After sending my parents home to Portugal ahead of me, I boarded the team plane bound for Portugal with a head full of triumph and anticipation.
The atmosphere in the cabin was electric—my teammates and I were still riding high on our shared success. Laughter and playful banter filled the cramped space, a stark contrast to the tense negotiations and swirling media rumors of the past few days.
We joked about our upcoming vacation plans, the long-overdue family reunions, and how, once home, we'd all finally get a break from the endless pressures of international football.
Across the aisle, Cristiano and Nani were in a heated debate, their animated gestures drawing the attention of half the cabin.
"Oh, come on, my goal against Belgium was a thing of beauty!" Nani declared, throwing up his hands in exaggerated frustration.
Cristiano smirked, ever the confident one. "It was nice. But my bicycle kick against Argentina? That was history. That was art."
Pepe, who had been quietly scrolling through his phone, finally looked up and muttered, "Oh, my God, here we go again."
I sat back in my seat, smiling as I listened to Cristiano and Ronaldo recount funny moments from the World Cup final. They teased each other relentlessly, and even Bruno, who usually kept a low profile, couldn't resist chiming in.
The flight passed in a blur of conversation and teasing, and before I knew it, the plane began its descent over Portugal.
I watched through the small window as the familiar patchwork of my homeland came into view—fields, towns, and the deep blue of the Atlantic shimmering in the distance. When we finally landed, it was as though the entire nation had gathered to welcome us home.
The doors of the aircraft opened, and the roar of thousands of voices hit us like a tidal wave. The airport had transformed into a sea of red and green, with fans packed into every available space, waving banners, flags, and anything they could get their hands on.
Security struggled to hold back the enthusiastic crowd as people surged forward, desperate to catch a glimpse of us.
Children pressed their faces against the glass barriers, their eyes wide with admiration. Groups of fans jumped and chanted, fists raised in celebration.
As we disembarked, a proper hero's welcome unfolded. Crowds of cheering fans filled the terminal, clapping and shouting our names.
Groups of young men roared their approval, and children pressed their faces against the glass, trying to catch a glimpse of their heroes.
Among the sea of onlookers, young women called out flirtatious words and made playful, attractive gestures—many of them aimed directly at Ronaldo and me.
A few of them even attempting to climb over the barriers to get closer. Security struggled to hold back the throngs, and the atmosphere buzzed with an intensity that felt almost surreal.
As I made my way through the throng of enthusiastic supporters, I heard Bruno's voice near me. Leaning in close, he teased, "Hey, Adriano, why does nobody look at me, man? They all want you and Cristiano!"
I laughed heartily and replied, "Maybe try scoring ten goals in a World Cup—that should help!"
Bruno exhaled loudly, slumping back . "So that's how it is, huh? Ten goals or I'm invisible?"
"Pretty much," I teased.
"You're officially dead to me."
Bruno grumbled under his breath, cursing our "girl magnet playboys," while Ronaldo, ever the consummate professional and a natural with the fans, beamed proudly as he waved and interacted with everyone in his path.
The teasing was interrupted by a loud female voice from the crowd.
"Adriano! Forget Blanca, marry me!"
Cristiano, walking just ahead of me, turned around and smirked. "Well, at least they know your history."
I rolled my eyes, but there was no denying that her name still followed me everywhere.
Online, the reactions were just as wild.
@WorldCupFanatic: Portugal treating these guys like heroes who won a war! The entire airport looks like a celebration venue.
@Blanca_Fan2002: The way fans refuse to let Adriano and Blanca be a thing again is sending me to a rage quit!
-@BrunoFanClub: Someone PLEASE appreciate Bruno. The man exists, I promise.
In the midst of the cheers and the excitement, I noticed the President of Portugal himself waiting near the arrival area. He greeted us with a warm smile and a handshake so firm it made me feel both honored and a little overwhelmed.
With a playful glint in his eye, he joked, "Show me the cup—I still feel like I'm dreaming!" The fans erupted in supportive shouts as Ronaldo produced the World Cup trophy for a moment, and the impromptu celebration began in earnest.
The airport soon transformed into a makeshift stadium of celebration. Fans of all ages gathered, clapping, chanting, and cheering. The sound of applause and shouts of joy filled every corner of the terminal, and the energy was contagious.
Groups of supporters danced in the aisles, and the entire scene felt like a festival, lasting for hours.
After the overwhelming welcome, our team was escorted to the presidential banquet. The venue was nothing short of grand—a formal dining hall adorned with tasteful decorations, where high-class guests mingled with politicians and even some celebrities.
Ronaldo, accustomed to such events, navigated the crowd with his usual ease.
For many of us, however, it was an entirely new experience.
I found myself in the midst of elegant conversations and clinking glasses, yet my thoughts often drifted back to the exuberant celebrations outside.
During the banquet, as I sat at a long table with luminaries from every walk of life, I was approached by several female celebrities. They took every opportunity to ask for pictures and to chat with me, their eyes alight with admiration and curiosity.
While I appreciated the attention, I politely navigated through these encounters with measured detachment. I exchanged a few cordial words and genuine smiles, but my mind remained partly on the festivities outside and partly on the reflections that had been building since the tournament's end.
Ronaldo thrived in settings like these, effortlessly mingling with the elite. Meanwhile, I found myself engaging in polite conversations but feeling somewhat disconnected.
A well-known actress approached me, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "So, Adriano, what's next for the golden boy of Portugal?"
