Chapter 128: Volume 2, - 128: Dinner After Alvalade

Chapter 128: Volume 2, Chapter 128: Dinner After Alvalade

The glass doors of O Solar do Minho opened to the thick aroma of grilled sea bass, garlic, and hot olive oil.

It was nearly ten o’clock, but the dining room in Benfica was still three-quarters full, filled with the steady clatter of ceramic plates and the hiss of the kitchen grill. A waiter led the six of them past a glass display tank of ice-packed bream to a long wooden table near the back.

Rayan pulled out a chair, his hamstrings tightening sharply as he sat down.

’Three appearances,’ he thought. ’Three goals. Three assists. All friendly.’

His official senior stat line remained a flat line of zeroes.

"Are you taking the cod, Rosa, or do you want to split the cozido?" Joaquim asked, unfastening the top button of his trousers as his chair scraped the tiled floor. "Parking down that side street was a disaster. Three euros for a spot where the front bumper hangs over a drain."

"I am not splitting cozido at ten in the evening," Rosa declared, unfolding her linen napkin. "And don’t start about Setúbal prices. Every time we cross the river you act like Lisbon is charging for oxygen."

"Karim, put the phone down while we order," Sofia murmured, though she was already leaning over Rayan’s shoulder to check his water glass. "Rayan, you need real food tonight, not just bread. Did you take the magnesium powder?"

"I took it in the changing room, Mum," Rayan said, turning his phone face down.

Across the table, Leonor reached straight across Rayan’s placemat to snatch the butter. "He’s not drinking water anyway. He spent the entire walk to the car staring at Instagram."

"I was checking tomorrow’s academy schedule," Rayan lied smoothly.

Karim lowered the phone, his gaze softening as he looked at Rayan. "When that board went up and I saw eighty-two, I forgot the score for a second. That’s my son standing there."

Rayan looked down at his paper napkin. "Dad..."

"I’m allowed one sentence," Karim said softly, tapping his knuckle on the table. "Eat."

A waiter approached, notepad poised. Rosa took control, ordering grilled sea bass for herself and Joaquim, bacalhau à Brás for Leonor, and a double portion of grilled chicken and boiled potatoes for Rayan.

Before the waiter left, Karim raised his hand. "Wait—could you take one picture for us?"

Rayan groaned quietly, smoothing down his wet hair, but Rosa nudged his shoulder. "Sit up straight, Rayan."

The waiter snapped two quick photos of all six of them around the wooden table, the glowing restaurant lights reflecting off the water glasses.

As the waiter stepped away, a middle-aged man wearing a faded green-and-white polo shirt walked past toward the entrance. He stopped, did a sharp double-take, and eyed Rayan’s track jacket.

"Hey," the man said, pointing a finger. "Number 82, right? From the second half?"

Rayan froze, his posture straightening. "Yes. Good evening."

"Nice movement on the third goal, kid," the man said with a warm, brief nod. "Keep working hard."

"Thank you," Rayan said, offering a controlled smile as the supporter walked on.

He slipped his phone out again under the lip of the table, unlocking the screen under his lap.

@LeoninoBase:Rayan El Mansouri, 15. Still like the acceleration once he gets the defender square.

@SportingYouthWatch:That carry before the 3rd goal was clean.

@Pedro_CP99:Who’s 82? That kid from the Portimonense match?

@VerdeEBranco_:He’s 15. Came up from the U17s last month.

He tapped over to WhatsApp.

Joca:BRO!!!!!! THAT TURN ON THE TOUCHLINE!!!!! THE VILLARREAL RIGHT-BACK ALMOST FELL OVER 😭😭😭

Bia:You played really well, Rayan. Hope your shoulder is okay after that hit.

Rayan typed a quick reply to Bia: Thanks! Shoulder is fine, just a bruise.

"Rayan," Sofia’s voice came down like a quiet curtain. "Phone off the table, please. We have to wash your kit tonight, and you have recovery and analysis at the academy tomorrow morning."

Rayan locked the screen and set the device face down. "Sorry, Mum."

"How is the clinic doing, Sofia?" Rosa asked, turning the conversation smoothly. "Did you hire that new receptionist?"

"Not yet," Sofia sighed. "Two candidates withdrew on Friday. The commute from Amadora is just too long for what the budget allows."

"It’s the same in electronics," Karim added, leaning back. "We’re trying to move thirty refurbished tablets in the shop, but supply from the Sintra warehouse is delayed."

"Pass the salt, please," Leonor said. "Mum, can we go look at shoes tomorrow? Marta got those new white Nikes for school."

"We’ll see," Sofia said absently.

"We’ll head back to Setúbal tomorrow afternoon," Joaquim noted, taking a bite of sea bass. "The front brake pads on the car are squeaking again."

Rayan speared the final potato with his fork. Leonor reached toward his plate.

"Don’t even think about it."

"You said you were full."

"I never said that."

Sofia pushed his water glass closer. "Finish that too."

By eleven-fifteen, Karim paid the bill after a brief argument with Joaquim over the tip.

They stepped out into the late-night air. Joaquim and Rosa crossed toward their Peugeot for the short drive back to Olivais. Rosa reminded Sofia twice that the leftover pork was still in the refrigerator, while Joaquim complained that he would have to look at the brakes before driving back to Setúbal tomorrow.

"I’m telling you, Rayan," Karim said, holding the car door open as Leonor climbed into the back seat, still pointing at his screen. Sofia slid in beside her, already checking the time on her phone.

Rayan pulled his dark jacket hood up against the cool breeze, his tired legs dragging on the pavement as he took the front passenger seat. "Dad, it’s still zero assists. UEFA doesn’t give half-assists."

"They should!" Karim insisted, pulling his seatbelt across as the engine clicked to life. "A contribution is a contribution."

Rayan leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes as the streetlights of Lisbon swept over the windscreen. As his father kept talking into the quiet car, the image of forty thousand green-and-white seats and the feel of the turf under his studs flickered once more behind his eyelids.