Chapter Text
Pau Cubarsí had imagined his first day at FC Barcelona at least a hundred times, and in none of those imaginings had he spent the first fifteen minutes of his morning looking for his car keys while wearing one shoe.
He stood in the middle of his bedroom, his right foot planted firmly on the floor and his left still bare, staring at the alarm clock on his bedside table as though the thing had personally betrayed him. It was 7:03 a.m. His alarm had gone off thirty-three minutes earlier, and he had somehow managed to spend almost all that time accomplishing absolutely nothing.
His keys were not on his bedside table, where he was certain he had left them. They were not in the pocket of yesterday’s trousers, which he checked anyway. They were not inside his backpack, beneath his wallet, or on the kitchen counter beside the glass of water he had forgotten to drink before going to bed.
They were, as he would eventually discover, underneath a notebook on his desk. Pau snatched them up, shoved them into his pocket, and hurried back to the mirror to inspect himself. His shirt was tucked in, his pants were clean, and his hair looked reasonably presentable. He ran a hand through it, immediately made it worse, and spent several seconds attempting to restore it to its previous state.
This is fine. You are a normal person. You know how to speak to people. You know how to use a camera. You have done this before. He says to himself in his mind, a desperate attempt to calm his nerves.
Pau sighed, grabbed his bag, and hurried out of his room before he could find another reason to be late. As he passed through the kitchen, he noticed the breakfast he had prepared the night before still sitting untouched on the counter. He considered eating it, looked at the time, and decided that arriving at the Ciutat Esportiva with a rumbling stomach was preferable to arriving after the players.
He locked the front door, checked that it was locked, unlocked it again because he couldn’t remember whether he had actually turned the key, and finally made his way to the car. By the time he started the engine, he had already checked his bag three times before he finally pulled out of the driveway. Today was his first day as an intern with FC Barcelona’s communications team. The thought was enough to make his stomach perform an uncomfortable little somersault.
Pau had loved football long before he understood what he wanted to do with it. As a child, he had been the sort of person who asked too many questions during matches. Why had the referee stopped play? Why had the manager substituted that particular player? Why did one team seem to control the game even when they weren’t scoring? He could spend an entire afternoon arguing about a decision, then spend the evening watching highlights to see whether he had been right.
As he grew older, his interest became less about the result and more about everything surrounding it. He began paying attention to post-match interviews, tactical breakdowns, and the stories that emerged after the final whistle. He noticed how a single photograph could preserve an emotion that a match report might struggle to describe, and how the right question could reveal something a player had never intended to say aloud.
Eventually, football became inseparable from his interest in journalism. He wanted to tell stories. Not necessarily the stories everyone already knew, but the ones hidden in the spaces between the goals, the celebrations, and the statistics. He wanted to understand what happened behind the scenes and learn how to translate those moments into something supporters could connect with.
That was why he had applied for the internship. He still remembered writing his cover letter, sitting at his desk with several browser tabs open and a document that had become progressively longer despite his repeated attempts to shorten it.
He had eventually submitted it at nearly midnight, reread the confirmation email approximately fourteen times, and spent the following weeks pretending he wasn’t anxiously waiting for a response.
Though honestly, he had not been particularly successful at the pretending part. Every morning, he checked his inbox before getting out of bed. Every afternoon, he refreshed it between classes. Every evening, he convinced himself that no news was perfectly normal and that he ought to stop worrying about something he could no longer control.
Then, after months of waiting, the email arrived. He had been sitting at his desk when a notification appeared in the corner of his screen. The sender’s name made him sit up so quickly that he nearly knocked over his water bottle.
FC Barcelona — Communications Department.
For several seconds, he simply stared at it, afraid to open it. That was ridiculous, of course. He had spent months waiting for precisely this email, and now that it had finally arrived, he was behaving as though clicking on it might somehow make the opportunity disappear. After a few minutes of internal panic, he took a breath, clicked, and began reading.
Dear Mr. Cubarsí,
We are pleased to inform you that your application for an internship with the Communications Department of FC Barcelona has been successful. Following a review of your application, academic background, and submitted work samples, we believe you would be a suitable candidate for the position.
During your internship, you will have the opportunity to assist with selected communications activities, including training-ground photography, video production, and other content-related assignments. You will work alongside members of the communications team and receive guidance as you develop your professional skills.
Please report to the Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper on your scheduled start date. Your supervisor will provide further instructions regarding your responsibilities, working arrangements, and assigned tasks upon arrival.
We look forward to welcoming you to the team.
Kind regards,
Gabriel Martínez
Communications Director
FC Barcelona
His application had been successful. He stood up, walked around his room, sat down again, and immediately stood up a second time. He called his family, read the email aloud, and then apologized for reading it aloud because he had already read it aloud and everyone had heard it the first time. When he finally hung up, he returned to his desk and stared at the screen with an enormous, helpless smile.
The excitement had lasted approximately twenty minutes before he remembered something rather important. The internship would account for half of his grade for the semester. It was an incredible opportunity, but it was also a responsibility. He couldn’t simply show up, take a few photographs, and spend the rest of the semester telling people that he had worked with Barça. He had to learn, contribute, and prove that he deserved the place he had been given.
Now, as he drove toward the training facility, that realization returned with enough force to make his hands tighten around the steering wheel. He exhaled slowly and tried to focus on the road. Traffic slowed as he approached the facility, giving him more time to think than he would have liked. He mentally rehearsed his introduction, trying to find a way to explain who he was without sounding as though he had memorized the first paragraph of his résumé.
Hi, I’m Pau. I’m the new intern. Too short. It sounded like he was announcing himself at a support group.
Good morning, my name is Pau Cubarsí, and I’m pleased to be joining the communications team. Too formal. He could practically hear himself stumbling over the word communications.
