Chapter 113: Volume 2, - 113: Are You Actually Playing?

Chapter 113: Volume 2, Chapter 113: Are You Actually Playing?

The fluorescent lights of the third-floor administrative office at Santa Maria private medical clinic flickered once before settling into a low, steady hum.

Sofia pulled a green manila folder from her desktop tray, cross-checking patient billing sheets against afternoon clinic admissions. When her mobile phone vibrated against the blotter, she saw Rayan’s caller ID and answered on the second ring, resting her elbow on a stack of printed invoices.

"Rayan? Is everything okay? Are you finished with practice?"

"Mum," Rayan said through the speaker, his voice tight with controlled breath. "Don’t get excited yet."

Sofia set her pen down immediately, her eyes narrowing as she pulled off her headset. "Why? What happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, I’m not hurt," Rayan said, letting out a short, impatient laugh. "I made the event group for Sunday. The match against Villarreal at Alvalade."

Sofia’s fingers tightened against the edge of the desk. She stared at her computer monitor, where three open spreadsheets sat waiting for her afternoon entry. "Did Rui say you’re playing?"

Silence settled over the line, save for the distant crunch of gravel under Rayan’s boots at Alcochete.

"I just said I made the list, Mum," Rayan muttered, his voice dropping sharply. "My name is on the printed squad call-up near the office."

"Rayan, I’m asking a simple question," Sofia said calmly, adjusting her glasses with one finger. "Did the coach sit down and tell you that you are on the pitch, or are you just sitting in the stadium?"

"It’s twenty-four players!" Rayan snapped, irritation creeping into his tone. "You’re supposed to say ’congratulations’ first! I’m in the matchday group!"

"I am happy, Rayan," Sofia said, her voice remaining steady and grounded. "But if I am going to rearrange my clinic shift on Sunday, I need to know what the club actually told you. Is it a real match, or are you just watching from the bench?"

"Rayan Duarte, eighty-two," Rayan read off his phone screen, sounding like a police report. "Rui said I’m cover for wide positions. Bench allocation and matchday deployment depend on game state. Satisfied?"

Sofia leaned back in her swivel chair, a slow, real smile breaking across her face despite her effort to stay composed. "So you are in the first-team call-up."

"Yes," Rayan grunted. "I have to collect the official travel tracksuit before I leave today."

"Give me two minutes," Sofia said.

She unclipped her headset, picked up her mug, and walked briskly down the tiled administrative corridor toward the office manager’s desk. Teresa, the senior scheduling coordinator for the administrative wing, was reviewing staff logs on her terminal.

"Teresa," Sofia said, stopping at the counter. "Sunday’s three-to-eleven admin desk rota. My son was named in Sporting’s first-team event group for the match at Alvalade. I need to swap the evening desk."

Teresa looked over her reading glasses, clicking her mouse once. "Cátia is still looking to offload her Saturday morning shift. If you take her Saturday, she’ll take your Sunday."

"Log it," Sofia said immediately. "I’ll sign the swap sheet right now."

Teresa typed a quick command into the system, printed the updated administrative rota slip, and pushed it across the counter. Sofia signed her name, watching the terminal screen update to show her Sunday shift officially covered.

Returning to her desk, she unmuted her phone. "Rayan? I’m sorted. How do family-access passes work?"

"The memo says family accreditation is issued tomorrow after MD-1," Rayan explained, his mood recovering. "The club provides the family section passes for the main stadium tribune."

"Good," Sofia said, scribbling notes on her pad. "What time does the team bus leave Alcochete?"

"Five-fifteen. We report at three for the pre-match meal."

---

After hanging up with his mother, Rayan walked out toward the bus stop at the edge of the academy grounds. He leaned against the metal shelter frame, the afternoon sun warming the glass behind him, and dialed his father’s number.

The line rang four times before Karim answered, the loud, clattering rattle of an idling delivery van engine roaring through the receiver.

"Rayan!" Karim shouted over the noise. "Hold on, let me turn off the ignition!"

The engine shuddered and died, leaving the background noise of a busy street corner in Amadora. "What’s happening, son? Is practice over? Did you eat?"

"I ate, Dad," Rayan said, smiling despite himself. "Listen. I made the squad for Sunday. The first team. Troféu Cinco Violinos against Villarreal at Alvalade."

There was a two-second pause, followed by a deafening yell that made Rayan pull the phone three inches away from his ear.

"Ha! I knew it!" Karim roared, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. "I told my brother yesterday! Alvalade! My son is playing at Alvalade!"

"Dad, stop yelling," Rayan laughed, his face flushing red as two youth players walked past the shelter. "Listen to me. It’s an event squad. Minutes aren’t guaranteed."

"Bench, starting, who cares?" Karim barked happily. "You get twenty minutes, you cut inside on the right, you score! Simple!"

"Dad, you don’t even know if I’m playing," Rayan said, shaking his head. "Rui said substitutions depend on the game."

"You are playing," Karim declared with absolute conviction. "If they put you on the bus, you are playing. What time is kickoff?"

"Eight o’clock."

"I have three delivery drops in Sintra on Sunday morning for the bakery supplier," Karim said, shifting into rapid planning mode. "I finish those by two, take the van back to the depot in Amadora, change into my good shirt, and take the Metro straight to Campo Grande."

"Do you have enough fuel money for the van?" Rayan asked softly.

"Don’t worry about fuel, Rayan," Karim said sternly, his tone warm and protective. "That’s my job. You just focus on putting your boots on straight."

"I’ll text you the family section details tomorrow once the club issues accreditation," Rayan said.

By four o’clock, Sofia was sitting at her kitchen table in the Olivais apartment, her work bag resting on the floor beside her chair.

Leonor walked into the kitchen wearing oversized grey sweatpants, dragging her feet as she reached for cereal in the pantry.

"Rayan made the squad for Sunday," Sofia said without looking up from her phone, where she was texting Karim about the Campo Grande meeting spot. "Estádio José Alvalade."

Leonor paused, a handful of dry cereal halfway to her mouth. "The actual main stadium? Great. Now he’s going to spend the whole month acting like a celebrity because he sat near the grass."

"He’s in the match squad, Leonor," Sofia corrected mildly. "Show some respect for your brother."

"Does this mean we sit in the family section where the players walk out?" Leonor asked, pulling her phone from her pocket. "If I’m on TV, I need to know if I should wear my denim jacket."

"You’re wearing comfortable shoes," Sofia said firmly. "We are taking the Metro from Olivais, and the crowds at Campo Grande will be huge. And you’re finishing your summer reading assignment before we leave on Sunday."

"Mum, nobody reads in July," Leonor groaned, dropping into the chair opposite her mother. "Can we stop at the shop near the station after? Sara said they have a sale."

"We’ll see," Sofia said, reaching across the table to tap Leonor’s wrist gently. "Your brother worked hard for this."

Leonor looked down at her screen, a small grin breaking through her sarcastic posture. "I know. I’ll make sure his tracksuit isn’t wrinkled."

Sofia opened her phone once more, laying the printed administrative swap confirmation Teresa had handed her directly beside her handwritten notes. She double-checked the Metro line from Olivais to Campo Grande, smoothed the paper flat against the table surface, and quietly checked off the final box on her Sunday schedule.