Standing on the stage, Claire looked at the dazzling lights and the sea of people in the bar, feeling as if he were in a dream. After all, he had never experienced such a grand scene before.
Beside him, Calvin Harris swayed like an overexcited fan high on something, fiddling with his instruments and equipment. Nearby, the drummers and bassists huddled together, examining the sheet music on the DJ booth, their heads and hands bumping against each other as they murmured in excitement, occasionally letting out gasps of amazement.
The audience below gradually noticed the commotion on stage, but when they saw Claire standing at the front, microphone in hand, frozen and unsure of what to say, their patience began to wear thin. Thankfully, this was a high-end venue, so the crowd maintained some decorum, though the murmurs of discontent never ceased.
Johnny Lewis, meanwhile, was no longer paying attention to the stage. Instead, he glared furiously at his girlfriend, who was somehow holding hands with Anya Goode at the front of the dance floor. The way they were interacting made Johnny certain that if he weren't there, the two would've already left the bar arm in arm.
Fuming, Johnny's anger only grew when he saw Claire standing motionless on stage. Spotting a voluptuous waitress bustling around Claire, Johnny bent down, picked up a banana peel from the floor, and hurled it straight at Claire's face.
With a loud splat, the banana peel hit Claire, instantly igniting the atmosphere in the bar.
Seizing the moment, Johnny ducked into the crowd and shouted, "Get on with it already! We paid to unwind, not to watch some idiot stand there like a statue!"
His words were like a match to a powder keg.
"Yeah, are you even any good?"
"Calvin! Have you lost your touch? Where's the show?"
"Hey, Asian kid, get the hell off the stage!"
From the shadows, Cristiano Ronaldo watched anxiously. He knew he couldn't intervene—if he did, the situation could spiral into headlines like "Cristiano Ronaldo and His Entourage Party at Nightclub, Friend Acts Entitled Using His Fame." Ronaldo wasn't even sure what Claire's role at Manchester United was, but he knew such a scandal could cost him his job.
Restless, Ronaldo paced back and forth like a headless fly.
But on stage, Claire was deep in thought, recalling the song the system had gifted him when he left the team. Thanks to the system, the lyrics and melody were etched into his mind, ready to be sung at any moment.
Only now did Claire truly grasp the system's power—not only had it forced him to do something he never wanted to do (comfort Ronaldo), but it had also sobered him up from near-unconscious drunkenness.
A wry smile crossed his face as Danielle Sharp, the bombshell waitress, leaned in close behind him and whispered, "Hey, handsome, it's time to start. If you keep this up, even being the owner's daughter won't save me from the crowd's wrath."
Claire shivered slightly—partly from the bucket of ice water she'd earlier dumped on him, and partly because she kept teasing him with her body and breath. He was barely holding it together.
Trying to stay composed, Claire muttered a quiet "Thanks" and discreetly adjusted his pants in the stage's blind spot.
Danielle, hiding behind him, turned away, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Ignoring her, Claire turned to Calvin Harris. "Is the backing track ready?"
Calvin grinned. "Are you a music producer? Now I'm curious about your lyrics!"
"Then let's begin. This song won't disappoint, I promise." Claire raised the mic and calmly addressed the crowd. "Hello, everyone. My name is Claire Lee. I'm a substitute player who just signed a three-game contract with Manchester United."
The moment those words left his mouth, the crowd erupted louder than before. Football's influence in England was undeniable—once, a Facebook poll asked whether the UK winning the World Cup or the Queen being replaced was more important, and "winning the World Cup" won by a landslide with 1.2 million votes.
Someone in the crowd even shouted, asking if Claire knew Ronaldo.
Claire chuckled, his gaze drifting toward the dark corner where Ronaldo stood. "Actually, this next song is dedicated to my new friend, Cristiano Ronaldo. It's also for the past me and the present me."
"If anyone here is going through a dark time, I hope this song helps you endure it."
"The song is called... The Nights!"