Hi, I’m Pau. I’m studying journalism, and I’ll be working with you today. That was better. He repeated it under his breath, then immediately wondered whether rehearsing introductions while driving was a sign that he needed professional help.
By the time he reached the training grounds, he had decided that he would simply say hello and hope his brain supplied the rest. He parked the car, switched off the engine, and sat still for a moment. Beyond the windshield, the Ciutat Esportiva stretched out in front of him, its buildings and training areas looking both familiar and strangely unreal. He had seen photographs of the facility countless times, but those images had never captured the feeling of actually being there. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and headed toward the entrance.
A woman stood near the reception area, holding a tablet in one hand and checking her phone with the other. She looked up as Pau approached, and her expression immediately suggested that she knew who he was.
“Pau Cubarsí?”
Pau stopped so abruptly that the strap of his camera bag slipped down his shoulder. “Yes. Hi. Good morning.” He caught the bag before it slid any farther, then extended his hand a fraction too quickly.
The woman looked at his offered hand, then back at his face, smiling as she shook it.“I’m Sarah. We spoke on the phone earlier this week. I gave you the details for today’s schedule.”
“Oh! Yes, of course. Sarah.” Pau nodded with excessive enthusiasm. “Sorry, I recognized your voice when you said your name. Not your voice exactly, I mean, I recognized that we had spoken. On the phone. Obviously.”
“Don’t worry. It’s early. We’re all still waking up,” she assured him.
“Right. Yes. Exactly,” he muttered a little too quickly.
“Did you find the entrance all right?”
“Yes. Perfectly. I did briefly question whether I was in the right place, but I think that was more because I was nervous than because the directions were unclear.”
“That’s normal on your first day. You’ll get used to it.” Sarah glanced at her tablet before gesturing toward the reception desk. “Let’s get your identification card sorted out, and then I’ll show you where you’ll be working.”
At the desk, Sarah exchanged a few words with the staff member behind it before accepting a small plastic card and handing it to him. “Here you go. Make sure you wear it somewhere visible while you’re working.”
Pau looked down at the card. His photograph was printed above his name, and beneath it sat a large designation that seemed determined to communicate his professional status to everyone within a ten-metre radius.
INTERN
“Everything all right?” Sarah asked.
“Yes. Absolutely. I just didn’t realize the word would be quite that large.”
Sarah laughed. “I’m afraid we want people to know who belongs where. It saves everyone a great deal of confusion. Come on. I’ll show you the equipment room and explain what we need from you today.” She gestured towards a hallway and walked a little too quickly.
They passed through a corridor lined with doors, passing staff members who greeted Sarah as they went. Pau tried to memorize the route while listening to her explanation, which proved difficult because his attention kept shifting between the conversation and the increasingly fascinating realization that he was walking through a building associated with FC Barcelona.
He nearly collided with a person coming around the corner. “Sorry,” he blurted out, stepping aside.
When they reached the equipment room, Sarah opened the door and ushered him inside. Shelves held cameras, lenses, tripods, and other equipment, all arranged with the kind of organization Pau immediately respected. He set his bag down carefully and looked around, resisting the urge to touch everything.
“All right,” Sarah began, pulling up the day’s assignment on her tablet. “Today’s relatively straightforward. You’ll be photographing the morning training session and recording some video content for our digital channels. I’m supposed to be handling the session myself, but I have a meeting that overlaps with the training, so you’ll be covering the assignment in my place.”
Pau’s mind was practically doing backflips at the rate she was speaking. “Sorry, just to clarify, you mean I’m covering the photography and the video?”
“Yes.”
“Both?”
“Both.”
“Right.” He nodded slowly. “Of course. Both.”
Sarah studied him for a moment. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“No. No, not at all.” Pau straightened. “I’m comfortable with photography, and I’ve done video work before. I just want to make sure I understand the priorities so I don’t accidentally spend the entire session photographing one person and forget everyone else.”
“Then today is an excellent opportunity to practice.” Sarah handed him the assignment sheet. “We need a balanced selection of images. Individual players, small groups, wider shots of the training, and anything that captures the atmosphere of the session. The video clips should be short and steady, with enough variation that the content team can choose what works best.”
Pau studied the sheet carefully. “Do we have any particular players we’re supposed to prioritize?”
“Not specifically today. Get a good range of the squad. If there’s an important moment during the session, capture it, but don’t forget the general shots. The editors need options, not just a collection of spectacular photographs that happen to feature the same person.”
“Understood.” He paused. “Although I imagine some people are easier to photograph than others.”
“How do you mean?”
“Movement, mostly. Some players are easier to anticipate because of how they position themselves, while others change direction so quickly that you have to be prepared for anything.” He realized he was talking too much and cleared his throat. “Sorry. That’s probably obvious.”
“It’s not a bad observation.” Sarah gestured toward the equipment cabinets. “Before we get into the rest of the assignment, let’s sort out what you’ll be using. Did you bring your own camera?”
“Yes.” Pau reached for his bag. “I brought my camera and lenses. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be expected to supply my own equipment, so I thought it was better to have them with me.”
“Good thinking. What are you using at the moment?”
He took out the camera from his bag and showed her the model. It was a Nikon Z50II. "This is what I'm using right now. Not exactly ideal for shooting from a distance, but it gets the job done." Pau adjusted the lens barrel, checking that the cap was secure before letting it down. "It's autofocus is pretty good too, it can track subjects pretty well. Especially when I'm taking photos of university sports events."
Sarah examined it briefly before nodding. “Keep it with you. For today’s training session, I’d like you to use one of ours.”
Pau glanced at her. “One of yours?”
“Come here,” She said with a smile. She walked over to a secured cabinet and entered a code. After checking the equipment inventory, she opened a padded compartment and carefully lifted out a camera body.
