Chapter 130: Volume 2, - 130: The First Ripple

Chapter 130: Volume 2, Chapter 130: The First Ripple

By three in the afternoon, the heat inside the apartment was thick and static.

Joaquim’s worn leather suitcase sat near the front door, wedged against a plastic crate packed with sealed glass jars of quince jam and marinated olives. Rosa was still in the kitchen, aggressively wrapping two remaining slices of roast pork in foil despite Sofia’s quiet insistence that the fridge was already full.

"He needs real food, Sofia," Rosa declared, her voice carrying over the hum of the kitchen fan. "They feed him grass and water at that academy."

"It’s sports science, Mãe," Sofia said, sorting through clinic intake forms at the dining table. She looked over her shoulder. "Rayan, carry your grandfather’s bag down."

Joaquim grunted, stepping out of the bathroom while wiping his hands on a small towel. He paused, eyeing Rayan’s left shoulder. "That centre-back moved you around early."

"I know," Rayan said, picking up the crate of jars.

Joaquim squeezed his right shoulder with a heavy, calloused hand. "You’re fifteen. You’ll learn."

They loaded the boot of Joaquim’s Peugeot under the glare of the afternoon sun. Leonor came down last, backpack slung over one shoulder, checking her watch with a look of extreme urgency.

"Maya is waiting at the library," she said, kissing Rosa’s cheek quickly. "I have to catch the bus."

"Say goodbye properly," Rosa scolded, kissing Rayan on both cheeks and pressing a hard thumb into his cheekbone. "Eat the pork tonight. Don’t leave it for tomorrow."

"We’ll be back in Setúbal before five," Joaquim said, turning the key in the ignition as the engine sputtered to life. "Tell your father to check the oil on his car."

Leonor headed down the street toward the main bus stop while Rayan stood on the curb, waving until the silver Peugeot turned the corner toward the highway.

Upstairs, the apartment felt suddenly spacious and quiet. Sofia was at her desk on a call, confirming a Tuesday morning shift with her clinic supervisor. Rayan went to his room, kicked off his slides, and flopped onto his bed.

He pulled out his phone. He had deliberately avoided checking social media during recovery, saving the moment for when he was alone.

His notification tab was busier than it had ever been.

An account called @LeoninoBase had posted a clip of his 75th-minute sequence against Villarreal:

@LeoninoBase:Rayan El Mansouri (15) vs Villarreal. Nice composure between the lines to start the third goal sequence. One to watch for the B team this season.

@SportingCP_Fan:Is he B team already? Thought he was still academy.

@LeoninoBase:Academy kid. Amorim gave him 27 mins yesterday. Looked solid.

@Pedro_CP99:Calm down, it’s a friendly against Villarreal’s reserves.

Rayan scrolled down, tapping into his Instagram DMs.

@rui_17:bro can you get signed shirts now 😭

@ines1906:do you actually train with the first team every day?

@Marta_CP:ngl you looked good yesterday 👀

Rayan opened Marta’s message, left it on read, and smirked. Leaving it on read felt like the appropriate move for someone who had just played at Alvalade.

A notification from his father popped up:

Dad:Back in Amadora. Working till six. Don’t become too famous before I finish 😂

Rayan smiled, replying with a quick emoji before his phone vibrated with an incoming call from Joca.

"Tell me you saw the edit," Joca said through the speaker. "An account stole my video from the regional tournament last winter and put it right next to your chop against Gabbio. It has two thousand views."

"That clip from Setúbal?" Rayan sat up. "The one where I tripped over the turf after the turn?"

"They cut it before you fell!" Joca laughed. "Anyway, Valorant tonight at eight? Andreia and Tiago are coming online. Andreia says she’s playing Duelist whether you like it or not."

"I have an early session tomorrow," Rayan said. "And tell her she can’t aim."

"It’s eight o’clock, not midnight. Don’t act like you’re too big for the lobby because forty people on Twitter found out you exist. Plus, Tiago swore he saw someone in an Alcochete track jacket at the bakery this morning."

"That was probably a youth coach buying coffee," Rayan said.

"Still counts," Joca insisted.

At seven, Rayan’s phone rang again. This time it was Bia.

"Are you dead?" she asked.

"No," Rayan said. "Just lying down. My legs are dead."

"Good. Because Daniela made me walk through Amoreiras for two hours in platform sandals, complaining about her ankles the entire time."

"Why did she wear them?"

"Because she’s Daniela," Bia said, a faint laugh in her voice. "And then she got mad at me because I wouldn’t wait twenty minutes in line for an iced matcha she saw on TikTok."

"Did she get it?"

"Obviously not. I dragged her to the bookshop instead," Bia said smoothly. "How are you? I saw the Twitter posts."

"Yeah," Rayan said, trying to sound casual. "It’s getting kind of crazy."

"Is it?" Bia asked. "Because from what I saw, your entire celebrity era consists of seventeen grown men fighting over you."

Rayan sat up straight. "Two girls from Alvalade DMed me."

There was a brief pause on the line. ℯℯ𝘭.

"Two whole girls?" Bia said, her tone dripping with mock reverence. "Did they recognize you on the street today?"

"I wasn’t on the street today," Rayan muttered. "I was at Alcochete and then at home."

"Right," she said, the smile clear in her voice. "So zero people recognized you."

"My grandfather recognized me," Rayan admitted.

Bia laughed softly. "Goodnight, ’wonderkid’."

"Goodnight, Bia."

After the call ended, a club SMS arrived on his screen:

Sporting CP Football Operations:

Tuesday report: 08:30 — Alcochete.

Everton travel group: confirmation pending.

Rayan stared at the text. Everton. Another senior friendly was on the horizon, but no selection was guaranteed.

He lay back on his mattress as the room faded into dim violet shadows. In his peripheral vision, an amber shimmer condensed silently in the dark:

[TECHNIQUE DEVELOPMENT SLOT ×1: AVAILABLE.]

Select a baseline physical technique to initiate structured skill acquisition.

Available Foundations:

- Step-over (Body Feint / Directional Shift)

- Cruyff Turn (Deceleration / Angle Change)

- Ball Roll (Lateral Drag / Space Creation)

Rayan stared at the glowing text. He remembered André Falcão’s voice from Analysis Room B—your touch didn’t match your pace. He needed a tool to shift a defender’s position before making his dynamic movement, something to give him half a yard without slowing down.

He reached up and tapped Step-over.

The interface shifted instantly, amber letters flickering across his view:

[TECHNIQUE DEVELOPMENT SLOT APPLIED.]

[SELECTED TECHNIQUE: STEP-OVER.]

[STATUS: INTRODUCED.]

[OVERALL RATING: 53.]

Technique project initiated.

Rayan smiled faintly. No instant mastery. He would still have to put in the hours on the training pitch until his feet and hips moved without thinking.

The amber text faded.

Rayan dropped his phone onto the mattress, planted his right foot on the bedroom floor, and slowly circled his left foot around an imaginary ball.

Awkward. Too wide.

He reset his feet and tried it again, shifting his hips slightly earlier.

On the nightstand, the lock screen lit up briefly with the notification from Sporting Football Operations: Everton travel group: confirmation pending.