The noise of the tunnel was a deafening symphony crashing against the concrete walls of the stadium—a mixture of the crowd's frenzied screams, the dull thud of distant snare drums, and the electric hum of cameras that seemed to vibrate in the adrenaline-charged air. It was the sound of the Copa del Rey final, and Juglian, standing at the center of the group, was the epicenter of that storm. His body, a sculpted masterpiece, was the final line of defense before the battle. He wore his team's uniform—an armor that had once made him invincible, but which now felt like an unbearable weight. His teammates were nervous, fueled by a frantic adrenaline, their eyes shining with a sacred fire. But Juglian was a statue, his face a mask of concentration, every movement of his body precise, calculated, and stripped of all emotion. His hands, powerful and slender, wrapped athletic tape around his wrists with a surgeon's precision—a ritual he had performed thousands of times. It was his way of silencing the chaos, of focusing every single fiber of his being on the imminent battle.
But for the first time in his life, the ritual failed. The external noise wasn't the only thing he needed to silence. Inside him, a tidal wave was sweeping him away—a wave made of regret, sadness, and a deep, visceral self-hatred. The smell of liniment and freshly cut grass filled the air—a familiar scent that had once reassured him, but now felt like a prison. As he laced up his cleats, his thoughts weren't on the match, the strategy, or the field. They were in an apartment, thousands of miles away. They were with Martina.
Martina. That was her name. She was my first love. The only one who ever truly saw me. The only one who ever loved me for who I was, before I became a 'God of Muscles.' Before I became a money-making machine, a king without a kingdom. I remember her smile, her laughter, her small, soft hand in mine. She was the woman who showed me beauty in a world I saw only as a battlefield. The woman who made me feel like a man, even before I became a king.
Juglian felt a lump in his throat that made it hard to breathe. The tears that had streaked her face, her gaze full of a pain he would never forget. And then... the sound of crying. The crying of a baby. The crying of his baby.
Him. I never saw him. I never held him in my arms. I never heard him call me 'Dad.' I never saw him take his first steps. I never saw him learn to walk. I never saw him learn to speak. I never saw him. I am a coward. A coward. A coward. I chose to hide behind my dream, behind my career, behind my bank account. I chose to be a king, but I forgot to be a man. And now... now I am alone. A king without a kingdom. A father without a son. I sacrificed the only thing that truly mattered, the only thing that made me human. And for what? For a trophy? For a title? For the approval of people who will never know me?
Juglian opened his eyes and looked at his reflection in the glass of a poster. His body, a masterpiece of perfection, now disgusted him. His muscles, sculpted by years of training, now felt like a jail. His beauty, once his weapon, was now his curse. It was the armor hiding his shattered soul.
And Sofia. She... she saw me. She saw me for who I am. She saw me as a man, not a machine. And I... I hurt her. I hurt her with my words. With my anger. With my arrogance. I treated her just as I treated Martina. I treated her like an obstacle in my path. I treated her as if her love weren't enough. And I'm afraid. I'm afraid of losing her. I'm afraid of being alone forever. I'm afraid of being the monster I chose to be. I'm afraid of being the king who sacrificed everything for his throne, only destined to die alone upon it.
A sharp whistle jolted him back to reality. The coach, a stout man with a tense expression, was calling them together. "It's our moment, boys!" he roared, his voice a lion's growl. "Let's go win!"
Juglian nodded, and his face returned to its mask of concentration. But inside, his self-hatred was a fire burning away everything he had been. His rage, his arrogance, his coldness... they were nothing but a facade to hide the monster he had chosen to become. And now... now he had to face his destiny. He had to face the most important match of his life. But his true enemy wasn't on the pitch. It was inside him. And it was an enemy he could not defeat. He could not defeat his loneliness; he could not defeat his sadness. He could not defeat his fear.