Pau’s attention immediately fixed on it. He knew the camera before he could properly read the label. The Canon EOS R3. For a moment, he genuinely forgot what he was supposed to do with his face. He had seen the R3 in reviews, professional photography discussions, and countless sample galleries. He knew it was a high-end full-frame mirrorless camera designed for demanding work, particularly situations where fast autofocus, reliable subject tracking, and rapid continuous shooting mattered. He had watched sports photographers demonstrate its capabilities and had paused on more than one video to study the way they configured its controls.
He also knew the price. He had checked it often enough to remember that number without wanting to. The R3 cost more than he could reasonably justify spending on a camera at this stage of his life. It was the sort of equipment he imagined using after years of work, if he ever reached a point where his photography could support that kind of investment. For now, it belonged firmly in the category of things he could admire, research, and dream about. And Sarah was holding one as though it were an ordinary part of the morning’s preparations.
“You know this model?” Sarah asked.
He immediately looked away from the camera, as if he had been caught staring at something he wasn’t supposed to touch. “Yes. Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I mean, I’ve read about it. Quite a bit, actually.”
“Good. Then I won’t have to explain every control from scratch.”
“Right.” Pau looked at the camera again. “That’s a Canon EOS R3.”
“It is.”
He nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral and failing miserably.
Sarah’s mouth twitched. “Would you like to hold it, Pau?”
He looked at her, startled. “Am I allowed to?”
“That’s generally why I’m offering it to you.”
“Right. Yes. Obviously.” He put down his own camera bag and accepted the R3 with both hands, taking care to support the body properly. The weight settled into his palms, solid and reassuring. It was not radically different from the equipment he had used before, but the controls, the grip, and the overall construction made him conscious of the camera’s professional purpose.
He had imagined this moment often enough to know what he wanted to inspect first. His thumb found the rear controls, and he glanced at the electronic viewfinder before checking the top display. He recognized the general layout from photographs and demonstrations, though handling the actual camera was an entirely different experience.
He turned it slightly, careful not to fumble it. Oh, this is ridiculous.
He had dreamed about using an R3. He had not expected to be trusted with one before he had even completed his first assignment.
“It’s in good condition,” Sarah remarked. “We use this one for assignments that require reliable autofocus and fast action capture. Training can be unpredictable, and I don’t want you worrying about whether your equipment can keep up.”
Pau swallowed, still looking at the camera. “I can see why.”
“You’ll need to take care of it, of course. Keep the strap secured, don’t leave it unattended, and make sure you return everything to its proper place after the session. If you need to change lenses, do it somewhere clean and safe rather than standing in the middle of the training area.”
“Absolutely.”
“And if you have any doubts about a setting, ask before you change something you aren’t sure about.”
Pau nodded. “Understood.”
He wanted to ask whether the camera was really being assigned to him for the day. He wanted to ask whether there was a particular lens he should use and whether the team had a preferred configuration for training sessions. He also wanted to tell Sarah that he had spent an embarrassing amount of time watching videos about this exact camera, but he decided that might be too much information for a first conversation.
Instead, he asked the question that mattered most. “Which lens would you recommend for the session?”
Sarah reached for a nearby shelf and took out a professional telephoto zoom lens. “This one should give you a useful range from the sidelines. You can work at the longer end for individual action shots and pull back when you need more context. We also have longer lenses available, but I don’t think you’ll need one for today’s assignment.”
Pau accepted the lens and checked the markings. He knew the focal range well enough to understand why she had chosen it. A telephoto zoom would let him frame players tightly without constantly moving closer to the action, while the flexibility of the zoom range would help him respond to changes in distance. He could isolate an individual player during a drill, then widen the composition to show how the surrounding players were moving.
He attached the lens carefully, making sure the mount aligned before rotating it into place. Once it clicked securely, he checked the connection and powered the camera on. As the viewfinder illuminated, Pau brought it to his eye. The room narrowed into a frame. He pointed toward a shelf on the opposite side of the room, adjusted the zoom, and half-pressed the shutter. The autofocus responded quickly, locking onto the details in front of him. He moved toward another object and tried again, watching the focus shift.
A smile began to form before he could stop it. Sarah noticed.
“Better than you expected?”
Pau lowered the camera. “Honestly? I think I expected it to be good, but that’s different from actually using it.”
“That’s usually how it goes.”
He glanced at the controls again, forcing himself to concentrate rather than spend the next five minutes admiring the equipment. “Can I check the settings before we head out?”
“Please do. That’s what the equipment room is for.”
Pau brought up the shooting information and began configuring the camera. He selected continuous autofocus so the camera could keep tracking moving players, then enabled subject tracking to help maintain focus as they changed direction. He set the camera to a fast continuous shooting mode, allowing him to capture a short sequence when the action demanded it.
For the shutter speed, he started at approximately one-thousandth of a second. Fast movement could easily produce motion blur at slower speeds, especially when a player sprinted across the frame or struck the ball. He would adjust the exposure depending on the available light, using the aperture and ISO to maintain a workable balance. He checked the histogram after taking a test shot, then reviewed the image to make sure the exposure was sensible.
Sarah watched him work. “What shutter speed do you normally use for action?”
“It depends on the movement and the light,” Pau replied, his nervousness gradually giving way to the familiar comfort of discussing something he understood. “For fast action, I’d usually start around one-thousandth of a second and adjust from there. If the players are moving quickly, I want to avoid motion blur, but I also need to keep an eye on the exposure. If the light is poor, I might have to raise the ISO rather than compromise too much on shutter speed.”
“And your focus mode?”
“Continuous autofocus, with subject tracking. I’ll keep the shutter in burst mode for the faster sequences, but I’ll try not to take fifty photographs of the same pass just because I can.”
