The world fell away, replaced by a searing pain in my leg. I was on the ground, the lush green grass a sudden, unexpected pillow.
The referee's whistle cut through the air, a shrill, piercing sound that felt like a lifeline.
The referee was pointing to the spot, a clear, decisive gesture that sent a shockwave through the stadium.
The Camp Nou, a moment ago a deafening roar of hate, was now a sea of angry, frustrated faces. The Barcelona players swarmed the referee, their shouts a furious, unintelligible symphony.
Pedri, his face streaked with sweat and pure frustration, was yelling at the ref, his hands waving in the air. Gavi, a fiery ball of energy, was right there with him, his symbols a blur of angry fists and exclamation points.
I lay on the ground, my leg throbbing, my mind a quiet, serene space. The pain was there, but my Vision was a shield, a protective bubble that allowed me to focus on the task at hand.
