The Ghost of Portugal

— Coming up now is Chapter 14: The Offer.

Chapter 14 – The Offer (400 words

Lisbon, 2014. Sporting Academy Office.

The room smelled like furniture polish and caution.

João sat with his hands locked under the table. His father, Carlos, leaned back in his chair. His mother, Carla, had her arms folded, face unreadable. Her silence felt louder than the coaches' voices.

Opposite them: Luís Boa Morte, the academy coordinator, and Sporting's technical director for youth development. Two folders sat between them. One green. One white. Both sealed.

Boa Morte tapped the desk.

"Your son's not normal," he said finally. "That much we all agree on."

Carlos raised an eyebrow. "You mean talent?"

"I mean vision. Decisions. Tempo. He's dictating play with 17-year-olds like he's reading ahead in a book he already wrote."

João kept still. He'd heard these things before. What mattered came next.

Boa Morte opened the green folder.

"We want to offer him an accelerated development track," he said. "Training with the U19s full-time. First-team integration within two years."

Carla's voice cut in, flat and sharp.

"He's fourteen."

"We know," Boa Morte replied. "So was Figo when we brought him up. Cristiano was barely older. We don't give this offer to just anyone."

João finally looked up.

"What's the condition?"

Boa Morte met his eyes.

"You'll have to give up the rest."

João blinked.

"School?"

"Reduced. Managed around training. You'll live here full-time. No home visits midweek. Nutrition, sleep, data tracking, and GPS load monitoring. You'll be in the machine."

Carla frowned. "You're asking him to stop being a child."

"No," Boa Morte said. "We're asking him to become a professional — five years early."

The room went quiet.

Then Carlos asked the real question.

"What if he burns out?"

Boa Morte didn't flinch.

"Then it's on us."

Later, back at the apartment Sporting had loaned the family for the month, João sat with his notebook. Plays. Patterns. Spaces. He flipped past the sketches. Stared at the blank page.

His brother Hugo sat on the floor, playing FIFA. João barely heard the fake crowd noise.

Carla walked in and dropped a mug beside him. Chamomile. No words.

"Do you want this?" she asked finally.

João stared down.

"It's not about want."

"What is it about?"

He looked up. Eyes sharp. Voice steady.

"It's about being ready when the lights hit."

She studied him. Then nodded.

Carlos entered the room holding his phone.

"Tomorrow," he said. "We meet the head of development. Final paperwork."

João stood.

Not out of excitement.

Out of preparation.

Because he knew what the offer was:

A test wrapped in a contract

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