Sarah nodded approvingly. “Good. Remember that the best photograph isn’t always the one with the most dramatic movement. Sometimes the expression or the interaction is what makes it interesting.”
Pau smiled. “That’s actually one of my favorite things about sports photography. You can capture a moment that lasts less than a second, but when you look at it later, there’s an entire story in the frame.”
“Exactly. That’s what we’re looking for.”
He felt himself relax. For the first time that morning, he wasn’t simply the nervous intern trying to remember how to introduce himself. He was talking about something he loved, and Sarah was treating his observations as though they were worth hearing.
She handed him a second piece of equipment. “You’ll also be recording video on this phone. We’ll use the tripod to keep the footage steady. Make sure the frame isn’t too tight, and leave a little room around the subjects in case the editors need to crop it for different formats.”
Pau secured the phone to the tripod and adjusted the height. He checked that the legs were locked, tested the framing, and recorded a few seconds of the equipment room before reviewing the clip.
Sarah glanced at the screen. “That looks fine. You’ll need to reposition it depending on where the activity is happening, but don’t do that in the middle of an exercise unless it’s safe and you’ve been told you can move.”
Pau nodded, listening carefully. “Where should I stand for the photographs?”
“I’ll show you the designated area. The most important thing is to stay behind the boundaries unless a member of the staff authorizes you to move closer. The players need room to work, and you mustn’t obstruct the coaches or interfere with the exercises.”
“Of course.”
“The players should begin arriving around ten. They’ll warm up before the main session starts, which gives you time to check your equipment and adjust your position. After that, follow the assignment sheet and use your judgment where appropriate.”
Pau glanced at the time. He had prepared for the players to arrive at ten, of course. Sarah had told him that on the phone, and he had written it in his notebook twice. Hearing her say it again somehow made the prospect feel much more immediate.
“Right. Ten o’clock.” He nodded, then looked down at his notebook. “I’ve got it written down, actually. Not that I thought you were wrong. I just wanted to make sure I remembered.”
Sarah gave him an amused look. “I can see that you’re going to be very thorough.”
“I’m trying to be.”
“That’s good. Just don’t let your nerves get in the way of your work.”
Pau was about to assure her that he was perfectly calm when her phone began ringing. Sarah glanced at the screen and sighed.
“That’s the meeting coordinator. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to leave now.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.”
She answered the call, listened briefly, and explained that she was on her way. After ending it, she gathered her tablet and checked that Pau had the assignment sheet.
“All right. I’ve got to go upstairs for the meeting. Once training is over, meet me at my office on the third floor of the quarters. We’ll review the photographs and footage, and I’ll give you feedback on your first assignment. Don’t leave before we’ve had a chance to speak.”
“Third floor, your office. Yes.” Pau repeated it, then immediately worried that he sounded as though he were memorizing a military operation. “Sorry. I mean, I’ve got it.”
“Good. And if you have any questions while you’re working, contact me. Don’t guess about something important just because you don’t want to bother someone.”
Pau nodded. “Understood.”
Sarah began walking toward the door, then paused to look back at him. “One last thing, Pau. You’re going to be working around people who do this every day, but you don’t have to pretend you’ve been doing it for years. Pay attention, respect the boundaries, and ask questions when you need to. You’ll learn much more that way.”
He felt a small, grateful smile appear on his face. “Thank you. Really.”
“You’re welcome. Now go take some good photographs.” She disappeared into the corridor before he could think of another way to thank her.
Pau remained standing in the equipment room, the camera resting in his hands. He looked at the camera’s body, then at the lens he had attached, then at the assignment sheet. He had arrived expecting to use his own equipment. Instead, he was holding a camera he had spent months admiring from the other side of a screen, entrusted to him by someone who apparently believed he could handle it.
The excitement was almost unbearable. Don’t drop it. He adjusted the strap securely around his neck. Seriously. Do not drop it. He picked up the tripod and headed for the training area.
-
The training ground looked different once Pau had set up his equipment. From a distance, the pitch seemed enormous, the open space interrupted by the carefully arranged equipment used for the day’s exercises. The grass was bright beneath the morning sun, and the surrounding buildings cast long shadows across the paths. Pau chose a position outside the playing area where he could capture the players without obstructing their movement.
He set down the tripod, extended its legs, and secured the phone in its mount. He checked the frame, adjusted the height, and took a few test seconds of footage before reviewing the result. The first attempt was too low. The second included a distracting section of the background. The third was acceptable, although he suspected he would need to adjust the composition once the players arrived.
He checked the Canon next, confirming that the battery was secure and the memory card was recognized. He reviewed his exposure settings, checked the autofocus configuration, and took several photographs of the empty training area to test the exposure. The images looked good. He had never expected to be using an EOS R3 on his first day. Even now, with the camera secured in his hands, some part of him remained convinced that someone would appear and inform him there had been a terrible administrative mistake.
He was so occupied with checking his settings that he nearly missed the first player walking onto the pitch. Eric García approached with the casual familiarity of someone beginning an ordinary day at work. Pau recognized him immediately and straightened so quickly that the camera strap slipped off his shoulder.
He caught it, raised his head, and tried to look natural. “Bon dia!” he called.
Eric turned toward him, looking momentarily surprised before his expression softened into a smile.
“Bon dia,” he replied, slowing his pace. His gaze moved from Pau’s face to the identification card hanging from his shirt. “You’re new, aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“Yes. First day.” Pau nodded, then realized he was nodding too much and forced himself to stop. “I’m with the communications team. I’ll be taking photographs and recording some of the training today.”
“Ah, right.” Eric glanced at the camera, then back at Pau. “How are you finding it so far?”
“Good. Really good. I mean, I haven’t actually done anything yet, so I probably shouldn’t judge too early. But everyone’s been helpful, and the equipment is great, and I’m very excited to be here.”
