Chapter 109: Volume 2, - 109: Home Before the Headlines

Chapter 109: Volume 2, Chapter 109: Home Before the Headlines

The front door of the apartment in Olivais needed a firm shoulder against the frame to clear the swollen latch.

Rayan hoisted his duffel bag higher over his right shoulder, pressed his weight against the painted wood, and pushed until the lock gave with a dry snap.

He dropped his kit bag onto the lino and kicked off his trainers. On the console, a note read: Shift extended at Santa Maria until 19:30. Soup is in the pot. Heat it properly. Put your laundry in the drum, not on the floor.

He dragged his bag down the corridor to his bedroom, dumping it at the foot of his bed. The room was exactly as he had left it eight days ago: the poster of Cristiano Ronaldes slightly peeling at the corner, his desk cluttered with loose notebook pages, and his second pair of school shoes tucked under the chair.

Unzipping the bag, the sour stench of damp grass and sweat spilled out. He sorted the laundry, pulling out grey tracksuit bottoms, navy tees, and the mesh sack containing his oversized number 82 shirt, carrying the bundle down the hall to jam into the washing machine drum.

Back in his room, he peeled off his shirt and caught his reflection in the mirror. Leaner around the ribs, with dark smudges under his eyes and a dull ache in his hamstrings. He pulled his black charging cable from the desk drawer, snapped it into his phone, and plugged it into the wall socket.

In the small bathroom, steam filled the cubicle in seconds. Rayan leaned his forehead against the tiles, letting the hot water beat down on his neck until it ran lukewarm.

When he stepped out, wrapped in a towel, Leonor was leaning against his doorframe with a glass of iced tea.

"You left your dirty boot bag right by the door," Leonor announced. "It smells like a wet dog."

"It’s clean leather, Leonor," Rayan said, pulling a dry grey t-shirt over his head. "I’ve been away for a week."

"Did you bring the Algarve sea salt chocolates Mum asked for?"

"The team didn’t go to souvenir shops," Rayan replied, tossing his towel over his chair. "We were doing three sessions a day."

Leonor sat on the edge of his mattress, picking up his charging phone. "Why are you wearing eighty-two? It looks like a phone code. Why didn’t they give you a proper number?"

"Because eighty-two is the call-up number," Rayan grunted, pulling on shorts. "It’s temporary."

"Is Gyoker as big as he looks on television?" she asked. "Does he smell bad after training?"

"Viktor is twice your size and he’d tell you to stop sitting on my bed," Rayan said, taking his phone back off the cord. He thumbed open Instagram, dragging the feed down to refresh the small fan page clip. The number ticked from 42 to 87.

"Why do you keep swiping that?" Leonor asked, leaning over his arm. "Is that the clip from the Portimonense match?"

"I’m checking notifications," Rayan said, locking the screen and shoving the phone into his pocket. "Go finish your maths. Mum said you failed the practice paper."

"I got a sixty-two, which is passing," Leonor countered, rolling her eyes as she stood up. "And Inês is coming over tomorrow for the new dance show, so don’t be annoying."

Before Rayan could answer, his phone buzzed with a video call from Amadora. He slid the icon, revealing his father’s face framed by the wooden panelling of his kitchen.

"Look at my boy!" Karim said, a massive grin taking over his face. "The Algarve assassin! Three goals, three assists! Rayan, son, people are starting to talk!"

"Dad, relax, it’s just pre-season friendlies," Rayan said, a wide smile breaking across his face as he dropped into his chair. "Half those minutes were against Portimonense."

"I don’t care if it was against the local bakery team!" Karim laughed. "Listen to me, Rayan. If Amorim has any sense, you’re starting against Villarreal on Sunday!"

"Dad, stop," Rayan laughed, rolling his eyes. "I’m fifteen. I don’t even have a permanent locker in the senior room. I’m still just a youth player on call."

"Nonsense," Karim declared. "Numbers don’t lie! Are you eating properly? Did you stretch your legs after the bus?"

"Yeah, Dad, physio capped me for today," Rayan said. "Just light recovery until tomorrow’s session."

"Good. Don’t let them overwork you," Karim said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled softly. "I’m proud of you, Rayan. I’ll bring fresh oranges this weekend."

"Thanks, Dad," Rayan said. "Talk to you later."

A minute after hanging up, his phone chimed with a call from Joca Ferreira, sitting on the concrete wall outside the bakery with his camera strap around his neck.

"He’s alive," Joca said, grinning. "I thought Amorim locked you in a basement in Faro."

"I got home an hour ago," Rayan said.

"Listen, Rayan," Joca said, leaning closer to his lens. "I have four clips of you getting tackled by that defender from Cova da Piedade. If this Sporting stuff keeps going, I’m posting them as ’The Early Years’ and charging two Euros a view."

"Delete those right now," Rayan laughed.

"Not a chance," Joca said. "Are you coming down to the square?"

"My legs are dead," Rayan said. "I’m eating soup and staying here."

"Fair enough," Joca said. "By the way, Matilde asked if you were coming to the beach on Saturday. I told her you only talk to verified accounts now."

Rayan snorted. He tapped open an incoming message request from @sofia_m08: Saw the clips from the Algarve match! You looked really good in the 82 shirt 🔥

Rayan grinned, sitting up straight. He typed back instantly: Thanks. Shirt’s a bit big tho.. He reread his reply twice before closing the app.

"Look at you, smiling at your screen," Joca mocked. "Talk later, Rayan."

After hanging up, Rayan heated the vegetable soup on the stove. He pulled out his phone, opening the comments under @SportingYouthArchive’s post.

@lion_fan99: Is he staying with the first team for the Villarreal game?

He pulled down to refresh again. 89 likes.

He heard the front door latch click shut, followed by the soft sigh of his mother setting her handbag down.

"Rayan?" Sofia called out, her voice flat with tiredness.

"In the kitchen," he called back, turning off the burner.

Sofia walked in, rubbing her neck in her clinic clothes. Seeing him by the stove, her face softened.

She walked over, pulling him into a brief, firm hug. "Look at you," she murmured, inspecting his face. "Did they feed you down there?"

"Mum, I gained three hundred grams," Rayan said, smiling. "The nutritionists check everything."

"Nutritionists don’t make proper broth," she said, taking the wooden spoon. "How are the hamstrings? The physio sent an email about your loading schedule."

Rayan groaned slightly, leaning back against the counter. "You could ask about the goals first, you know. I scored two against Portimonense."

Sofia turned, a small curve touching the corner of her mouth. "I watched the highlights on my break at the clinic, Rayan. Dr. Mendes saw it too. He asked if that was my son wearing the huge shirt."

Rayan straightened his posture, holding his head higher. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him to get back to work," Sofia said, tapping the spoon against the pot. "And I told him your laundry was probably sitting on my clean floor."

"It’s already in the machine," Rayan protested.

"Good," she said, patting his cheek. "Then eat your soup. Sporting expects you back at Alcochete tomorrow morning at eight, and I’m not waking you up three times."

An hour later, the apartment was dark. Sofia was in bed early for her morning shift, and Leonor was asleep across the hall.

Rayan lay flat on his back in bed. His phone rested on his chest, plugged into the wall adapter on his nightstand, illuminating the dark room as he checked his notifications tab:

@academy_tiago22 started following you.

@andre_v_scp started following you.

@martim.b7 started following you.

He tapped back over to the reel. 112 likes.

He locked the screen, leaving it charging on the nightstand. He closed his eyes, his tired body sinking into the mattress while the city outside slept under the Lisbon stars.