Claire sprawled across his desk, glaring at the fruit jam and sushi cake in front of him before rolling his eyes.
"There's no harm in going out for some Chinese food, right? If I keep eating this stuff, I'll probably get diagnosed with low sugar during my medical check-up."
"I want Kung Pao chicken, shredded pork with peppers, braised pork belly, deep-fried mushrooms—hell, I want to chug beer and tear into meat like a barbarian!" Claire suddenly stood up, shoved the window open, and shouted outside.
Mid-rant, a voice from next door cut in:
"Hey, boy! If you don't mind, we could go together."
Claire froze.
He slowly turned his head and saw a dark-haired, slightly boyish face leaning on the neighboring windowsill. Claire stared for a solid three seconds before blurting out in Chinese:
"Holy sht!"*
The handsome guy next door clearly didn't understand but raised his hands in playful confusion.
"Ronaldo. Hey… didn't expect our first meeting to be like this." Claire glanced around awkwardly before extending his left hand toward the still-young Cristiano Ronaldo.
Ronaldo, however, didn't seem in the mood for formalities. He just lightly slapped Claire's hand in a half-hearted greeting.
"You know me?"
The question caught Claire off guard—but then he remembered.
This was post-"Winkgate."
The prodigy who'd taken the world by storm was now public enemy No. 1 in England, still reeling from the backlash.
Ronaldo, oblivious to Claire's mental gymnastics, just grinned.
"That 'chug beer, tear into meat' thing—let's try it. Sounds fun."
"Sure, but I don't know the area. Any good Chinese places around?"
Ronaldo hesitated, then nodded. "Give me five minutes. We'll go."
Claire forced a calm "OK" sign before ducking back inside and slamming the window shut.
The second he was out of sight, he started bouncing around the room like a madman.
"Holy sht! I've hit the jackpot! I'm not even officially in the team yet, and Ronaldo's my neighbor?! At this rate, I'll be sharing the spotlight with him and Rooney—maybe even becoming the third musketeer!"*
In his excitement, Claire accidentally knocked over the bookshelf.
A tabloid fluttered to the floor, its headline screaming:
[World Cup Quarterfinals: England vs. Portugal—Ronaldo Provokes Rooney, Gets Him Sent Off]
A chill ran down Claire's spine.
"Fck. Rooney and Ronaldo are still on bad terms. Please don't let me get caught in the crossfire."*
Ronaldo's Darkest Hour
If there was ever a low point in Cristiano Ronaldo's career, this was it.
Inside the club, drama was eating away at his passion for football. Outside, the British media had turned him into a villain.
If not for Sir Alex Ferguson's unwavering support, Ronaldo might've already broken.
It all traced back to July 2, 2006—the World Cup quarterfinals.
England vs. Portugal.
A match that had it all: global attention, fierce rivalries, and a stage perfect for a young star like Ronaldo to shine.
The headlines had been dominated by three narratives:
England or Portugal—who would prevail? Real Madrid teammates Beckham vs. Figo—a clash of legends. Manchester United's golden duo—Ronaldo vs. Rooney.
And Ronaldo, young and impulsive, took the bait.
In the 62nd minute, Rooney stomped on Carvalho's groin during a challenge. Ronaldo sprinted across the pitch, demanding a red card. Rooney, furious, shoved him.
The referee sent Rooney off.
Then, as Ronaldo turned away—he winked at the Portugal bench.
The cameras caught it.
England, down to 10 men, lost 1-3 on penalties.
And who scored the decisive penalty?
Ronaldo.
Overnight, the British press branded him "Public Enemy No. 1."
Back at United, the atmosphere turned toxic.
Rooney wouldn't speak to him. Teammates kept their distance. Even the fans jeered.
Just before Ferguson went to scout Claire, tabloids had leaked rumors:
"Ronaldo fears for his safety—wants Real Madrid move."
If not for Ferguson's iron will, Ronaldo might've been forced out.
But now, stuck in limbo, Ronaldo wasn't sure staying was the right choice.
The Premier League had resumed, but his relationship with Rooney only worsened.
After United's fourth league match, Ferguson ordered Ronaldo to move out of the training grounds and take a break from football.
Alone in his apartment, Ronaldo dunked his head into a sink full of water, holding his breath until his lungs burned.
When he finally surfaced, he stared at his reflection—pale, exhausted.
He pointed at the mirror and laughed bitterly.
"You brought this on yourself. Who else can you blame?"
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