Eric laughed softly. “You’re allowed to be excited. It’s your first day.”
“Right. Yes. That’s true.”
“Well, welcome to the club.” Eric gestured toward the training area. “I hope we give you something good to photograph today.”
“I’m sure you will.” Pau smiled, then added, “Although I suppose that depends on how well you all play.” The words escaped before he could stop them. For one dreadful second, he wondered whether he had just insulted an entire football team on his first day of employment.
Then Eric laughed. “That’s fair enough,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll tell the others we have to perform for the camera now.”
Pau laughed with him, his embarrassment easing in. “Please don’t. I’ll be blamed if everyone starts trying too hard.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Eric gave him a final friendly nod before continuing toward the pitch. “Good luck today, Pau.”
“Thank you. Good luck with training.”
Eric moved away, and Pau watched him go with a grin he couldn’t quite suppress. That had gone well. He had greeted a player, had a conversation without saying anything catastrophically embarrassing, and somehow managed to make a joke. If the rest of the day continued like that, he might actually survive.
More players began arriving, and his confidence was immediately tested. Pedri appeared among them, chatting with Anthony Gordon as they made their way toward the training area. Pau recognized him at once and had to remind himself that staring was not a professional photography technique. Fermín López arrived shortly afterward, followed by several others. Some greeted members of the staff, while others continued their conversations as they walked.
Pau raised his camera and began taking photographs, concentrating on his assignment whenever he felt the urge to become distracted by the fact that he was standing only a short distance away from people he had watched on television for years.
He captured a few wide shots of the players gathering, followed by individual photographs as they began stretching and preparing for the session. He paid attention to the light, adjusting his position slightly to avoid harsh shadows and ensure that the players remained sharply focused.
Then he saw Lamine Yamal. Pau recognized him before he consciously registered that he was looking at him. He had watched Lamine play enough times to recognize his movements, his mannerisms, and the familiar confidence with which he carried himself around the pitch.
For a moment, Pau forgot what he was doing. He had photographed famous players before, but this was different. He was working for the club now, and the person walking toward him was not an image on a television screen or a photograph on a social media account. Lamine was here, approaching the training area casually.
Pau instinctively straightened his back. He considered greeting him, just as he had greeted Eric. It seemed reasonable. He was new, Lamine was one of the players he would be photographing, and introducing himself might make the working relationship less awkward.
He rehearsed the words in his head. Hi, Lamine. I’m Pau. I’m the new intern with the communications team.
Lamine approached, glanced toward him, and then looked at the identification card hanging from Pau’s shirt. His eyes lingered on the word INTERN before moving to the camera.
Pau waited for him to say something. A greeting would have been nice. A nod would have been enough. Even a brief acknowledgment that he had noticed Pau’s existence would have made the interaction feel less like standing in front of a particularly unimpressed statue. Instead, Lamine looked away and continued walking. Pau’s mouth remained slightly open. Perhaps Lamine hadn’t heard him. Pau hadn’t actually said anything, after all. He had merely stood there imagining a conversation and then felt disappointed when it failed to occur.
That was his own fault. He adjusted the camera strap and turned back toward the pitch, determined not to make a big deal out of an interaction that had barely happened. Still, the encounter left a small, unpleasant impression. He had expected Lamine to be busy. He had expected the players to be focused on training. He hadn’t expected anyone to go out of their way to be friendly, but he hadn’t expected to feel quite so invisible, either.
Pau shook off the thought. He wasn’t there to make friends. He was there to work. The warm-up began, and Pau finally found his rhythm.
He moved between his camera and the tripod, capturing the players as they stretched, jogged, and completed their preliminary exercises. He paid attention to the changing light, the direction of movement, and the moments when two players happened to interact in ways that made a photograph more interesting.
The work was demanding, but it was also deeply satisfying. Each time he looked through the viewfinder, the chaos of the training ground became a little more manageable. He could isolate a moment, compose the frame, and decide exactly what he wanted the viewer to notice.
For a while, he forgot to be nervous. Then the main session began, and he forgot everything else. There was something extraordinary about watching professional footballers train at close range. On television, a pass could appear effortless and a player’s movement into space like an obvious decision. From the sidelines, Pau could see the concentration required to make those movements appear so natural.
He watched a player glance over his shoulder before receiving the ball, then turn into space with a single touch. He followed another as he accelerated into position, his teammates adjusting around him almost instinctively. Every movement seemed to lead into the next, creating a sequence of decisions that Pau could barely process quickly enough to photograph.
He adjusted his position slightly to capture the next sequence, watching through the viewfinder as the players moved across the frame. He could feel himself becoming absorbed in the action, his attention narrowing until the camera seemed like an extension of his own eyes.
This was what he had wanted. Not simply to be near famous players, but to understand the game from a different perspective. To see the work behind the performance and capture the details that might otherwise disappear the moment the session ended.
He spotted an opportunity for a closer shot and shifted sideways. The angle was better. He could see the players more clearly, and the light was falling across the pitch in a way that would make the images particularly striking. He took several photographs, checked the results, and stepped backward to avoid someone passing behind him.
Then he moved forward again. He was so focused on composing the next shot that he failed to notice how far he had drifted from his original position. He raised the camera, found his subject, and pressed the shutter.
At that exact moment, Lamine moved into his path. Pau lowered the camera too late.
Their shoulders collided, sending Pau stumbling half a step backward. He tightened his grip on the camera strap, his heart leaping into his throat as he realized he had just walked directly into a player during training. “Oh, God. I’m sorry,” he blurted out, lowering the camera immediately. “I didn’t see you. Are you all right?”
Lamine turned toward him. The expression on his face made Pau wish, briefly and irrationally, that he had chosen a different career. “What are you doing?” Lamine demanded.
