Alvenport hadn't slept since Swansea's second victory. Cafés stayed open until dawn, people danced in the streets, and children mimicked John Vermog's saves in schoolyards and alleyways. But beneath the joyful cover, a quiet storm was brewing — silent, almost invisible, yet very real.
Inside the boardroom of the Swansea Football Club, men in suits spoke in hushed tones. Sponsorship offers. Market value. Branding. John Vermog's name wasn't just a goalkeeper anymore — it was a symbol. Fresh, honest, and real — a face that people across the nation could believe in.
Coach Coyer knew how quickly stars could rise and fall. He had seen too many young players burn too brightly, too fast. In his dim office, he sat with a glass of ice water, his thoughts heavy. John reminded him of a time when he too believed that hard work would always win. But football had taught him otherwise.
The Inner Fight
The next morning, silence hung over the team's breakfast table. Raul Desmond sat tall, proud, but clearly bruised on the inside. He hadn't spoken much since John had been picked for the starting eleven again. He had seen the way players now looked to John for leadership, how the media hovered around him.
In another corner, Marcos Ellara sat quietly. He watched John, not just his movements, but his expressions, his choices. He was waiting — not for a mistake, but for a crack in the foundation. In the gym later that day, after the others had left, Marcos approached him.
"Can I be honest?" he asked.
John turned. "Go ahead."
"You're good. Really good. But when a team starts to revolve around one person, it breaks apart. We can't turn you into a god. And if you start believing you've done enough, you'll fall."
John stared at him, calm.
"I didn't come here to be a god. I came here to serve — my team, my people, the coach… even those like you who'd rather see me fall."
Marcos smiled bitterly.
"We'll see."
A Letter from Sornarele
That same day, John received a letter. A real, handwritten letter — something he hadn't seen in years. He opened it, curious.
"Hi John. I'm Daniel. I was one of the kids you trained back in Sornarele. I train every day now. I want to be like you. I want to stand in front of my school's goal one day and say: I'm here because John stood for his dreams. Thank you for teaching us not to be afraid."
John blinked, the words sinking deep. He folded the letter carefully and placed it in his chest pocket — close to his heart.
Chaos on the Field
Three days later, Swansea faced Midfort — a brutal team, known for their heavy, low-style football. Coach Coyer once again named John in the starting lineup.
The news was out. Vermog was becoming more than a local hero. Marcos sat silently on the bench.
From the kickoff, the game was chaos. By the 5th minute, Midfort was pressing hard. A corner kick by the 9th minute. The ball soared into the air. A vicious header targeted the top corner. John leapt, fingertips grazing the ball, pushing it out just in time.
But in the 16th minute, Swansea's central defender slipped. The goal was exposed. A Midfort striker charged forward — one moment, one mistake, and everything could collapse.
John ran forward — no hesitation. He rushed to meet the threat, cutting the angle. A shot. A scream. The ball slammed into his shoulder and bounced wide.
The stadium froze. No goal.
Exhausted Glory
After the match, John sat alone in the locker room. His body ached. His breath was heavy. His muscles felt like stone. But the pain didn't matter. He was thinking about the letter. About the kids of Sornarele. About muddy shoes and pure hope.
The door opened. Coach Coyer entered.
"You stood in front of more than just a goal today," the coach said.
John looked up.
"I just didn't want to betray the faith people have in me."
Coyer sat down beside him.
"But this is only the beginning. You've got a new challenge."
John exhaled deeply.
"What now?"
"The national team," said Coyer. "Scouts were in the stands today. They want to see you on a bigger stage."
John froze.
It was no longer a dream. This was the door opening to a world far beyond anything he had imagined in the quiet hills of his village.
A Conversation with Raul
Later that evening, John stepped outside the gym. By the gate, Raul was waiting.
He spoke softly.
"I don't hate you, Vermog. But I've seen what this game does to people. I was there once. You reach the top… and you find yourself alone."
John looked him in the eye.
"If you think I'm afraid of being alone… then you've forgotten I grew up in a village where loneliness was my closest friend. I'm not afraid of it. But I'll never play just for myself."
For the first time, Raul smiled. Not mockingly — genuinely.
"Then keep going. Just remember… fame is a loud friend. And when it goes quiet, all you'll have is your own breath."
Evening in Sornarele
That evening, in the small village of Sornarele, people gathered around a projector screen in the center square. John's mother sat quietly among them, hands folded at her chest. Little Daniel was beside her, eyes wide.
When the game ended, cheers echoed through the valley.
But John's mother simply smiled.
She knew her son wasn't just becoming a great player — he was becoming a great man.