Chapter 131: Volume 2, - 131: Liverpool Is on the List

Chapter 131: Volume 2, Chapter 131: Liverpool Is on the List

By eleven-thirty on Tuesday morning, the midday heat had settled heavily over the manicured pitches of Alcochete.

Rayan stood by the touchline of Pitch 2, his training bib damp with sweat, sipping water from a squeeze bottle while watching the tail end of the senior group’s tactical passing drill.

As the session wound down, squad coordinator Fernandes walked across the grass with a thin blue folder tucked under his arm, his phone pressed to his ear. He gestured toward the main administration building.

"Rayan," Fernandes called out, waving a hand to catch his attention. "With us for a minute."

Rayan capped his bottle and walked over, wiping his forehead with the collar of his shirt.

Fernandes stopped near the shade of the grandstand overhang. "You have your passport updated?"

"Yes," Rayan said, blinking. "My mother renewed it in May."

"Good," Fernandes said, pulling a printed sheet from the folder. "Rui’s put you on the provisional squad list for England. Everton on Saturday."

Rayan’s throat went dry. He stared at the sheet in Fernandes’s hands.

Liverpool travel group.

"You are travelling as a development reserve," Fernandes continued, his tone entirely businesslike. "That means you are in the travelling party for training, tactical meetings, and matchday preparation. It does not guarantee you a spot on the bench, and it certainly does not guarantee you minutes at Goodison Park."

"Understood," Rayan said quickly.

"Because you are fifteen, the legal department needs parental authorisation for international travel under club guardianship," Fernandes said, handing him a stapled three-page document. "Your mother needs to sign sections two and four, get the signature legally certified today, and return it to the administrative desk by five o’clock."

"I’ll call her right after lunch," Rayan said, holding the papers carefully by the corner so his sweaty fingers wouldn’t smudge the print.

"Reporting time is six-thirty at Alcochete," Fernandes added. "Club suit for the flight, official travel kit for the hotel. Make sure your citizen card is in your wallet alongside your passport. You stay with the squad at all times. No family visitors at the hotel without prior clearance from staff."

Rayan swallowed, processing the operational cadence. "Is Duarte coming?"

"Duarte is in the travel group," Fernandes replied flatly, without expanding on anyone else’s status. "Report to Analysis Room A at two o’clock for the initial opposition briefing. Go get changed."

Rayan stood holding the white pages. At the top of the itinerary page, beneath the header ISSUED: 31 JULY 2023, the bold line read: Everton FC vs Sporting CP – Goodison Park, Liverpool.

He walked into the changing room and set the papers inside his locker, placing his boots on the lower rack. He checked the date line on the document again—31 JULY 2023—just to be sure he hadn’t misread the briefing details.

Near the boot-cleaning station, Pedro Gonsalves was unlacing his boots, sitting on a low wooden bench beside Viktor Gyoker. Pedro glanced up as Rayan passed, his eyes catching the official paperwork.

"Liverpool?" Pedro asked, splashing water over his ankles.

"Travel group," Rayan said, keeping his voice strictly neutral.

"Brace yourself for the rain," Pedro chuckled, shaking his head. "August in England means fifteen degrees and wet grass. And those Everton centre-backs don’t care if it’s a friendly. They’ll hit you just to warm themselves up."

Viktor looked over, wiping his face with a towel. "Good stadium, though. Old. Tight pitch."

Twenty minutes later, Rayan was back outside on the small turf pitch with five academy players for additional technique work on receiving and positional passing patterns.

As he queued for the next drill, his mind drifted. He imagined walking down the jet bridge at Lisbon airport in a tailored club suit, sitting on a chartered flight alongside Sebastian Coatez and Gonçalo Inásio, stepping out onto the wet grass of an English stadium he had only ever seen on television highlights or in video games.

"El Mansouri!"

The bark of the U17 assistant coach snapped him back to reality.

A ground pass from a youth teammate was rolling directly toward his right foot. Rayan had reacted half a second late, his base foot planted too far back because his head was somewhere over the Bay of Biscay. The ball clipped the heel of his boot and bobbled harmlessly into touch.

"Focus!" the coach snapped, stepping toward the sideline.

"Sorry, coach," Rayan said, his face flushing red as he quickly reset his stance.

He spent the next twenty minutes driving low, hard passes into the wall, focusing intensely on his first touch, forcing himself not to think about passports or flight times until the final whistle blew.

By one o’clock, the afternoon sun was burning down on the parking lot outside the academy gates. Rayan sat on a shaded stone bench near the main reception desk, holding his phone in one hand and the travel forms in the other.

He dialed Sofia’s number.

She picked up on the third ring, her voice clipped and brisk. "Rayan? Is everything okay? Did something happen to you?"

"No, Mum, I’m fine," Rayan said quickly, his words tumbling over each other.

"Then why are you calling now? You usually don’t call until after lunch."

"I need papers," he said, breathing slightly fast. "Guardianship forms. For the flight."

"What flight?" Sofia paused, the background chatter of her clinic office suddenly going quiet. "What are you talking about?"

"Liverpool," Rayan said, taking a breath.

Silence stretched over the line for two seconds.

"What about Liverpool?" Sofia asked cautiously.

"I’m going," Rayan said, a wide, unstoppable grin breaking across his face in the empty shade of the reception entrance. "Everton. I’m in the travel group."

"The first team?" Sofia’s tone shifted instantly from confused to sharp and defensive. "Did Sporting already send the documents? Are they coming by email, or do I need to pick them up from Alcochete?"

"I have them in my hand," Rayan said, laughing softly. "Three pages. You have to sign them and get them legally certified before five."

"Listen to me," Sofia said, her voice turning crisp and organized as he heard her keyboard clacking in the background. "I’m coming to Alcochete now. I’ll take my break early. Bring the papers to main reception. I’ll pick them up, take them directly to the notary office near the avenue to get them stamped, and bring them back to the administrative desk before four-thirty. You stay there for your meetings."

"Are you sure?" Rayan asked. "You don’t have to reschedule your afternoon shift."

"It’s already done," Sofia replied, the rustle of her coat audible through the receiver. "Do you have your passport in your room, or is it at home?"

"It’s in my drawer at home. The blue folder."

"I’ll grab it when I go back to get your suit ready," Sofia said. "Have you got your citizen card?"

"It’s in my wallet," Rayan confirmed, checking his back pocket automatically.

"Good. Meet me at reception in fifteen minutes with those pages. Don’t crease them."