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Barcelona still surprises Hansi.
He always wanted to coach Barça, he studied Catalan and the club’s history in preparation, but he wasn’t expecting the kids.
He thought he understood it from the outside. He watched them in matches, read reports, and looked at the numbers.
But now he works with them— has gotten to know them— and they’re something else entirely. These kids are too good for their age. Too clever on the ball. Sometimes, watching them, Hansi forgets they’re just teenagers.
Other times, they make sure he remembers.
Like now.
He hears the laughter before he even turns around.
The laughing and cheering boys isn’t what makes Hansi stop in his tracks. It’s the hair.
It’s blond. Extremely blond.
The dark curls on Lamine’s head are now a loud, unnatural, nearly fluorescent shade of blond. Platinum, maybe. Some curls are straw-yellow, others nearly white. The texture has changed too, frizzed at the edges like the hair was fried by summer and poor decisions.
For a moment, Hansi wonders if he’s hallucinating. Or if this is some kind of prank. Maybe a wig?
No, it definitely isn’t a wig.
“What did you do this time?” His tone is dry, but there’s no real bite. More father than coach. Maybe even grandfather.
Lamine grins. “Looks cool, no?”
He pats the boy’s head. The hair actually crunches under his fingers.
“Too much?” Lamine asks, like he already knows the answer.
“Too dry,” Hansi answers. “You need conditioner.”
Lamine beams, braces and all.
It’s the off-season and the training ground is mostly empty. All he can hear is the hum of maintenance work and the distant thud of a ball.
Hansi is walking down the corridors anyway. Old habits. He wants to know who puts in the extra effort when no one’s watching.
“Míster!”
That loud voice is distinctly Gavi. Hansi instinctively turns around to face him.
Hansi’s jaw drops to the floor.
The first thing he sees is Gavi’s hair. It’s no longer brown. It’s white-blond, almost silver under the fluorescent lights, clashing violently with his sunburnt skin.
Hansi’s biological children and grandchildren have never given him these kinds of shocks.
“You too?” Hansi questions. He isn’t at Bayern or with Germany anymore. This is his life now. He’s a part-time coach and a part-time babysitter.
“Do I want to know why you bleached your hair?”
“It was Lamine’s idea.”
Of course it was.
Hansi missed this.
The pre-season is alive with activity. His players are back from their holidays and the staff is rushing around setting up cones, kits, and balls.
Lamine walks in. He’s still blond.
Gavi follows, also blond.
They’re chatting about something, and Frenkie’s already there, chuckling with them. His own natural blond looks tame in comparison, almost brown next to the bleached high-voltage peroxide blonde mops of hair on the kids’ heads.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Hansi sees a tall blond figure walking across his side of the pitch.
Hansi squints. Nobody in the squad is that tall and that blond. Not unless Haaland showed up early, which, unfortunately, he hasn’t yet.
The figure gets closer. He looks familiar.
And then he turns around.
Hansi stops cold.
Robert.
His hair is bleached blond, blindingly so.
Hansi knows Robert likes Justin Timberlake, but he didn’t think he liked him this much.
Hansi opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He tries again.
“You too?” he finally manages. He’s witnessing FC Barcelona turn into FC Blondcelona. Who’s next? Cubarsí? Héctor? Balde?
Robert just shrugs. “Lamine and Gavi convinced me.”
That explains everything.
Hansi sighs and rubs his temples. He isn’t going to make a scene, not when his newly-blond players look so pleased with themselves.
“These kids,” he mutters, even though Robert is a thirty-six-year-old man. But then again, he is fond of making TikToks like the youngsters, isn’t he?
“What’s going on?” a gruff voice asks.
Hansi swivels his head.
Tek— thankfully not holding something he can smoke— has also bleached his hair blond.
Hansi isn’t even surprised anymore. “Not you too.”
Tek grins. “Team spirit.”
“Míster!” Lamine calls. “You should go blond too!”
At this rate, Hansi won’t have any hair left to dye.