Pau blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness of his voice. “I was taking a photograph. I didn’t mean to-”
“You’re not supposed to be in this far!” Lamine interrupted, gesturing toward the area behind Pau. His voice was loud enough to attract a few brief glances from nearby players. “Can’t you see we’re training? You can’t just stand wherever you want.”
Pau felt the blood rush to his face. “I know. I’m sorry.” He stepped backward immediately, nearly catching his heel against a small piece of equipment. “I thought I was still outside the boundary, but I must’ve moved forward without realizing it. I wasn’t trying to get in anyone’s way.”
“Well, you are in the way,” Lamine replied, his expression still irritated. “You need to pay attention to where you’re standing. We’re trying to train here, not work around someone walking into the middle of the exercise.”
The words landed harder than Pau expected. He knew he had made a mistake. He had been distracted by the photographs and hadn’t paid enough attention to his position. Lamine was right about the important part: the training area wasn’t somewhere he could wander around without thinking. But there was something about the way Lamine spoke to him that made Pau feel as though he had done something unforgivable rather than made an ordinary mistake on his first day.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, because apparently his brain had decided that those were the only two words available to him. “It won’t happen again.”
Lamine held his gaze for another moment before turning away. “Just...stay out of the way.”
Then he returned to the exercise, leaving Pau standing awkwardly beside the boundary, his camera hanging against his chest. For several seconds, Pau didn’t move. He could feel the attention of the nearby players fading as the training resumed, but the embarrassment remained. His ears were hot, his grip on the camera was too tight, and he was suddenly conscious of every movement he made.
He had wanted to make a good impression. Instead, he had managed to collide with one of the players he was supposed to photograph and get shouted at in front of half the team. Wonderful.
He looked down at his camera, checking automatically that it was still functioning. The equipment was fine. No damage, no warning lights, no broken lens. At least he hadn’t managed to destroy something expensive in addition to his dignity. Lamine had been right about the boundary. Pau had to own that. He had been too absorbed in his work, and he needed to be more careful about where he positioned himself. Sarah had explained the rules, and he should have followed them more closely. But the rest of it? Pau wasn’t entirely sure that he deserved to be spoken to like that.
He stepped farther back, deliberately choosing a position that left no room for doubt about whether he was allowed to stand there. He checked the assignment sheet again, confirmed the boundaries, and resumed photographing the session.
This time, he paid attention to everything. He monitored his position, checked the movement around him, and made sure he wasn’t obstructing anyone. Whenever the players shifted across the pitch, he adjusted his angle only when he could do so safely.
It was frustrating to have to think about his position so constantly, but he refused to make the same mistake twice. He also refused to let Lamine ruin his first day. That was easier said than done. Every time Lamine entered his frame, Pau became acutely aware of him. He noticed when the player moved closer, when he changed direction, and when he glanced toward the sidelines.
Pau had to remind himself repeatedly that he was supposed to be photographing the session rather than monitoring the movements of the person who had shouted at him. It was ridiculous. He had spent years admiring Lamine’s football. Now he was beginning to associate the player with an unpleasant voice and the sensation of being publicly humiliated.
As the session progressed, Pau gradually recovered his concentration. He began to notice the small moments again: a quick exchange between teammates, a player adjusting his position before a pass, and the expressions that appeared when an exercise became more competitive. He captured several photographs that he was genuinely pleased with, including a sequence showing the players moving through a rapid passing drill. The more he concentrated on the work, the less room there was for embarrassment.
By the time the players moved into a competitive exercise near the end of the session, Pau was working almost instinctively. He followed the movement of the ball, anticipated changes in direction, and took photographs in short bursts rather than holding down the shutter continuously. Lamine was among the players in one of the groups, alongside Pedri and several teammates. Pau kept his distance, carefully framing the action from his designated position.
The exercise ended with one group celebrating a successful sequence. Pedri said something that made Lamine grin, and another player clapped him on the shoulder as they walked away from the drill. Pau caught the moment. The photograph was good.
Not because Lamine was in it, although he was certainly recognizable, but because the image captured a genuine interaction between teammates. Their expressions were relaxed, the movement looked natural, and the composition communicated the sense of camaraderie Pau had hoped to find in the training session.
He took a few more photographs before lowering his camera. For a moment, he considered deleting the ones featuring Lamine. It was an immature thought, and he knew it. The photographs were part of his assignment, and his personal opinion of a player had nothing to do with whether the images were useful. He wasn’t going to compromise his work because someone had been rude to him. Besides, the photographs were good. Pau would be damned if he let Lamine Yamal ruin a perfectly decent set of photographs.
When the training session finally ended, Pau checked his equipment and reviewed a selection of images. His shoulders were sore, and the camera strap had begun to feel heavier than it had that morning, but he was pleased with the results. He had captured the warm-ups, the main exercises, individual action shots, and several moments of interaction between the players. The video footage looked stable, and he had enough variety to give the communications team options.
Most importantly, he had completed the assignment. He packed the equipment carefully, stopped the final recording, and checked that the files had been saved correctly. Then he looked at the time and remembered Sarah’s instructions. Third floor. Her office.
He collected his things and headed back inside. The building seemed more complicated on the way back. Pau found himself checking the signs more frequently than necessary, worried that he would somehow end up in the wrong corridor and have to explain to a stranger that he was a lost intern looking for a woman whose office he had been told to find approximately three hours earlier.
He took the stairs, reached the third floor, and followed the corridor until he found a door that appeared to match Sarah’s description. He stopped outside it. He raised his hand, hesitated, lowered it, and checked the name on the door to make sure he hadn’t somehow mistaken the floor. Then he knocked.
“Come in,” Sarah called.