I forced a smile. "Hopefully some rest."
She leaned in slightly, the scent of expensive perfume filling the air. "And after that?"
I hesitated. My mind wasn't here. It was somewhere else.
.....
Across the Atlantic, far away in the United States, events were unfolding in stark contrast to our jubilant celebrations. In a high end suburban home,
Hailee's parents were seething with regret. Earlier that day, after a heated argument with their daughter regarding Adriano's previous relationship with her, they found themselves fuming over her response.
They had spent the last year convincing themselves that forcing their daughter to end things with Adriano, a nameless footballer from a small club was the right decision.
And yet, as they watched the news coverage of his triumphant return, they couldn't ignore the gnawing regret in their chests.
In the wake of the World Cup and his newfound global fame, they began to regret forcing Hailee to break up with him last year, when they were together.
Their previous hostility was slowly being replaced by remorse and longing, and they even attempted to coax Hailee into reaching out to Adriano, perhaps in a bid to rekindle what once had been.
"You should reach out to him," her mother had said earlier that day. "You were good together. You were his first girlfriend."
Hailee's reaction had been explosive. "Are you guys serious? After everything you said? After you made me feel like I had no choice?"
Her father tried to mediate, but Hailee wasn't having it.
Her reaction was explosive—she refused with a fiery anger, hurling insults at them, and ultimately declaring that she would rather live on the street than continue to endure what she deemed as toxic behavior.
In a burst of defiance, she gathered her belongings and stormed out of the house amid a flurry of shouts from her parents.
Meanwhile, Hailee found herself behind the wheel, driving to her friend Taylor's place to seek refuge from the emotional turmoil.
Taylor, ever the supportive friend, had told her to crash at her home for as long as she needed. Despite the storm of emotions—anger, sadness, guilt, and loneliness—that raged within her, Hailee managed to pause upon arriving.
With trembling fingers, she sent a brief message to Adriano: a congratulatory note on his victory, a wish for his continued success, and a tentative hope that they might meet up someday as friends.
After sending the message, she sighed deeply and closed the door behind her as she stepped inside Taylor's home.
.....
Not far away, in a quiet apartment, Blanca lay in her bed with a sleepy, distant expression. The events of the past days and my recent triumph had clearly occupied her thoughts. Although she tried to sleep, her mind replayed the brief, friendly conversation She had with Adriano yesterday.
She had exchanged a few casual words of congratulations—as if they were just ordinary friends—but deep inside, Blanca's emotions were in turmoil. In her half-awake state, she imagined hypothetical scenarios where their relationship might have endured despite the busy schedules.
She yearned for a reality where their love had survived the inevitable pressures of their careers. Unable to quiet the internal chatter, she muttered softly, "Why couldn't we work, Adri? And why can't I get over it?"
She closed her eyes, but the memories played relentlessly in her mind. The laughter, the quiet moments, the way they had held on to each other—until they didn't.
"Did I ever cross his mind the way he crossed mine?"
The unanswered question lingered in the darkness as she drifted off to sleep.
.....
After the banquet and the long hours of celebration, I finally returned to my home in Lisbon. The day had been a whirlwind of festivities, fan adulation, and public adoration—and yet, as I closed the door behind me, I felt a quiet, gnawing loneliness settle in.
I had everything a player could want: success, adoration, the world talking about me—but in that moment, I couldn't shake the slight feeling of loneliness.
Lying on my bed, I replayed memories of past relationships in my mind. I stared at my phone that had a new message.
Hailee's message sat on my screen.
Maybe one day we can meet again… even if as friends.
I exhaled slowly, setting the phone aside.
The world had celebrated me today. The fans, the President, the entire country. And yet, as I lay there in the silence of my room, the loneliness crept in.
I had everything a footballer could dream of. But at what cost?I recalled how, with Hailee, we had rushed headlong into each other, our passion too intense and our distance too great to sustain what we had.
Her parents' interference had only hastened the breakup, leaving me with regrets that I couldn't quite dismiss.
Then there was Blanca—our connection had been tender and caring, but our busy schedules and unwavering dedication to our careers had forced us apart before we could truly grow together.
I wondered if I had ever truly tried hard enough, if I had simply given up too easily in the face of inevitable obstacles. The weight of those memories pressed on me, and I knew that no medicine could cure the sting of regret.
As I lay there in the quiet of my room, my thoughts drifted toward the future. I asked myself a simple but piercing question: if I went to England rather than Spain, wouldn't I be even more alone?
I didn't have many people there; the language, the food, the dreary weather—it all felt like another barrier to overcome.
I wondered if I should simply continue on this lonely path or if it was time to consider finding someone who matched my energy and passion, someone who could stand beside me as an equal partner in both life and love?
The celebrations of the day slowly gave way to a reflective silence, and the cacophony of cheers and adoring voices receded into the background.
As I laid there, pondering the choices ahead, knowing that the path I chose would not only determine my professional future but would also shape my personal life in ways I could only begin to imagine.
*** Since there's not much votes this week for some reason, I'll take a break tomorrow lol. If more votes mean extra chapters with extra word count, less votes should mean the opposite 💀 In Wanda's word, " That seems fair" 😂
I have doubled the chapters size , so basically it's equal to 2 previous chapters size. Not to mention most of it was hand written cz ai messes things up. As I said before, I'll just do my thing and ignore the other stuff, and look at your support to determine the status of the story.
No rant, this actually is good as I get to enjoy more rest xD ***