More than a match | Alexia Putellas

Barcelona faced Manchester City in a clash that felt more like a final than a group stage fixture.

Gracie started again.

It was only her second Champions League appearance for Barça, but she didn't have time to think about that. Her legs burned, lungs heaving, but she chased everything. Every loose touch, every half-second hesitation, she was there closing, pressuring, running like she owed the grass her soul.

Midway through the first half, she saw the opening.

Keira threaded the needle from deep, a pass so perfect it split City's midfield clean down the centre. Gracie took off instantly, instinct overriding thought. She burst past Kennedy first, her touch feather-light, her strides long and purposeful. Then Aleixandri came across, desperate to cut her off.

She beat her too.

The goal was right there. One-on-one with the keeper.

But just as she pulled her leg back to strike Aleixandri lunged, a clumsy scissor motion of legs tangling and boots catching. Gracie went down hard in the box, her shoulder hitting the turf first, the impact jolting through her ribs.

A whistle pierced the air.

Chaos followed.

"Penalty!" someone shouted, but the words blurred.

Gracie stayed down for a second, eyes squeezed shut, breath caught. Not from pain, not serious pain, at least, but from shock. The sting was real, though. Her shin throbbed, and the studs had scraped skin.

Before she could sit up, her teammates were around her.

"Hey, hey, are you okay?" Jana crouched beside her, eyes wide.

"I'm fine." Gracie muttered, voice tight. "Help me up."

But while she rose, dusted with turf, fury was exploding behind her.

Alexia stormed toward the referee. "That's a red! Are you serious?! That could've broken something!"

The ref, unmoved, held up a yellow card.

Gracie's eyes flicked toward Aleixandri, who had her arms out in mock innocence. "She's fine! It wasn't that bad, I got the ball."

"You didn't." Alexia snapped, stepping forward. "You didn't get anywhere near the ball. All you touched was her leg"

The two were nose to nose now, heat rolling off Alexia like she might combust.

The ref pulled another yellow.

Alexia.

The captain stared at it in disbelief, scoffing. "Unbelievable." she hissed, still staring Aleixandri down like she could level her with just a look.

Gracie limped forward, hand out. "Hey." she said sharply. "Ale."

Alexia ignored her.

"Alexia!" Gracie stepped between them, palm pressing firmly to her captain's chest, forcing distance. "Stop. It's not worth it."

"She-" Alexia started, breath still clipped.

"I'm fine." Gracie cut in. "We got the penalty. We're up. Don't throw the match away over a yellow that won't get taken back."

Alexia looked down at her, eyes dark and wild.

"I get it, you're concerned." Gracie added, quieter. "But I'm okay." Alexia's jaw flexed. Then she nodded once, sharp, like she had to force it. "score that penatly, okay? Do it for me."

Gracie turned toward the spot, letting the moment pass like smoke.

Alexia looked back to Gracie before she buried the penalty, top corner, ice-cold  and Barca led 1–0.