Pau opened the door and stepped inside, careful not to let it swing shut too quickly behind him. Sarah was seated at her desk, reviewing something on her computer. Several documents lay beside her keyboard, and a cup of coffee stood near the edge of the desk. She looked up as he entered and immediately smiled.
“There you are. How did everything go?”
Pau set the equipment down carefully before answering. “I think it went well. I mean, the assignment went well. The photographs are done, and I’ve got the video footage here.” He held up the phone, then realized that she could already see it. “Obviously. Because I’m holding it.”
Sarah looked at him for a moment. Then she laughed.
Pau closed his eyes briefly. "I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“You don’t need to apologize for that.” She gestured toward the desk. “Come over here. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Pau handed her the phone, then removed the memory card from his camera and passed it to her. He explained how he had organized the photographs and the kinds of images he had tried to capture. “I got a mixture of wider shots and individual photographs,” he said, leaning slightly toward the screen as Sarah opened the files. “I tried to capture the players during the exercises, but I also looked for moments between the drills. There are a few photographs of them talking to each other, and some from the last exercise when one of the groups finished.”
Sarah began scrolling through the images. “That’s good. We need variety. Let’s have a look.”
The first few photographs were straightforward training shots. Sarah moved through them, occasionally pausing to examine the composition or enlarge an image to check the focus. Pau stood beside her desk, trying not to look as though he were waiting for the results of a medical examination.
Then Sarah stopped. “Oh, this one’s nice.”
Pau leaned forward. The photograph showed several players in the middle of a passing exercise.
Sarah enlarged it. “Look at the timing here. You’ve captured the movement just before the pass, so the photograph tells us something about what’s happening next. And the background isn’t distracting from the players. That’s a very good frame.”
Pau felt his shoulders relax. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure whether I was getting the timing right, because everything happens so quickly when they’re moving across the pitch.”
“That’s something you’ll improve with experience. You have to learn to anticipate the movement rather than simply react to it.” Sarah moved to the next photograph. “And your angles are good. You’ve given us different perspectives instead of taking the same photograph from the same position all morning.”
Pau smiled, unable to stop himself. “That’s good to hear.”
“It is. This one, for example, gives us a much better sense of the exercise than a close-up would.” She clicked through several more images. “And these are useful because they show the players interacting with each other. You haven’t made every photograph about the ball.”
Pau looked at the screen, recognizing the sequence he had captured near the end of the session. “I thought those moments might be useful for the behind-the-scenes content. Sometimes the photographs between the exercises tell you more about the atmosphere than the action itself.”
Sarah turned toward him, looking genuinely pleased. “Exactly. That’s what I want you to pay attention to. We’re documenting training, but we’re also creating content for people who want to feel connected to the team. The images need to be technically good, of course, but they should also communicate something.”
Pau nodded, feeling a little more confident with every word.He had been worried that his nervousness would show in the photographs, that the hours of anticipation and the awkwardness of his first interactions would somehow translate into the work. Instead, Sarah was pointing out things he had done well, and he was beginning to believe that he might actually be capable of doing this job.
She opened the video files next “The footage is steady,” she observed, watching a short clip before moving to the next. “That’s important. You’ve also left enough space around the subjects that we can crop the clips if we need to adapt them for different formats.”
“I tried to keep the framing fairly simple. I wasn’t sure how much movement would be happening around the phone, so I didn’t want to make the composition too complicated.”
“That was a sensible decision. As you become more familiar with the sessions, you can experiment with different angles and compositions. For your first assignment, I would rather see steady, usable footage than something ambitious that we can’t actually use.”
Pau let out a quiet breath of relief. “Good. I was worried that it might be too basic.”
“Basic isn’t the same as bad. A simple shot that does its job is much more useful than an elaborate shot that doesn’t.” She returned to the photographs and spent several more minutes reviewing them. Pau answered her questions about the angles he had chosen and explained why he had preferred certain positions over others.
As the conversation continued, he became less self-conscious. Talking about the work gave him something concrete to focus on, and he was beginning to enjoy the process of explaining his decisions.
Eventually, Sarah leaned back in her chair and looked at him. “Overall, Pau, this is a very good first assignment. Your timing is promising, your angles are thoughtful, and you’ve clearly been paying attention to what’s happening on the pitch rather than simply pointing the camera at whoever happens to be closest.”
Pau felt a grin spread across his face. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
“You should. You’ve done good work.” Sarah folded her hands on the desk. “You’ll still have plenty to learn, and we’ll go over the technical details as you get more experience, but you’ve given us material we can work with. That’s exactly what I wanted to see today.”
He nodded, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. “That’s a relief. I was nervous this morning. I think I checked the memory cards about fifteen times before anyone even arrived.”
“Only fifteen?”
Pau laughed. “Possibly more. I stopped counting after I checked the camera settings for the third time.”
“Then I’d say you did very well, considering.” She gave him a final encouraging smile. “I’ll be expecting more from you next time.”
“I’ll do my best.” Pau hesitated, then added, “And I’ll try to make sure the next assignment involves fewer opportunities for me to embarrass myself.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”
“No!” He answered too quickly, then shook his head. “No, not at all. Everything was fine. I just had a small incident during training, but I’ve corrected it, and it won’t happen again.”
Sarah’s expression became more attentive. “What sort of incident?”
Pau hesitated. He could explain the whole thing. He could tell her that he had moved too far into the training area, collided with Lamine, and received a rather sharp reprimand. It would be reasonable to ask for clarification about the boundaries, particularly since he wanted to avoid making the same mistake again.
But he also didn’t want to make the situation sound worse than it was. “I got a little too absorbed in taking photographs and moved farther forward than I should have,” he admitted. “One of the players pointed it out, and I moved back. I should’ve been more careful about my position.”
