Alex sat on his bed at the team base in Germany.
The room was quiet, except for the sound of Harry Kane snoring softly on the other bed.
Alex was holding a shirt.
It was red and green. It was sweaty. It smelled like expensive grass and hard work.
Number 7. RONALDO.
It was the biggest trophy of his life. He folded it carefully, treating it like it was made of glass, and placed it in his bag next to Luka Modric's shirt.
He was sixteen years old. He was collecting legends like they were baseball cards.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
It was a video call from Milo.
Alex sighed, but he smiled. He answered.
Milo was wearing a suit made of... Alex squinted... it looked like shiny, silver foil. He was on a boat.
"THE KING SLAYER!" Milo screamed. The wind was blowing his hair everywhere. "YOU RETIRED HIM! YOU SENT THE GOAT HOME! THE WORLD IS GOING CRAZY, ALEX!"
"I didn't retire him, Milo," Alex whispered, glancing at the sleeping Harry Kane. "We just won a game."
