were already there, exchanging sharp, one-touch passes. Piqué was currently hounding Tello in a 2v1 drill.
"Hey, Piqué!" Tello shouted, seeing Lorenzo arrive. "Your doomsday is here! The Beast is back from Israel!"
Piqué looked up, saw Lorenzo's new posture. "He looks... different," Piqué muttered to Busquets. "It's like he's already decided he's the captain of the pitch."
Tata Martino stood on the sidelines, observing the shift in the team's energy. "We have the sharpest spear in the world," Martino noted to Pautasso. "But tomorrow, we face the most solid shield in the history of the Vicente Calderón. Godín won't give him an inch. It will be a battle of pure 'Iron and Blood'."
Lorenzo tightened his boots, his eyes fixed on the imaginary goal. He had conquered Madrid and Jerusalem. now, he had to break the heart of the Colchoneros.
[Status: Training for the Super Cup.]
[System Note: Cantona Temperament Integrated.]
[Target: Spanish Super Cup vs. Atlético Madrid.]
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