The shrill blast of the referee's whistle split the air —and just like that, the match began.
The crowd roared, a living wave of energy surging through the Allianz Arena.
Barcelona took immediate control.
Their passes were crisp, fast, relentless.
One-touch.Two-touch.Move. Move again.
It was a masterclass in possession.
Pedri orchestrated the tempo with effortless elegance.Gavi hunted spaces aggressively, snapping at every loose ball.Fermín López drifted dangerously between the lines.And Lamine Yamal —God, he was fast.Slipping through markers like water through fingers.
Within the first five minutes, Bayern hardly touched the ball.
Mateo sprinted from side to side, pressing hard, trying to close spaces.
But the ball seemed to dance just out of reach, always one pass ahead.
Sweat dripped down his forehead despite the cool evening air.
"They're good," he thought, gritting his teeth."No — they're brilliant."
Kompany's voice rang from the sidelines:
"Stay patient!Stay compact!The chance will come!"
Barcelona probed deeper.
Ansu Fati weaved inside, testing Davies.Pedri slipped a clever ball through the center —but Ulreich was quick off his line to smother it.
The first danger avoided —but the warning was clear.
Mateo knew he had to adapt — fast.
The tempo was faster than anything he had faced before.
Every decision, every movement, every thought —needed to be half a second quicker.
No time to hesitate.
No room for mistakes.
At minute ten, the ball finally broke loose in Bayern's favor.
Kimmich snapped into a tackle, recovering possession.
The ball zipped to Goretzka,who immediately threaded a pass out wide to Mateo.
His heart thudded.
This was it.
His first real touch.
He trapped the ball expertly, feeling it stick to his foot like a magnet.
But no sooner had he controlled it,Barcelona's left-back was rushing at him.
Fast. Aggressive.
Mateo shifted his weight, faked left, darted right.
The defender stumbled.
A burst of speed —and Mateo flew down the flank, the crowd gasping as he left his marker in the dust.
Sané made a run into space.
Mateo clipped a quick pass toward him.
Simple. Clean. Precise.
Sané nodded the ball down, but the play was broken up by Barcelona's recovering midfield.
Still —the momentum shifted slightly.
The crowd sensed it.
Mateo jogged back into position, chest heaving.
Not just from exertion —but from exhilaration.
He had touched the ball.Beaten his man.
It wasn't much — yet.
But it was a start.
Across the field, Lamine Yamal caught Mateo's eye for a brief second.
The two young prodigies, standing on opposite wings, locked gazes.
No words spoken.
But the message was clear:
"Show me what you've got."
Mateo smiled slightly.
"Oh, I will," he promised silently.
The battle had begun.