Sarah nodded, taking the explanation seriously. “All right. I’m glad you corrected it. Next time, if you’re unsure about a position, check with me or another member of the staff. We can show you where you’re permitted to stand.”
“I will. Definitely.”
“And don’t let the camera distract you from your surroundings. You need to watch the action, but you also need to be aware of where you are.”
“Understood.”
Sarah gave him another reassuring smile, then returned to the assignment files. Pau felt better. He had made a mistake, but he had acknowledged it, and now he knew what to do differently. That was what an internship was for. He packed his equipment, thanked Sarah again, and headed toward the door.
“See you next time, Pau,” she called after him.
“Thank you for everything. Have a good afternoon!” He stepped into the corridor and carefully closed the door behind him. For the first time all day, he felt genuinely proud of himself.
He walked through the corridors again, navigating his way through the parking lot. Pau was almost at the exit when he saw Lamine again. The player was walking toward the doors with his phone in one hand, apparently occupied with whatever was on the screen. Pau stopped for half a second, his first instinct being to turn around and take the stairs back to Sarah’s office, where he could pretend he had forgotten something.
It was a ridiculous idea. He wasn’t going to spend the entire internship avoiding someone simply because their first interaction had gone badly. He was an intern, and Lamine was a player he might have to photograph or work around repeatedly. Whatever had happened on the pitch, they were going to share the same professional environment. It would be better to clear the air now.
Pau adjusted the strap of his bag and approached him. “Hey, Lamine?”
Lamine looked up from his phone. Recognition crossed his face, followed by an expression Pau couldn’t quite interpret. It wasn’t exactly surprise. It was closer to the look someone might give a person who had interrupted them at an inconvenient time. “What?”
Pau immediately regretted approaching him. Still, he had come this far. “About earlier,” he began, shifting the weight of his bag from one shoulder to the other. “I just wanted to apologize properly. I know I shouldn’t have moved that far into the training area. I got a little too focused on taking photographs, and I didn’t realize I’d crossed the boundary.”
Lamine said nothing. Pau continued, because the silence was making him nervous and nervousness had always been his worst enemy when it came to conversations. “I’m new to the communications team, so I’m still learning how everything works around here. That’s not an excuse, obviously. I should’ve paid more attention to where I was standing, and I understand why you were frustrated. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t trying to get in your way.”
He gave a small, uncertain smile. “I’ll be more careful next time.”
Lamine looked at him for a moment. Pau waited, hoping for some indication that his apology had been accepted. He wasn’t expecting Lamine to invite him for coffee or suddenly become his best friend. A simple acknowledgment would have been enough. Even a brief it’s fine would have allowed them to move on.
Instead, Lamine slipped his phone into his pocket and looked away. For one hopeful second, Pau thought he was about to respond.
Then Lamine muttered, “Estúpido.”
The word was quiet, almost casual, but there was no mistaking it. Pau’s smile disappeared. Lamine walked past him without another word, pushing through the exit and leaving Pau standing in the corridor with his mouth slightly open. He remained still for several seconds, trying to convince himself that he had heard incorrectly. Perhaps Lamine had said something else.
Perhaps the word had been directed at someone behind him. Perhaps he had misunderstood the entire interaction, and the universe was about to reveal that this had all been an elaborate misunderstanding. No such revelation arrived.
Pau turned his head and watched Lamine disappear outside. “Oh, you’re unbelievable,” he muttered.
He had apologized. Properly. He had admitted that he had made a mistake, explained what had happened, and promised to be more careful. He had approached Lamine because he wanted to be professional, because he didn’t want a single awkward interaction to become an ongoing problem. And Lamine had called him stupid.
Pau let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he adjusted his bag. He had admired this boy’s football for years. He had watched him play with a kind of fascination that made even the most ordinary matches feel exciting. He had marveled at his confidence, his skill, and the way he seemed capable of turning a difficult situation into an opportunity.
Pau had expected him to be busy. He had expected him to be focused on training. He had even expected that Lamine might not be particularly interested in talking to an intern. But he hadn’t expected him to be so unpleasant. There was a difference between being direct and being rude. There was a difference between correcting someone’s mistake and making them feel small for having made it.
Apparently, Lamine Yamal had not learned the difference. Pau walked toward the exit, his earlier pride gradually being replaced by irritation. He had worked hard to earn this internship, and he refused to let one player determine whether he enjoyed it. Sarah had liked his photographs. Eric had been friendly. The work had been interesting, and he had learned more in a single morning than he could have learned from a dozen online tutorials.
He would focus on those things. He would return to the Ciutat Esportiva, follow the instructions, and do his job. He would take excellent photographs, produce good content, and make sure that the communications team could rely on him.
And if Lamine Yamal happened to appear in front of his camera again, Pau would photograph him with the same professionalism he gave everyone else. He would not complain. He would not retaliate. He would not let himself be distracted. He would simply do his job.
Pau reached his car, threw his bag onto the passenger seat, and sat behind the wheel. He stared at the steering wheel for a moment before starting the engine, his mind replaying the encounter despite his best efforts to stop thinking about it. His first day at Barcelona had been everything he had hoped for and, in one very specific respect, considerably worse.
He had discovered that he loved the work. He had received encouragement from his supervisor. He had captured photographs he was genuinely proud of, and he had begun to understand what it meant to tell stories through a camera. He had also discovered that Lamine Yamal was, in his personal and entirely unprofessional opinion, an absolute nightmare of a human being.
Pau started the car. He would get over it. He had more important things to think about, including his next assignment, his university responsibilities, and the fact that he had forgotten to eat breakfast. Still, as he pulled out of the parking space and headed toward the road, one thought followed him all the way out of the training grounds.
He hated Lamine Yamal. And if this was what working at FC Barcelona was going to be like, Pau had a feeling that this internship was going to be considerably more complicated than he had anticipated.