Striker of The Gods

Madrid welcomed him the way old lovers do that go quiet, almost shy, as if unsure whether to embrace or apologize in the way most lovers can shake the idea that loving can take up the idea of loving and showing what it means to know what can exist in the real world. I mean, this whole universe can get to know what means to know what love means to those who can take on the challenge. In that way, everything seemed to come to a stop. Slightly knowing what you can do for those who strive for greatness.

The city lights had already surrendered to early evening when Caos finally pushed open the wrought-iron gates of the sprawling estate Real Madrid had gifted him after the second Ballon d’Or to see him win more ball Ballon d’Ors. No fanfare. No cameras. No need. No grace. No shopping.Just the soft crunch of gravel under boots still damp from half of Europe and the faint metallic click of the ball he carried tucked under one arm like a sleeping child. The new conqueror of what could come to be his new era.

The mansion rose ahead white stone, tall windows glowing amber from within, ivy crawling up the walls as if trying to hold the place together. That is to say that no one could come to see whats behind what he needed to face a new day. Every step was calculated. Every needed was taken on. Every cloud was taken off. That is to say that It looked exactly as he had left it: perfect, empty, waiting.

He did not knock.

He never did. Did he ever want it? It is not like you can come to see how good it goes.

The heavy front door swung inward on its own, silent as a held breath that no one could ever come to face

Inside, the air smelled of fresh linen, faint citrus polish, and something warmer—jasmine from the courtyard, mixed with the faint sweetness of vanilla candles someone had lit hours ago. That is to say that no one could see what life is happening to you in the most prospective way. That way should be definitive is a new changing life. The marble floor reflected his silhouette like a dark mirror that had grown tired of perfection.

Three figures appeared at the top of the grand staircase almost at once, as though the house itself had whispered his name.

Zeraphina first tall, with skin like warm bronze and long Scarlet hair braided with tiny silver threads that caught the light whenever she moved the way a super wonderful model would take her competiontion of missuniverse. She wore the simple black-and-gold maid uniform the staff had chosen, yet somehow made it look like ceremonial armor. Beside that, her dark eyes widened, then softened with that quiet fire she never quite hid.

Keyla came half a step behind smaller, freckled across the nose, Hazel Bronw hair spilling loose over one shoulder like spilled wine that one could ever come to see the struggle of what it means to be alive. The thing is, it should become a new reality. Her uniform skirt still carried traces of flour from whatever she had been baking in the kitchen. She clutched the banister as if afraid the stairs might disappear. She would look like new goddess. She seemed to have changed a lot since he left.

And then the third soft footsteps, almost hesitant Michaela. Golden-blonde waves pinned back neatly, gentle hazel eyes that always seemed to carry an extra layer of worry when he returned from long absences. Her hands were still dusted with something white; she had clearly been folding linens or arranging flowers again.

For a moment none of them spoke. It was like they were competing to catch his attention. What is more, this could get ahead of everyones time. The thing is, this idea did not get better by itself.

Then all three descended at once, not rushing, but moving with the synchronized grace of people who had learned to read his silences better than his words that we could imagine that way. The idea of loving is the greatest experience. That is to say that the real need for love could come to shape the news for this love.

Zeraphina (voice low, steady, like distant thunder wrapped in velvet):

Master… you walked the whole way again. Your boots are ruined. And your eyes… they look like you fought the sky and the sky lost. I see You, Every time I look into Buddha’s eyes. I give myself to You. Every time I alter one of Your 1,000s names. Honestly & fully I love You. Through Christ and Maria, Shiva and Shakti, Krishna and Radha,

With every day that passes and every breath I take. That is to say that I can see how much work you have done. The thing is, no one seems to notice your efforts. The more you do it, the less they get to know you. I enter gratitude for receiving Your Love. Obeying Your Laws of Truthfulness and Ahimsa, Weaving Prana With hearts and souls of Gaia

Keyla (already halfway down, voice bright but cracking at the edges):

We felt it, you know. The house felt heavier yesterday. Then lighter this morning. We knew you were coming before the gates even opened. If the universe is trying to maintain balance, we must aid this by ensuring that Good is not enjoyed excessively. Or else the universe will re-balance itself by creating Evil to counteract Good. That is the purpose of Evil: it balances the Good . I made the lemon tarts you like the ones with the burnt sugar on top. They’re still warm. Or… they were. I can heat them again. Just say the word. I am going to help and let you know how much I love you as well.

