The hum of the private jet’s engines filled the cabin as the Barcelona squad settled into their seats early in the morning. The Champions League away game against Liverpool was one of the most anticipated fixtures of the season, and the energy among the players was palpable. Some were focused, headphones on, reviewing footage on their tablets, while others engaged in quiet conversations or lighthearted banter to keep the nerves at bay. The flight was relatively short, just a couple of hours, but it was enough for the players to mentally prepare for the intense battle ahead.

Pablo sat by the window, gazing out at the clouds below. Next to him, Fermín stretched his legs, leaning back in his seat with an easy smirk.

"You look like you're heading to war instead of a football match," Fermín teased, nudging Pablo’s arm.

Pablo huffed, turning his gaze away from the window. "It’s Anfield. It might as well be."

Fermín chuckled. "Relax, man. We’ve played in hostile stadiums before."

Pablo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, but you know how it is. Their fans make it hell. And Liverpool doesn’t lose easily at home."

A voice came from across the aisle, laced with amusement. "Try not to cry about it before we even get there, will you?"

Pablo turned his head, already knowing who it was. Lucia sat a few seats away, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised in that infuriating way she always did when she was deliberately provoking him.

"Didn’t know physios gave tactical advice now," he shot back.

Lucia smirked. "Didn’t know defenders had to be this dramatic."

Before Pablo could respond, the coach appeared beside them. "How are you feeling?" he asked, looking directly at Pablo.

"Good. Ready," Pablo said immediately, straightening in his seat.

The coach nodded. "We’ll need you to be sharp defensively today. Liverpool’s pressing is relentless. Keep your positioning tight and don’t let them isolate you one-on-one."

"Got it."

Fermín, always one to lighten the mood, gave a lazy salute. "And what about me, coach? Any special instructions?"

The coach rolled his eyes. "Just don’t get sent off."

Fermín grinned. "No promises."

The entire row chuckled, easing some of the tension. The flight continued in a steady rhythm, with some players drifting into sleep while others kept their focus sharp. Lucia, despite her earlier jab, spent the flight working, preparing recovery plans for after the match. Pablo stole a glance at her when she wasn’t looking. He wasn’t sure why. Probably just habit at this point.

By the time they landed in Liverpool, the sky was overcast, a cold wind greeting them as they stepped onto the tarmac.

The team bus weaved through the streets of Liverpool, escorted by police motorcycles. Outside, clusters of Liverpool fans had already gathered, their red scarves and banners waving wildly. Some clapped, others jeered, and a few even banged on the side of the bus as it passed.

"They really love their intimidation tactics, huh?" Fermín muttered.

Pablo shrugged. "Won’t change anything once we’re on the pitch."

At Anfield, the squad went through their usual pre-match routine - team meetings, light warm-ups, and tactical briefings. The stadium, even empty, felt heavy with history. Pablo stood on the pitch for a moment, looking up at the stands that would soon be packed with thousands of screaming fans.

"You nervous?" Lucia’s voice came from beside him.

He turned, a smirk already forming. "If I say yes, are you gonna give me a pep talk?"

She scoffed. "No. Just thought it would be fun to hear you admit it."

He rolled his eyes. "Not happening."

She grinned, shaking her head before walking off to join the rest of the medical staff.

The hours passed quickly. The final team talk was brief, the coach reinforcing the plan - fast transitions, compact shape, don’t let them dictate the pace.

In the tunnel before kickoff, the tension was almost suffocating. The roar of the Liverpool fans outside was deafening, even through the thick walls. Pablo bounced lightly on his feet, shaking out his arms. Across from him, the Liverpool players stood tall, their expressions unreadable.

The referee signaled, and both teams walked out onto the pitch. The moment they stepped onto the grass, the famous "You’ll Never Walk Alone" chant erupted from the stands. Pablo had played in other big stadiums before, but Anfield’s atmosphere was something else.

The referee blew the whistle, and the game began.

Liverpool came out flying. Their high press was suffocating, their passes sharp. Barcelona struggled in the opening minutes, barely managing to hold possession. Pablo found himself in a relentless duel with one of Liverpool’s wingers, constantly tracking his runs, blocking passing lanes, and putting in challenges.

In the 12th minute, Liverpool broke through. A slick passing move left their striker one-on-one with the keeper, and he slotted it home. 1-0 to Liverpool.

The stadium exploded. Pablo clenched his jaw as he jogged back to position.

"We’re fine. Just need to settle," Fermín reassured him, noticing Pablo’s frustration.

Barcelona responded quickly. They absorbed Liverpool’s pressure, slowly gaining more control. In the 30th minute, the ball found its way to Lamine Yamal, who whipped in a perfect cross. Lewandowski met it with a powerful header. Goal. 1-1.

Pablo pumped his fist as the team celebrated.

The rest of the first half was a war of attrition, neither side giving an inch. Tackles flew in, the referee’s whistle constantly cutting through the noise.

The second half picked up right where the first left off. Liverpool pushed hard, but Barcelona held firm. Pablo made a crucial interception in the 60th minute, shutting down what could have been a dangerous counterattack.

Then, in the 78th minute, Barcelona struck. A quick break saw Fermín sprinting down the flank, cutting inside, and unleashing a rocket into the top corner. 2-1 Barcelona.

The celebrations were wild, but there were still 12 minutes to survive.

Liverpool threw everything forward. The last five minutes felt like an eternity, with Barcelona defending desperately. Pablo blocked a shot, then cleared another cross. The tension was unbearable.

Then - the final whistle.

Barcelona had done it. A 2-1 victory at Anfield.

In the locker room, the energy was electric. Players cheered, hugged, and clapped each other on the back.

"That was a warrior’s performance. You should all be proud," the coach said, beaming with pride.

Pablo sat on the bench, exhausted but exhilarated. Fermín dropped next to him, still catching his breath.

"Told you it’d be beautiful," Fermín said, a smug grin on his face.

Pablo let out a tired chuckle. "Yeah. You were right."