If his sociological role is symbolic, his psychology adds depth. Lamine Yamal is fiercely self-aware.

He knows he is a prodigy and does not pretend otherwise. He embraces responsibility, already taking free-kicks, penalties and wearing Barca’s number 10 shirt. “Having character helps me survive,” he says.

That resilience comes not only from talent but from life itself. He grew up in Rocafonda, a working-class neighbourhood of Mataro, the son of immigrants from Morocco and Guinea. His grandmother once sneaked on to a bus to cross into Spain and his mother raised him while working multiple jobs.

When his father was stabbed, Lamine Yamal was just 16. At La Masia he struggled at first with social displacement, moving from humble surroundings into an elite environment. All of this toughened him.

He is now intent on giving back. The first thing he did with his earnings was buy his mother the house she wanted. “For me, she is my queen,” he says. He recalls how, despite the late shifts, she still came home to cook him dinner.

And despite the scrutiny, he treats fame with detachment. When his birthday party made headlines, he laughed it off: “Do you know any 18-year-old who goes out and it’s news?” Criticism washes away as long as he performs. His real fear is not living up to his own ambition.

Football, though, has a way of humbling.

He played only eight minutes at the old Nou Camp before its renovation, a reminder of how much still lies ahead.

And crucially, Barcelona are showing they can win while he is out injured. The “Laminedependencia” that once haunted them is fading; Marcus Rashford, Pedri and others are carrying the team when needed in recent games.

That is good news for both club and player. It allows Lamine Yamal to grow inside a collective, not under the suffocating expectation of being saviour.

On the pitch, he is evolving. His defensive work, his intensity, his duels all show growth. Both Hansi Flick and Luis de la Fuente are moulding him into a total footballer.