The ninety-minute flight from Barcelona to Turin went by in a flash, but the squad made every single second count.
Down in the middle rows, Xavi and Iniesta sat huddled together, talking in those low, intense tones reserved exclusively for match preparation.
"Pirlo's whole role has evolved since his Milan days," Xavi said, leaning closer so his voice wouldn't carry. "Back at Milan, Ancelotti used him as a deep-lying playmaker because that midfield was stacked with four different number tens all fighting for the same space. But at Juventus, he's become the absolute sun. Everything — literally everything — flows right through him."
Iniesta nodded, his eyes locked on Xavi as he processed the thought. "Exactly. At Milan, he orchestrated the game, but at Juve, he dictates it. There's this undeniable shift in authority now. At Juve, nobody else even dares to touch the tempo or try to alter it. It's either Pirlo's rhythm, or there is no rhythm at all."
Busquets leaned across the aisle. "What about their wing-backs? I keep hearing that Conte's 3-5-2 is different."
Iniesta looked at him. "I told you to study more. Conte's system achieves what no other 3-5-2 achieves — the wing-backs genuinely function in both phases. Lichtsteiner on the right attacks like a winger and defends like a full-back. Asamoah on the left does the same. The quality of the wing-backs is what makes the formation elite rather than ordinary."
"The limits of the 3-5-2 can only be reached by Conte's Juventus," Xavi added. "Nobody else has the personnel or the discipline."
Further back, Martino had left the coaches' section and walked to where Lorenzo sat with Messi and Neymar.
"Their defensive line," Martino said, sliding into the seat across the aisle. "Tell me what you see."
"Chiellini, Bonucci, Barzagli," Lorenzo said, leaning forward. "They play together for club and country. They've reached a point where they don't even need to talk on the pitch — the chemistry is just hardwired into how they move. Chiellini brings the muscle and the aggression, Bonucci reads the game to sweep up, and Barzagli shuts down the passing lanes before they even open."
"And then you have Buffon backing them up," Messi added quietly from the seat behind them.
"Exactly, Buffon behind them," Martino confirmed, nodding. "That backline is easily the most complete defensive unit in Europe right now. You can't just dribble through it because the zonal coverage is too tight. You can't simply pass through it because they anticipate as a single organism. If we're going to break them, we have to go around them or over them."
Lorenzo thought about what he knew. This Juventus, under Conte, was at the peak of the Bianconeri's post-calciopoli resurrection. They won Serie A this season with a record 102 points. The three-centre-back system that Conte had perfected would become the template for half of Europe's clubs within two years. The chain defence wasn't just a tactic, it was a philosophy.
"But their real vulnerability is the transition," Lorenzo argued, leaning in. "If they turn the ball over high up the pitch, those three center-backs are left completely exposed to pure pace. Chiellini is quick for a big man, but he cannot win a dead sprint against the three of us. On top of that, if our press bypasses Pirlo, the midfield structure behind him relies on Pogba and Vidal. They are both incredible box-to-box engines, but neither one is a disciplined, natural holding mid. That pocket of space right between their midfield and their defense—that's where we strike."
Messi listened with absolute focus, instantly recognizing that the kid's analysis was spot on. "You've spent a lot of time thinking about this," he noted, a quiet appreciation in his voice.
Lorenzo offered a small shrug. "Yeah, you could say that."
Neymar, who had been quiet up until now, leaned forward across the aisle. "What about their wing-backs? If Lichtsteiner pushes high up on Dani's side, that's the exact space I need to exploit the second we win the ball back."
Martino nodded, pointing a finger at Neymar. "Exactly. The moment Lichtsteiner commits to the attack, the right side of their back three is left completely unprotected. That's your playground. When Asamoah pushes up on the other side, the left flank opens up for Leo."
He looked at all three of his forwards, his expression turning deadly serious. "The key to this entire match is patience, boys. Conte is going to try to strangle the tempo for ninety minutes straight. He wants a low-scoring, grinding match because those always favor the defense. We have to disrupt that comfort zone, force the game into chaotic transitions, and be absolutely lethal when we get our chances."
Lorenzo nodded silently. With about twenty minutes left of the flight, he turned his gaze to the window, watching the Mediterranean darken beneath them. He kept running the Juventus defensive shape through his head over and over, treating it like a complex puzzle that hadn't quite revealed its solution yet.
The plane landed in Turin at dusk.
The city revealed itself through the bus windows — Baroque buildings lining the wide boulevards, the snow-capped Alps visible in the hazy distance, church spires breaking the skyline. Turin had an elegance that was different from Barcelona's — older, more reserved, the kind of city that kept its beauty at arm's length rather than offering it freely.
As the bus approached the Allianz Stadium, the streets filled with black and white. Juventus fans — thousands of them — lined the route, scarves raised, songs carrying through the evening air. Children sat on parents' shoulders. Old men in faded Juve scarves stood on corners they had probably stood on for decades. This was not the scattered hostility of an away trip to a mid-table club. This was the organised, passionate, deeply personal welcome of a fanbase that had lived through calciopoli, through Serie B, through the rebuilding, and now believed their team was about to reach the Champions League final for the first time in eleven years.
Near the stadium entrance, a group of Juve ultras had gathered with banners. The messages were direct.
"Pirlo is the true midfield maestro — when Pirlo ruled Serie A, Xavi was still a boy at La Masia."
"Chiellini and Bonucci are Italian tough guys. Italy's catenaccio will teach Lorenzo a lesson."
"The Golden Boy Award belongs to Pogba. Platini's backroom dealings stole it."
Lorenzo read the banners through the bus window without expression. Beside him, Busquets pressed his face to the glass.
"Man, they really don't like us, do they?" Busquets muttered.
"They just really hate losing," Messi corrected quietly from the seat behind him. "And against us, they haven't had to face that feeling since the turn of the century."
The team bus finally ground to a halt inside the secure stadium compound. The Allianz Stadium loomed right above them. Rebuilt just a couple of years back, the club had completely gutted the old running track, pulling the stands right down to the edge of the grass. It was a completely different beast than the Camp Nou — smaller by fifty thousand seats, sure, but deliberately engineered for claustrophobic intensity rather than sheer scale.
The system notification arrived as Lorenzo stepped off the bus.
[Ding! Side Mission: Conquer the Bianconeri.]
[Objective: Since the new century, Barcelona has never won against Juventus. Reverse this record.]
[Reward: Juventus Star Chest × 1.]
The Mediterranean wind carried the sound of forty thousand Juventus fans already inside the stadium, their songs echoing off the concrete and steel. The Champions League semi-final was hours away.
You know the drill: Hand over those Power Stones to keep the momentum rolling!
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