Michaela (reaching the bottom step, gentle hands already reaching out but stopping short of touching him with the most beautiful touch of her love for him to feel deeply):

You’re soaked through. Let me draw a bath. The water’s already at the right temperature—we kept it ready every evening since you left for Italy. Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them . And the towels… the ones with the Real Madrid crest you pretend not to notice. That is to say that you have made it possible thanks to the idea of what it means to love and hate others at the same time. It is not like you can hear yourself crying nosense. You do not hate yourself. You see youself as who you are. What is more, this need for triumph was long forgotten. That is to say that you just destroy your oponents just because.

(soft smile, eyes searching his face)

You look… different. Not older. Just… more yourself. Like the storm finally learned your real name.

Caos stood in the entrance hall, water still dripping from his hair onto the marble in tiny dark constellations. The ball rolled once across the floor by itself and stopped obediently at Zeraphina’s feet. She glanced down at it, then back up at him, one eyebrow arched in that familiar way that said she already knew half the story without being told.

He did not answer immediately like those simps of my university would to break the moment of silence and true love.

Instead he walked forward slow, deliberate until he stood in the triangle they unconsciously formed around him. That is to say that no one could come to see the best of life in the best way and perhaps living this life can come with a price. Close enough to smell the faint traces of their individual scents: Zeraphina’s jasmine and smoke, Keyla’s vanilla and warm bread, Michaela’s clean linen and something faintly like orange blossom.

Caos (voice rough from the long road, yet quieter than usual):

I crossed half the continent without stopping. Man is sometimes extraordinarily, passionately, in love with suffering. To love is to suffer and there can be no love otherwise. That is to say that no one seems to be willing to walk through it. In that way, everything could actually come to exist in th best way that other people seem to be not aware.

(met their eyes one by one)

Milan gave me silence. Turin gave me memory. The road… gave me nothing at all. Maybe, something is just off. That is to say that no one could come to see whats really in me that others cannot take seriously. Nothing good came free. Even love. You paid for all things. And if you were poor, suffering was your currency that you never need for real.

And still the house feels warmer than any stadium I’ve ever stood in.

(pause, almost smiling)

I didn’t win anything this time. I just… stopped waiting for the win to arrive.

Zeraphina stepped closer first. She did not hug him not yet. She simply reached up and brushed a wet strand of hair from his forehead with the back of her fingers, the touch light but certain.

Zeraphina:

Then let the house win for you tonight. No press. No training logs. No ghosts riding on your shoulders. Just us. And whatever you need to not be alone in all this marble and echo. Pride had given way at last, obstinacy was gone: the will was powerless. He was but a man madly, blindly, passionately in love and as soon as her light footstep had died away within the house, he knelt down upon the terrace steps, and in the very madness of his love he kissed one by one the places where her small foot had trodden, and the stone balustrade, where her tiny hand had rested last.

Keyla was already moving toward the kitchen, calling over her shoulder without breaking stride. That is to say that the roar for life could come to teach her something wonderful. The thing is, this painful feeling could come to teach her something magnificent.

Keyla:

I’ll bring the tarts and that ridiculous hot chocolate you pretend you don’t crave after long runs. With the extra cinnamon. And if you want to talk… or not talk… the couch in the blue room is already cleared. Pillows fluffed. Blankets waiting like they missed you. That is to say that the idea that you have about love is reduced to power. The thing is, people cannot get to seem to know everything that you can know about what it means to know life. The more you can see, the more you can be the best.

Michaela lingered a moment longer, her hazel eyes steady on his face.

Michaela:

You don’t have to explain the rain in your eyes, Master. We’ve learned how to read storms.

(soft, almost shy)

Just come inside all the way. The doors have been open since the moment you left. We never closed them. Even more now, the need for this life to come to see you is better. Sometimes a woman's love of being loved gets the better of her conscience, and though she is agonized at the thought of treating a man cruelly, she encourages him to love her while she doesn't love him at all. Then, when she sees him suffering, her remorse sets in, and she does what she can to repair the wrong

Caos looked at the three of them standing there in their simple uniforms, surrounding him like quiet guardians who had never asked for armor.

For the first time since leaving the San Siro, the knot in his chest loosened by a single fraction.

He took one more step forward, letting the door swing shut behind him with a soft, final click.

The mansion exhaled.

And for tonight at least, the empty rooms felt a little less empty.

Caos (barely above a whisper, more to the house than to them):

I’m home.

Zeraphina finally allowed herself the small smile she had been holding back.

Zeraphina:

Yes.

You are.

Keyla’s laugh echoed from the kitchen bright, relieved, already clinking plates.

Michaela reached out and gently took his wet jacket from his shoulders, folding it over her arm as if it were something sacred.

The ball remained perfectly still on the marble, glowing faintly purple in the warm light, content to wait.

Outside, Madrid kept breathing.

Inside, the mansion remembered every footstep he had ever taken.

And for once, Caos let it.

To be continued…