The Next Big Thing
Chapter 124: Bayern vs Barcelona II

Chapter 124: Bayern vs Barcelona II

"And we are underway," David mumbled between bites, his attention fixed on the screen.

Zoey’s voice followed almost immediately, dripping with playful sarcasm. "I didn’t know you wanted to be a commentator. Maybe you’re wasting your talents playing ball."

David gave a dry, unimpressed laugh. "Ha ha. So funny." He barely paused before continuing, "That attitude of yours is exactly why Bayern is going to tear Barça a new one tonight. Just watch."

Zoey scoffed. "Not possible. We are winning this."

David didn’t argue further. Instead, he focused on the pitch. Bayern had just lost possession early in the game—a sharp steal from Frenkie de Jong, who quickly passed the ball backward to maintain control. Barcelona was playing well, holding possession, shifting the ball around with ease. Even so, David wasn’t convinced. It was still early, and he knew all too well how deceiving a strong start could be.

Zoey, however, had no such doubts.

"Ooooh, we are so winning this! I can’t wait for PSG in the final." Her excitement was evident in her voice, her confidence unwavering.

David, still chewing, finally responded. "I’m not even arguing anymore. The match is already on. But what makes you so sure you’re even reaching PSG in the finals? There’s still the semis. And for all you know, you could be facing Leipzig, not PSG. I wanted to say something the last time you mentioned that."

Zoey dismissed him instantly, as if his point wasn’t even worth considering.

"Are you joking right now? The winner—which, again, is Barça—is going to face Lyon in the semis. And there is absolutely no way PSG is losing against Leipzig. Football is unpredictable, but not that unpredictable. When we win this and beat Lyon—ooh, I cannot wait to handle PSG. I need that team."

David exhaled, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah." He wasn’t about to argue about unpredictability. He believed in the chaos of football just as much as anyone, but there was no way he was going to entertain the idea that Lyon or Leipzig would make the final. The big teams were big teams for a reason.

Still, something in Zoey’s tone caught his interest.

"Wait... why the hate on PSG so much?" He turned his attention briefly from the game, confused by the venom in her voice whenever she mentioned them.

Zoey, on the other hand, found his question even more confusing. "Why this foolish question? Isn’t it obvious? They stole my baby!"

David blinked. "What?"

Without hesitation, Zoey declared, "My prince—Neymar. That oil-money club stole him away from us."

David just stared at the screen, shaking his head with a smirk before turning to Zoey. "What are you even saying? They didn’t steal Neymar—he chose to leave. Your ’prince’ was seduced, that’s all," he said, laughing at her.

Zoey, however, refused to entertain such an idea. "Why would they offer that kind of money in the first place? And not just that—even his father, I’m sure he was involved. Neymar literally called our board and told them he wasn’t leaving, so something must have happened. They must have done something!" Her voice was laced with frustration, clinging to a belief that blamed everyone but Neymar himself. In her mind, it was never his decision—it was always someone else’s fault.

David chuckled as he took another bite of his hotdog. "I thought he left because he was tired of being in Messi’s shadow. And it’s funny you say that—didn’t you tell me to leave my former club? Isn’t that basically the same thing? And let’s not forget, you left your former team too. Talk about hypocrisy." He laughed lightly, finishing his second hotdog.

Zoey scoffed, clearly unimpressed. "That whole ’Messi’s shadow’ talk is dumb. Messi was actually making him a better player. Since he left, what has he won of real substance? And if you were in his position, would you have left?"

David barely blinked before responding, his tone flat. "My star power is too bright to be covered."

"Exactly! he was still shinning there he could have won the ballon d’or no I’m sure he would have one" Zoey exclaimed, as if she had just proven her point. "And besides, Messi is older—he would’ve retired before Neymar, and then Neymar could’ve led the next generation of players at Barcelona."

David exhaled, shrugging. "Yeah, I guess that’s true."

Zoey, sensing victory, pressed on. "It was all about the money. That’s why he left."

David leaned back slightly, nodding absentmindedly. "If you say so."

Still, he couldn’t help but recall everything he had read about that transfer. Neymar’s wages at PSG were reportedly double what he was earning at Barcelona. And that €222 million transfer fee to break his release clause? The highest in history. Even now, the sheer amount still made his head spin. Maybe Zoey had a point—maybe money was the real reason behind the move.

But Zoey wasn’t done yet.

"And it’s not hypocrisy," she countered, her voice sharper now. "I left my team to better myself, to further my career. Yes, I earn more now, but that was just a byproduct of the move, not the main reason. And you also left to play at a higher level. Yet Neymar? He was at one of the best clubs in the world, about to hit his peak, and then he went to France? Are you joking? That’s a downgrade. It was all for the money—I’m sure of it. And I bet his dad got in his head too."

David honestly didn’t care enough to keep debating. Neymar had his own reasons for leaving—whether it was money, ambition, or personal choice, only he knew why he did it. David never liked guessing why players made their moves.

But then, for a moment, he imagined himself in Neymar’s situation. What would he have done?

