The team bus pulled up in front of the main entrance of the Joan Gamper Sports City, the rumble of wheels on asphalt mingling with laughter from within. The players stepped off one by one, sports bags over their shoulders, the morning sun hitting their faces. The complex stretched out like a football paradise: three impeccably manicured natural grass pitches, the main building with its reflective glass, the attached gym, and in the distance, the residence where some of the girls lived during the season.
Gemma Font was the first to set foot on the ground. She stretched lazily and looked at the clear sky: "What a great day. I wish training was just lying in the sun."
Cata Coll jumped out behind her and nudged her back: "You just don't want to sweat. But then during the match, you complain that you're not warmed up."
"There's a difference between being warmed up and being melted!" Gemma protested, laughing.
The two goalkeepers headed toward the locker room entrance, where Irene Paredes was already waiting, folder in hand and her serious captain's expression on. She hadn't been at the club for five minutes and was already reviewing the day's training plan.
"Video first today," Irene announced as soon as she saw them approaching. "The coach wants us to review the opponent's defensive system for Saturday."
"Video again?" Mapi León complained from behind, shuffling along. "I already know their plays by heart. They're always the same."
"They aren't the same, Mapi. They changed coaches," Irene said without looking up from the folder.
"Well, you can't tell!" Mapi replied, though her mischievous smile gave away that she was just teasing.
Laia Aleixandri walked by them quickly, adjusting her shin guards as she moved: "Leave her be, she likes playing captain. It works for me; that way I don't have to think."
"You never think, Laia," teased Ona Batlle, right behind her. "You only think about doing nutmegs and posting photos to Instagram."
"Hey, I think about food, too!" Laia said, making everyone burst into laughter.
Esmee Brugts lagged a bit behind, phone in hand and a beaming smile. She was recording a video for her grandmother, as she did before every training session.
"Hola, oma," she said in Dutch, her voice sweet. "We're doing tactical video today, but don't worry, I'll show you the goals I score later. Love you!" She sent the message with a kiss to the screen.
"Do you send your grandma videos every day?" asked Clara Serrajordi, who had stopped beside her to tie her shoelaces.
"Every day," Esmee replied, putting her phone away. "She says if I don't send her something, she worries. And I don't want her to worry."
"That's so sweet," Clara said with a smile. "Mine only calls to tell me I'm too thin and that I don't eat enough."
"Grandmas are all the same!" chimed in Alexia Putellas, who had just appeared from the main building with a water bottle in hand. "Mine always tells me to wear two layers of clothes because 'the night air is bad.' And we're in Barcelona, not the North Pole!"
The group laughed as they walked into the locker room together. The smell of freshly cut grass and disinfectant from the showers filled the air. The lockers were organized, each with its owner's name, and the shirts hung perfectly ironed.
Patri Guijarro was already sitting on the center bench, headphones on and eyes closed, focused on her music. She didn't move when the others entered, but a slight smile formed on her face hearing the bustle. She was always like that: in her bubble before training, but when the moment came, she transformed.
Aitana Bonmatí sat next to her and flicked off one earphone with a quick movement: "What are you listening to, Patri? The same song again?"
"Why do you care, Aitana?" replied Patri, opening one eye. "It's my ritual."
"Your ritual is boring. You should listen to what Kika plays," Aitana said, pointing at the Portuguese player, who was in the corner dancing alone with her headphones on.
Kika Nazareth moved to the rhythm of catchy reggaeton, eyes closed, hips swaying in a way none of the others could imitate. Salma Paralluelo and Vicky López watched from the back, laughing together.
"Kika!" Salma shouted. "You're going to wear yourself out before you even start!"
"It's never before you start!" Kika replied, without stopping her dance, her Portuguese accent marking every word. "This is to warm up the soul."
"Well, warm up the soul but not the muscles," said Marta Torrejón, who had just entered with her bag and a towel around her neck. "You know what the coach says: stretches first, soul later."
"Marta, you're always so serious," Kika said, stopping her dance to hug her. "One of these days I'm going to teach you how to dance properly."
"When that day comes, I'm retiring," Marta replied, laughing and hugging her back.
Claudia Pina was at the other end of the locker room, adjusting the tape on her hands with absolute concentration. Caroline Graham Hansen sat next to her and watched in silence for a few seconds.
"Does your wrist hurt?" Caroline asked in her Norwegian-accented English, soft and measured.
"No, I just like them tight," Claudia responded. "It makes me feel secure."
Caroline nodded slowly and added: "In Norway, when it's cold, we tape our hands too. But it's for the cold, not for security."
"Do you guys play football in the cold there too?" Claudia asked curiously.
"We play in everything. In the snow, on the ice, in the mud..." Caroline smiled, and such a smile was so rare that Claudia stared at her. "That's why we're tough, you know?" she added, rising to go to her locker.
