The Ghost of Portugal

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Chapter 22 – The Disobedient Pass

December 31, 2014 – Viseu, Portugal

The fireworks hadn't started yet, but the table was already loud.

João sat between his younger brother Hugo and their cousin Diogo, a paper crown sliding off his head, a half-empty glass of Sumol beside his plate. Roast kid, boiled potatoes, cod — his mum, Carla, had cooked like they were feeding twenty.

"Don't fill up too fast," his dad, Carlos, said, lifting a fork. "Midnight is for champions."

"Speak for yourself," Hugo mumbled through a mouthful. "I've already eaten three filhós."

João grinned. "You move faster at dinner than you do on the pitch."

Hugo kicked him under the table.

The laughter came easily, but João's mind wasn't entirely there. Every time someone asked about Lisbon, about Sporting, about his new teammates — he smiled and gave the usual lines.

"It's going well."

"They train us hard."

"I'm learning a lot."

None of it was a lie. But none of it told the full truth.

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Later, when the table was cleared and the uncles opened the wine, João slipped outside.

Cold air slapped him awake. The sky was cloudless, the stars sharp. Somewhere, someone lit the first firecracker. He leaned on the balcony railing, hands shoved in his jacket pockets.

His dad joined him a minute later, carrying two mugs.

"Chamomile," Carlos said, handing João one. "Don't tell your coach. Herbal sedative."

João smiled faintly and sipped.

They stood quietly for a while.

"I saw your last match," Carlos said. "Online. Someone filmed it from the stands."

João braced himself.

"That ball you played to the winger in the first half... not part of the system, was it?"

João shook his head. "Coach pulled me after that. Said I wasn't disciplined."

Carlos took a long sip. "He wrong?"

"Technically?" João said. "Maybe not. But it opened the whole play. It worked."

Carlos nodded slowly. "You saw something the others didn't."

"I always do," João muttered. "And I always get punished for it."

His dad didn't respond right away.

"You know, when I was your age, I played a little. I wasn't any good — couldn't dribble like you — but I remember what it felt like when a pass just appeared. It's instinct. You either have it, or you don't."

João turned to him. "Then why do they want to coach it out of me?"

Carlos looked up at the stars. "Because most systems are built to avoid mistakes. Not to create brilliance."

João exhaled. That was it. That was exactly it.

He took another sip, still watching the dark countryside stretch out beyond the hills.

"I don't want to play like a machine," he said. "I want to play like me."

His dad smiled. "Then do it. Even if it gets you benched for a while."

"I don't want to disappear either."

Carlos leaned on the railing beside him. "The greats don't disappear. Trust takes longer to be understood."

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Inside, Hugo yelled, "TEN SECONDS!"

João and his dad slipped back in just in time for the countdown.

"Three… two… one…!"

Pop.. Pop.. Pop.

Cork bottles cracked open. Sparklers lit up. Everyone kissed cheeks and shouted, and João let himself smile for real.

Fifteen years old. The year ahead would be harder. He knew it.

More rules. More systems. More people are telling him where to move and when to pass.

But maybe… just maybe… he'd keep passing where they didn't expect.

Even if it got him yelled at.

Because the disobedient pass was also the one they never saw coming.

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