He figured he probably would’ve stayed. Yes, he left Derby, but like Zoey said, that was an upgrade. Neymar, on the other hand... sure, he had been a beast at PSG, sometimes even playing at a higher level than he did at Barcelona. But David had to admit, no matter how good Neymar had been individually, PSG as a club was still a step down from Barcelona.

Oh well, that was that.

He focused back on the match, with Barça still in possession. But just then, something happened.

Zoey started to say, "And also—" but before she could finish, David suddenly interrupted, putting down his cheeseburger.

"Let’s go! Let’s go!" he said loudly, quickly making Zoey shut up and focus on the match as well. He figured that was the case since she didn’t say another word.

It was the fourth minute, and Barça had just lost the ball—courtesy of Frenkie de Jong, who misplaced a pass from Sergio Busquets. Thomas Müller managed to poke a foot in, stealing the ball, and Serge Gnabry pounced on the loose ball instantly. Gnabry wasted no time, releasing the ball just before Busquets could steal it back, firing it forward.

The whole place got intense in an instant. The Bayern players surged forward, while the Barça players scrambled back to defend the attack. None of them thought of going for the ball—it would have been foolish, considering it had landed perfectly at the feet of Ivan Perišić. The Croatian didn’t hesitate, pushing forward with intent.

"Let’s go, let’s go! Score this!" David’s voice rang out, Zoey’s voice nowhere to be heard.

David was starting to enjoy the absence of fans a little—he could hear everything the players were saying. He might not understand the words, but as a player himself, he knew exactly what was being shouted. The Bayern players were screaming for Perišić to pass, while the Barça players were yelling for someone to get back and tackle him. He was sure of it.

Perišić reached the front but hesitated slightly as Barça’s right-back, Nélson Semedo, stepped in.

David muttered, "Take him on, dribble him, go!"

But Perišić chose something entirely different. Instead of taking Semedo on, he whipped in a cross into the box.

David wanted to scream why, but as his eyes followed the ball, he saw something else.

Thomas Müller, who had fallen after stealing the ball earlier, was now standing just outside the box. The ball was heading straight for him.

David sat upright, watching closely as Müller controlled the ball. Busquets rushed toward him, but Müller quickly laid it off to Robert Lewandowski. The Polish striker was surrounded by two Barça players, but he wasn’t under pressure. With a classic one-two, he passed the ball back to Müller, who was waiting.

Müller took the shot.

It wasn’t powerful. It wasn’t tricky.

But it beat Marc-André ter Stegen. The Barça goalkeeper dived but missed. The ball bounced slightly before nestling into the bottom left corner.

Seeing that, David quickly stood up, shouting.

"GOALLLLL!"

He started laughing, turning to Zoey. "Don’t worry about PSG. I told you—you’re losing here." He grinned, still laughing.

But Zoey’s voice didn’t come out.

The voice that rang out wasn’t Zoey’s—it was Peter Drury, the commentator.

"What a start for the German side! It’s 1-0 for them! After all the possession, it’s Bayern that leads!"

Hearing that, David mimicked him, grinning.

"Yes, it’s not by possession, Peter! Let’s go, Bayern!" he said, laughing as he sat back with a smile on his face.

Noticing Zoey’s silence, he chuckled. "Are you serious? You won’t talk?" There was laughter in his voice.

Stretching his head slightly, he glanced at his screen and saw that she was still on the call. He laughed again. "Don’t worry, it’s just getting started."

Two minutes after Bayern’s goal, the match remained intense, both teams going back and forth. Barça was now in possession, the ball at Clément Lenglet’s feet.

The defender waited for the right moment before launching a long cross, sending it all the way to the far left of the pitch. Jordi Alba took off in a sprint, chasing after it. The Bayern defenders weren’t expecting that switch of play, and Alba reached the ball just in time.

Spotting Luis Suárez in position, he attempted a pass, but David Alaba had read the play. Sprinting back, the Austrian slid in to intercept. However, as his foot connected with the ball, it deflected awkwardly—spinning off his boot at an unexpected angle.

Manuel Neuer, who had already pushed off his line in anticipation, tried to adjust, but it was too late. The ball curled past him, rolling into the back of the net.

Own goal.

Barça’s players erupted in celebration.

David, who had been mid-sentence while Lenglet crossed, was teasing Zoey. "So you really won’t talk? You’re such a sore loser. Just be ready—Bayern gave Spurs seven in the group stage. Just don’t lose like that, ’cause I’m not letting it go—"

Then the ball went in.

"Shit."

Almost simultaneously, Zoey’s once-quiet voice burst into loud excitement.

"GOALLLL!" she shouted. "Are you playing?! It’s all just a flash in the pan—Barça is back now! And NEVER compare us to Spurs in your life. This is Barça!"

David smirked. "Oh, so you can talk now, you sore loser?"

Zoey shot back immediately. "Please, the match is just starting. Don’t tire me with your shouting." She was laughing now, her energy fully restored as she started chanting, "Visca Barça!"

David just smiled, watching the players return to their positions.

"Yes, it just started," he muttered as Bayern prepared to kick off again.

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