With that, Claire snapped his fingers at Calvin Harris, who immediately grabbed his mic and bellowed in a deep voice, "Music!"
The bassists, guitarists, and drummers kicked in, and the melody filled the air.
> When I was 16, my father said,
> "You can do anything you want with your life,
> You just have to be willing to work hard to get it."
> That's when I decided when I die,
> I ought to be remembered for the life I lived.
> He said, "One day, you'll leave this world behind,
> So live a life you will remember."
> My father told me when I was just a child,
> "These are the nights that never die."
As Claire sang, Ronaldo's eyes welled up. These were the same words Claire had told him in the car earlier. Back then, Ronaldo hadn't understood, but now, hearing them in song, the line "So live a life you will remember" hit him hard.
Danielle Sharp, now holding a camera, appeared beside Ronaldo. "Claire... that's a nice name. Does he have a girlfriend?"
Ronaldo, caught off guard by the electrifying atmosphere and Claire's effortless stage presence, didn't react at first. But when he saw Danielle's camera pointed at him, he didn't resist. Instead, he removed his cap and mask, revealing himself with a confident smile.
"Claire Lee is my new friend. I didn't even know he was my teammate until he said so himself!"
With that, Ronaldo rushed toward the stage, just as Claire reached the song's most exhilarating part.
> He said, "One day, you'll leave this world behind,
> So live a life you will remember."
> My father told me when I was just a child,
> "These are the nights that never die."
By the end of the song, Ronaldo had shed all his disguises and stood proudly at the back of the crowd.
Claire spotted him and grinned. "Hey, my brother! Come on up here, everyone—let me introduce my new friend, Cristiano Ronaldo!"
The audience turned, and when they recognized Ronaldo waving at the stage, the bar exploded. Cheers and screams drowned out the music entirely.
Ronaldo, now swarmed by eager hands, felt a rush of adrenaline.
Danielle, now beside him, hissed at the crowd, "Back off, you desperate cougars! Let him get on stage!"
Her left hand clutched the camera, capturing every moment.
As the song ended, Claire's drunkenness surged back, and he gripped the DJ booth for balance, seeing multiple Ronaldos approaching him.
Ronaldo quickly steadied him. "You okay?"
Claire slumped against him with a groan, and Ronaldo could only laugh helplessly under the barrage of camera flashes and cheers.
Ronaldo took the mic Danielle handed him. "That was a great song, wasn't it?"
The crowd roared.
"Encore!"
"Claire, quit football—go into music! It pays better!"
"Another song! Sweden welcomes you!"
Ronaldo smiled, then grew serious. "Actually, tonight wasn't just about the song. There's something I want to say to all of you."
"I... I may have been young. I may have made mistakes—choices my friends and teammates couldn't accept. To everyone I've disappointed, I'm sorry."
He took a deep breath. "You might wonder what changed me. Well, a big part of it was Claire. I'll be honest—when I first met him, I thought he was a stadium janitor. I didn't even know he was my teammate until tonight!"
The crowd burst into laughter.
"But I made a promise to him. I'll prove myself with my performance. Before our next match against Arsenal, I'll apologize to my teammates properly. I hope you'll all give me a chance to make things right."
With that, he hoisted the unconscious Claire over his shoulder and carried him backstage.
---
The Sun, a British tabloid owned by media mogul Rupert Murdoch, was notorious for its sensational gossip. While The Times was a mainstream newspaper, The Sun thrived on scandal.
Armand Ackerman, The Sun's sports editor, was no stranger to late nights. His desk was cluttered under dim lighting, an old rotary phone his only companion.
Just as he was reviewing articles, a commotion downstairs caught his attention.
"What's going on? It's so late..." he grumbled.
Before he could refocus, his door burst open.
"Editor!"
"Cristiano Ronaldo just publicly apologized to fans in a bar!"
"The Guardian and The Times are already heading there. Should we go too?"
Armand shot up from his chair. "Let's move! Ronaldo's a goldmine for headlines right now!"
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