From Arsenal to the Ball God

"Actually, I want to know, what is the limit of your ambition? Winning everything is just your personal... What matters is what you want to bring to this club?"

"You have some credibility. People somewhat believe that you’ll give your all for the words you speak out and have hope in achieving them."

Ma’el was pushed back. He understood he had to be upfront with Bell, "I have a very clear answer, which is to achieve the seven crowns in a single season or year.

"As you know, only an English Club has the hope of completing this achievement, and if a club like Arsenal were to achieve it... I can’t imagine what kind of grand spectacle that would be."

"I only know that it would be the goal I pursue for my entire life."

"..." Bell fell silent again, this time for a different reason than before. After a long pause, he asked, "Is this realistic? Will there really be such a team? I can’t imagine."

"Realistic."

Ma’el began to explain to Bell, "Step by step, nothing is unrealistic. As long as we can see hope next year, then in the following year or the year after, we’ll have the opportunity to accomplish it."

Bell’s reply was quick, but it struck Ma’el strongly, "If you can win the European Cup, then I believe you."

When he heard the call end, Ma’el was lost in thought for a long time, not knowing how, unknowingly, he had become a major influence on whether Bell would join.

Once again, he felt a surge of responsibility, unsure if this was a good or bad thing.

So, if Bell could join, could Arsenal make him captain?

Walking at the front every week, undoubtedly being the first to lift the trophy after winning, just thinking about it felt glorious!

Not fantasizing for too long, he called Mendes again, who arranged to meet him before the European Cup final, and he agreed.

This time, putting down the phone, he felt a very empty sensation, as if everything had vanished, with no one and nothing else occupying his mind, only the final in front of him.

He walked forward aimlessly, trying several times to find positivity for this match but found this emptiness seemed to block that feeling, gradually pulling his emotions down.

Ma’el couldn’t explain this sudden change with psychology or philosophy. Could it be what the media often referred to as major competition syndrome?

He didn’t believe he had this condition; otherwise, he wouldn’t have performed so well in the semifinals.

Just considering it a normal feeling... he continued walking forward, but kept overthinking, unable to truly calm down.

The next two days passed in a blur, Ma’el practiced with the team daily, dissected opponent tactics, did extra training, and had physical therapy massages, living in a routine yet numb manner.

He often flipped through past game schedules, not knowing what he wanted to see, just mechanically flipping, seemingly just to kill time and relieve stress.

On the morning of July 3rd, Ma’el could feel everything was different. People began to become solemn, and every behavior seemed meaningful, with high-fives and hugs before and after the start.

"Pa... Pa!"

First, when entering the canteen for the final pre-match meal, he high-fived and hugged everyone until his hands became slightly numb.

Then, upon leaving the restaurant, the process repeated... followed by doing it again before boarding the bus to the final venue, upon disembarking, and in the locker room, during warm-ups outside.

"Pa... Pa!"

He was thoroughly overwhelmed by the high-fives, feeling as though everyone around him was entrusting their hopes by this means, gradually increasing his pressure.

Ma’el sometimes even forgot that the European Cup would soon start, and hundreds of millions of viewers worldwide would focus on them.

But if asked what he was thinking actually, he wouldn’t be able to explain.

Sitting in the locker room during final preparations and hydration, he vaguely heard someone calling him, raising his dull eyes to glance at the door where Mendes, dressed in a suit, was waving at him with a smile.

In fact, after seeing him, he realized he hadn’t looked into Mendes’ eyes, merely glanced at his outline, knowing what he was doing without raising his gaze.

Something’s off!

Absolutely off!

"Whew...!" Ma’el stood up and headed towards Mendes while using his old method to adjust his mood, finding it ineffective.

This made him anxious, to the point of having unusual discomfort around his eyes, and he appeared calm, not wanting to affect the other team members.

"Ma’el? Ma’el?"

Mendes called a few times in a row, and he turned his head, his gaze focused on Mendes’ shoulder.

He sensed Mendes shrank back slightly, seemingly understanding his condition, but temporarily chose not to discuss it with him.

"Follow me."

Mendes led him forward, through several dimly lit corridors toward a corner.

"Aahah... Aahah...!"

By this time, he could faintly hear the cheers outside. He had to admit this stimulus woke him up somewhat.

"Ma’el."

Stopping at the corner, Mendes turned around smiling, "Have you felt numb these few days, as if losing touch with everything, just muddling through?

"You know why? Because you desire it too much, and this intense desire creates a false sense of being far from it, even when nearby.

"I intended to talk to you about something else, to ease your pressure, but now I realize you need to feel close to it, the sooner, the better."

Mendes turned around first, smiling, facing a direction, and pointed to the end of the path, "Look, it’s right there."

Ma’el turned immediately, standing beside him, seeing at the end a glass cabinet display with a dazzling golden trophy.

That was the De Lorne Cup, with a net height of 42cm, base included 50cm, made of pure silver, weighing about 8 kilograms. Its symbolic meaning becomes the pursuit of generations of European Football stars!

Now, it was indeed right there!

Ma’el’s heart suddenly steadied, his eyes reignited with fierce desire, looking at the trophy as if wanting to pierce it, burn it into molten silver.

The European Cup final, the most important match in his career so far, he needed clear goals, knowing what he should do.

The veteran Fabregas and the defending Bullfighter Army awaited him ahead, aiming to achieve the Ball God’s goal, it was best today, at their peak, to defeat them honorably!

"Whistle!" The call for the starting players sounded, and the starters for both teams needed to gather at Warsaw National Stadium.

...

ps: Though late, on time, keeping the promise made, writing till 6.15, the plan is to increase the count of words in each Chapter daily with two updates.𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