The phone rang late
Cristiano almost didn't answer
He was icing his ankle again
Same pain
Same silence
Coach Silva's voice came through the speaker
Pack your bags
Senior team wants to see you
Cristiano sat up
Heart didn't race
It dropped
The next morning was quiet
He didn't tell anyone
Not even Marco
He boarded a van heading to Lisbon
Just him
Coach Silva
And a silence thick with unspoken things
They arrived at the senior Sporting facility
A fortress of green walls and towering stands
Cristiano stepped out
Boots in hand
Eyes sharp
Inside the pitch was clean
Trimmed like a battlefield waiting for names to be written
He trained with grown men
Some ten years older
Some already pro
The passes were faster
The tackles rougher
No one smiled
Cristiano said nothing
Just moved
He missed three passes
Won one header
Lost two sprints
Then scored a goal from outside the box so clean the keeper didn't move
The senior coach raised a brow
Nodded once
Cristiano didn't smile
He walked back to position
Like it was expected
After training
He sat alone in the changing room
Sweat drying
Breath steady
A man in a suit entered
Tall
British accent
Agent for Manchester United
He didn't waste time
You've got raw power speed and obsession
Sir Alex saw the clips
He wants a meeting
Cristiano looked up
Eyes locked
This is real?
Dead real
But you'll be leaving Portugal
Soon
Cristiano said nothing
He took the card
Stared at it like it held lightning
When the man left
Coach Silva entered
Didn't ask
Just said
If you go
You go as a soldier
Not a tourist
Cristiano nodded
Then finally smiled
Small
Sharp
Let's go