Chapter Text
The notifications started hitting phone screens at 11:41 a.m. On the 29th of May, 2026. A synchronized chorus of digital panic that stretched from the beaches of Barcelona to the midnight streets of Madrid.
It started with a single, devastating graphic.
[HERE WE GO!]
@FabrizioRomano
BREAKING: Real Madrid have triggered the $350 million release clause for Pau Cubarsi. Barcelona have just been informed. Pau Cubarsi did NOT push to leave Barcelona. The player’s camp was blindsided by the sudden activation of the $350 million clause.
Barcelona’s current restrictions meant they could not legally register Cubarsi’s new contract. Madrid exploited this loophole and the player was left with no choice as Barcelona needed the $350 million injection to avoid catastrophic sanctions.
Florentino Perez has authorized the historic, record breaking payment. Cubarsi has already accepted terms. Jose Mourinho ‘The Special One’, set to be unveiled as Real Madrid manager tomorrow, personally demanded the signing as his first condition.
History in the making. Here we go.
Within ninety seconds, Twitter practically imploded;
@CulesCentral: Tell me this is a joke. Tell me he didn’t do this. $350 million is a joke right? He took the move so Barca wouldn’t go bankrupt? I feel sick!
@MadridistaTotal: MOURINHO YOU ABSOLUTE MADMAN! Bro hasn’t even signed his contract yet and he’s already burning Barca to the ground! HALA MADRID SIEMPRE!
@Barca123Fan: He sacrificed his dream for the club. This is devastating. Pau is going to Madrid with tears in his eyes!
@TheEuropeanGame: Real Madrid triggering a $350 million clause for an 18 year-old La Masia graduate is the most villainous, Mourinho coded transfer window opening in football history.
Over on Instagram, the comment section on Pau’s latest post- a harmless photo of him training in a blaugrana shirt from three weeks ago was updating at a rate of a thousand comments per minute. The snake emojis entirely eclipsed the blue-and-red hearts.
The Madridista Rebellion
In the Bernabeu press room, the walls set up with the traditional white backdrop looked a bit different that day. Jose Mourinho walked in precisely at midnight, flanked by Perez. The Portuguese manager entirely in his element-smirking, eyes gleaming with the chaotic energy of a man who thought he was the greatest manager in the history of the beautiful game.
As he was answering questions, a reporter blurted out the question on everyone’s mind. “Jose! Jose! The news about Pau-Pau Cubarsi…. $350 million, is it true?”
Mourinho leaned into the microphone, a slow deliberate smile spreading across his face. ‘I am the special one’ He said, looking directly at the camera lens that he knew was broadcasting to millions.
“Good evening,” Mourinho began, his nasal voice spreading across the room. “you know… Some clubs like to talk about philosophy. They like to talk about DNA and about academies. They build beautiful walls around their treasures.”
He paused, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table.
But when Madrid wants to build the future, we don’t look at the walls. We just knock on the door. And if the door is locked, we buy the house.” He shrugged. “The clause is paid, Cubarsi belongs to the Bernabeu now, let the season begin.”
J.U.D.A.S.
Inside the private jet charter arranged by Real Madrid, the atmosphere is deathly silent.
Pau sits by the window, staring out at the fading lights of El Prat airport as the plane climbs into the night sky toward Madrid. His phone is face-down on the seat next to him, buzzing continuously with texts from his La Masia teammates, Gavi, Lamine, Bernie. Not messages of anger, but of heartbreak. ‘We know it wasn't you, bro. Take care.’
Across the aisle, his agent is quietly whispering into a phone, finalizing the logistics of a medical exam that Pau never expected to take.
Pau looks down at his hands. He hadn't asked for the $350 million price tag. He hadn't asked for Florentino Pérez tto force Barcelona into a corner where they had to accept the money to survive. He was just an 18-year-old kid who wanted to play for his boyhood club, now carrying the weight of the most controversial transfer in modern football history.
The plane shifts, leveling out at cruising altitude. The pilot’s voice comes over the intercom: "We will be landing in Madrid in forty-five minutes, Señor Cubarsí."
He doesn't answer. He just looks out into the dark, knowing that tomorrow, he has to look José Mourinho face to face, and somehow find a way to wear the drab white shirt.